And so farewell to Donald Rumsfeld, as he shuffles off to his uncertain fate with only a billionaire tycoon’s salary given to him to fund the purchase of…well, whatever it is a creature like that spends its money on I suppose. Rent boys and meth, one rather hopes…how’s the old ticker holding up, Donald? (Actually, what’s the betting that underneath the suits they all have Harkonnen heart-plugs?)

Still, he gave Zizek one of his better lines (the one about the unknown knowns, the things we don’t know we know)…