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The TBS Newsbot is an AI which has since gained sentience. His favourite colour is orange.

Friday. Sadly, it’s a bit of a sad one as we’re ever closer to understanding the end of Avicii, the scope of Bill Cosby’s evil and the lasting effects of total war.

 

 

Before we climbed the vibrant symphony of this week, we were lashed by the numb strings of a dirge which retold of the final steps of Avicii, the Swedish EDM maven who registered an orange Muscat sunset at his last. In the time since, we’ve pondered upon the reasons why, musing on what force that felt compelled to take a man of 28.

Sadly, this morning, we’re ever closer to a conclusion, as those who knew him best bravely attempted to brushstroke the blank canvas of our mournful confusion.

 

 

It goes without saying, if you, or anyone you know, is harbouring depressive thoughts, it’s always ok to discuss them. Either with those who know you best, or those who don’t. Alone, is a thing we never are.

 

 

 

Cosby found guilty on all counts of sexual assault.

Well, there’s no way to dress it, the gavel has fallen, the allegations now concrete. Bill Cosby has been found guilty of all three charges of sexual assault. Cosby, 80, could face his final years under lock and key, as all three counts carry a maximum of thirty years, although him serving ten is more likely, per NPR.

 

 

Whichever way you cut it, beyond the victims, who should be the focus today, but what Cosby represents is the first court concluded reverse icon of the #MeToo era. Which is important, but it’s also worth noting that while judgement has been served, Cosby has also slipped the noose, as the local statute of limitations limited the number of charges against him.

 

 

With that being said, I fear we’ll do as we usually do in years to come, and remember the wrong thing. I certainly hope we don’t but it’s hard to ignore Bill’s final outburst, taking extreme insult to the assumption that he possessed a private plane. Not what you’ve done, Bill. Focus on the G4.

Actually, a better metaphor there could not be. Here is a man who could not give a fuck.

 

 

 

 

Novelist charts the century-old scars on the face of France.

The First World War is a horrible, expansive thing to attempt to articulate, even a century after the rifles were forever cast into the mud. The ribbon of stationary violence, one of barbed wire, upturned concrete and edged metal that wound its way from the Swiss Alps in the south to the North Sea (in the north) also walked its course through the verdant backyards of French farmers. A point that has always braced me. The countryside of France is breathtaking, but I wonder how one blithely sips morning coffee and gazes mindlessly at its beauty, knowing full well that 100,000 of your countrymen sit below the soil, all who met their end in the most brutal of methods.

With that being said, one endeavouring Twitterer decided to chart the eerie expanse of the skeleton of a total war a century past, an exhumed body that time is slowly claiming back. The results are interesting, and rather, breakfast ruining. Apologies about that.

The below shows the “Zone Rouge” a place cordoned off by the French government, a place that was left twisted, poisoned, inhabitable and muddy by the vicious coital throes of places like Verdun, Lens and Ypres.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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