Randolph Itch, 2 a.m. by Tom Toles for August 22, 2018

Quarantine? The glass ceiling?

The origin of a Stephen King novel?

“Our revels now are ended. These our actors,

As I foretold you, were all spirits and

Are melted into air, into thin air:

And, like the baseless fabric of this vision,

The cloud-capp’d towers, the gorgeous palaces,

The solemn temples, the great globe itself,

Yea, all which it inherit, shall dissolve

And, like this insubstantial pageant faded,

Leave not a rack behind. We are such stuff

As dreams are made on, and our little life

Is rounded with a sleep.”

Loved this. Thanks, Tom.

Agreed! Very funny Mr. Toles!