An idea whose time does not in fact exist

Even my capacity for creative blasphemous vulgarity is stretched by the return of the bride of the son of the fucking Wellywood sign.

Danyl is taking the easy bet on immediate and repeated vandalism by the coolest little capital’s pissed-off citizens; Zetetic looks back on how much The Standardites hated it the first time round.  I’m not picking much has changed.

But seriously.  Fuck this shit.  Bring on the Rapture.