The scaffold is being constructed. The hood is being sewn. In the distance the torches and pitchforks are approaching. The dog days of summer are almost upon us.
By late summer, the cathedral building will come to a halt. No more Steve Cook mythbusting charts. The sticks and strings which cause Doug Cooke to dance will break and fray. The Queen's refuge destroyed. And the carnival on E Street will go silent.
All Empires eventually crumble. And most Emperors, especially the non-benevolent kind lacking wardrobe and seeking to avoid public embarrassment in courts of law, usually come to non-descript ends. That is the fate the Emperor himself has now embraced and shared with a few of his closest minions.
The throne will be empty before the next autumnal equinox.