Mark saw visions/hallucinations of Thragg ALL DAY when he came back to Earth, realising he had done nothing but give the viltrumites nothing to lose, but when Thragg showed up, he was calm, collected and bathed in warm light. He even let Mark wail on him a bit.

He was really nothing but calm and smart. Now ON THE OTHER HAND we have an old, loyal viltrumite sitting next to Thragg during Argall’s funeral after Thaedus killed Argall. This man simply asks if he’s loyal, he says yes, and GENUINELY SLIMES HIM OUT😭.

It’s been a long week, so here’s Jon Bois (of 17776 fame) talking about blimps from his new doc God Hates a Coward.

Once upon a red carpet, Ben and Cunter were marketed as a “power couple”. He, the talent; she, the "visionary". Now they drift through the festival circuit like relics from a bygone PR epoch, still chained together by the fine print of yesterday’s contracts. The eco-rhetoric has gone stale, the funding wells have run dry, and the crowd’s applause has gone silent. Cunter's still preaching about Net Zero between transatlantic flights, clutching at passe talking points that no longer appeal to philanthropists. Ben is struggling to keep performing while the lights flicker and the checks stop clearing. Financiers, however, are done underwriting moral theater; austerity is the new sustainability. Each time they face the cameras, the salt creeps higher, branding calcifying into self-parody. The irony is exquisite: a crusade for “renewal” that can’t even renew its own relevance!

In Scripture, only Lot’s wife turned to salt. In this modern retelling, Lot hesitates too long. He looks back, not from vanity but from obligation and the curse claims him as well. Two pillars now stand where there was once movement: the performer and the pretender, fused by shared inertia, glittering under an uncaring sun. No more tent-poles, no more sponsors eager to underwrite the illusion. The desert stage is closing and when the funding tide recedes, only the true artists who kept moving forward will remain.