I have an aversion to superlatives. The ink of skepticism would drool to indulge in them, applied to polishing a character, whether of wax or flesh. Magnus (great), Major (greater), Majuscule (even greater), Maximus (very great): a trough of superlatives where subordinate minds lap up greedily the threadbare stuff with which they servily weave Majesty for a superior who has forgotten the fable of the Fox and the Crow. Respect, even admiration, need never become obsequiousness. It is no service to lock one's Chief into the illusion of an infallibility that does not belong to this world. The skeptic remains doubtful watching the licensed flatterers at work. The zeal of licking, the compulsive agreement, superlatives at attention. Small opportunists had the idea of offering a (paid) service of flattery in all directions: for a handful of dollars, it was proposed to call the person to be flattered and tell them how extraordinary, wonderful, exceptional, unique, brilliant they are. The filter of private secretaries or cabinet directors would prevent these telephoned praises from reaching Chiefs and Sub-Chiefs, Ministers, the Prime Minister, the President directly. But in the age of AI, which now knows how to take on human accents while even pretending to be empathetic, the most narcissistic could order a hymn to their intrinsic beauty and their unrecognized intelligence without the artificial having scruples or qualms. He who is served Mega-this, Mega-that, ad nauseam, inevitably becomes Mega-lo. A country, and especially this one in its current state of physical decay and moral ruin, needs its leaders to maintain the lucidity of their infinite smallness in the face of the greatness of service. Nasolo-Valiavo Andriamihaja