[72 and sunny]

In the multicultural Swedestan the one-percenters convened in all their trolling, 'ole bling glory to recognize and celebrate their *noble* achievements.

It was a sight to behold with nary a diverse face in the crowd.

Marvelous actually, considering the soulmate zombie hordes outside... swilling in numbers ever so inreasingly... and longing for a piece of action.

It was like seeing the clergy giving last formal rites to their dying, diseased flock.

Or better yet,

it was like something out of those end-of-the-world movies, where the doomed, long past their acceptance stage, congragated in a dignified manner for one last lavish supper, to tell goodbyes to each other... before the world (of their own creation, in this particular case) blows them to smitherness the daybreak after.

[Paracelsus]

All it needs is Petronius and Eunice committing suicide at the head of the table by slitting their wrists into a bunch of roses (Quo Vadis, 1951 film) since Nero is likely to have Petronius killed in the days ahead.