It’s No Kings Day! Well, actually, every day is No Kings Day, or should be.

Nevertheless, here we are, mired in our own filth (bloody peasants!), and a reminder to Certain People is in order.

Don’t torch the nice robots, or anything else. It’s going to be too hot for that sort of nonsense here in any case. Give a thought to the poor sods who have to parade in front of Orange Julius Caesar in our sweltering national capital. As Charles P. Pierce observed yesterday:

All is subtropical and appears fairly normal in anticipation of the March of the Metal Penises Saturday night here in Pyongyang on the Potomac. (By the way, my walk from the Metro to my hotel led me to thinking that agreeing to put the national capital here in exchange for the federal government’s assuming all the Revolutionary War debt may have sounded like a fair deal at the time, but now with June headed full speed into July, Hamilton, Jefferson, and Madison can, you know, bite me.) 

“Bite me” is exactly the message we want to send the Unclothed Emperor via his courtiers in the press, what remains of it. Remind them all wherein the real authority resides, or should. You don’t use it, you lose it, as the fella says.

He likes a big crowd. Let’s give him one. And may he choke on it.