Today is the second Friday the 13th in a row. Is this the lucky day?

For Trump and all his ilk who believe in superstition over truth and ugliness over love and compassion.
He is Shakespeare's IAGO. (1)


Rest in Peace, Defender of BOTH the wealthy and the privileged.
While evil Iranians were laying mines, he was laying minors.
Now, how can we steal his bitcoin?

From the opera "Othello" by Verdi

IAGO
I believe in a cruel God
who created me in his image
and who in fury I name.
From the very vileness of a germ
or an atom, vile was I born.
I am a wretch because I am a man,
and I feel within me the primeval slime.
Yes! This is my creed!
I believe with a heart as steadfast
as that of the widow in church,
that the evil I think
and that which I perform
I think and do by destiny's decree.
I believe the just man to be a mocking actor
in face and heart;
that all his being is a lie,
tear, kiss, glance,
sacrifice and honour.
And I believe man the sport of evil fate
from the germ of the cradle
to the worm of the grave.
After all this mockery then comes Death.
And then? ... And then?
Death is nothingness,
heaven an old wives' tale.

To be buried at sea (with all those hungry sharks) at

"


(1)

• Iago is one of Shakespeare's most sinister villains ...
• Iago is a Machiavellian schemer and manipulator, as he is often referred to as "honest Iago", displaying his skill at deceiving other characters so that not only do they not suspect him, but they count on him as the person most likely to be truthful.
• Shakespearean critic A. C. Bradley said that "evil has nowhere else been portrayed with such mastery as in the evil character of Iago",

In Italian:
IAGO
Credo in un Dio crudel che m'ha creato
simile a sè e che nell'ira io nomo.
Dalla viltà d'un germe o d'un atòmo
vile son nato.
Son scellerato
perchè son uomo;
e sento il fango originario in me.
Sì! questa è la mia fe'!
Credo con fermo cuor, siccome crede
la vedovella al tempio,
che il mal ch'io penso e che da me procede,
per il mio destino adempio.
Credo che il guisto è un istrion beffardo,
e nel viso e nel cuor,
che tutto è in lui bugiardo:
lagrima, bacio, sguardo,
sacrificio ed onor.
E credo l'uom gioco d'iniqua sorte
dal germe della culla
al verme dell'avel.
Vien dopo tanta irrision la Morte.
E poi? E poi? La Morte è il Nulla.
è vecchia fola il Ciel.