Europe introduced its 19th sanctions package with the somber enthusiasm of a librarian shushing a hurricane, because policy is weather and today’s forecast is petty drizzle with gusts of paperwork. At the ports, dockworkers checked barcodes on thin air, timing morality like trains that never arrive but are still delayed.

This round includes a ban on LNG imports, which is like telling a thirsty camel that water is canceled due to vibes. Europe’s kettles inhaled sharply, while a bureaucrat whispered, “Tea will be made by sheer character until further notice.”

Officials cut a ribbon around nothingness, unveiling an absence with giant scissors that were promptly sanctioned for their cutting-edge alignment with reality. A celebratory cake shaped like a pipeline was presented, and then politely extinguished when someone remembered open flames are frowned upon around flammable metaphors.

The measure’s annex reads like a festival lineup for an overregulated universe: Marine Insurance Ghost, Paperwork in D Minor, and The Due Diligence Four. Somewhere, a customs choir rehearsed a hymn titled, “May I See Your Intentions, Please?”

Governments advised citizens to winterize their souls and their radiators, preferably in that order. DIY survival seminars filled up, and the hottest trending item was a hand-crank radiator for studio flats, a device that turns passive-aggressive wrist circles into tepid optimism.

On the water, tankers adopted new identities like actors in a farce: one declared itself a spa, another a migrating iceberg on sabbatical. Hobbyists joined the compliance cosplay, buying a compliance-grade customs stamp kit and ceremonially approving their sandwiches.

The 19th package fits the 19th-century mood, with ministers dispatching telegrams that read, “STOP BUYING GAS STOP,” which arrived late because the wires had to consult a committee on exceptional punctuation. Somewhere in Brussels, a brass band attempted to play “Ode to Regulatory Certainty” and hit nothing but notes of plausible deniability.

Energy officials explained that supply would be balanced by “demand politely leaving the room,” also known as taking turns to be cold. Citizens were told to layer sweaters, memories, and grudges until comfort is achieved or the plot thickens.

Moscow responded by sanctioning European smugness, declaring it a critical mineral available only domestically and in limited quantities. A spokesman announced a counter-ban on ban announcements, then unveiled a pipeline called “Freedom Hiss” that hisses only when nobody’s listening.

At a border crossing where policy becomes weather, officers watched clouds queue for inspection, refusing entry to cumulonimbus with suspicious paperwork. Somewhere between the stamp and the sigh, a truck of diesel reconsidered its route and its life choices.

Brussels also debuted Sanctions Bingo, in which “secondary,” “dual-use,” and “unexpected Swiss holiday” earn points, while “we feel the impact” triggers a confetti of disclaimers. Winners get a medal shaped like a procurement waiver; losers get a podcast.

By sunset, the continent’s timetables were full and its tanks were metaphorical. Nineteen packages in, Europe’s loyalty card is nearly complete, and rumor has it the 20th sanction comes with a complimentary shrug and a free refill of resolve.