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If I were Mr. Globaloney, sitting in magnificent self-isolation like old Scrooge and telling myself how great I am, I might be leafing through the tattered playbook for some sort of event of the Bogus Banner sort (if you get my meaning). The list is pretty short. And then, whatever it is and however strong or tenuous the logical connection may be, turn up what Catherine calls the shriek-o-meter to say it is proof the serfs must get the holy needle, put on the magic masque and get rid of that nasty cash by sending it all to me…