viernes, 25 de enero de 2013

PRESIDENTS, PRESIDENTS (INFAMOUS MESSIAHS IN THAT TIME)



Once upon a time there was a country dreaming of making its way to democracy after nearly forty years firmly gripped by a desert rat coming from the north of a neighbouring country. The move on from the old system to the new was expected to be arduous. However, one leader, questioned by some ones and a traitor by some others, succeeded in taking the reins to led the country throughout a transition seen as worthy by most people while a handful still missed the good old days.
Please, let me tell a joke I recently heard of: “Last century, a German and a Galician tried to mess about with Europe and Spain respectively. And now this century begins again with a German and a Galician trying to mess about with Europe and Spain”. In my opinion, and provably moved by my admiration for women, the German lady is doing fairly well, at least pretty well for her fellow citizens, her main care.
On the other hand, the Galician, blind before the vermin gathering around him, seems to be determined to mine not only our wellbeing, social and labour rights, but also the very subsistence of those losing their homes and their means to live. Has any of his many advisers told him about the rising number of suicides resulting from the precarious situation of millions of families? Or they all may be so busy on the macroeconomics and on getting their share to worry about the “problems of the common people” the illustrious Galician was so concerned about during his last campaign.
All right, to the point now. I won’t say a word about the duke, for I respect his old age, sympathise with his cognitive impairment and, as said before, I think he did his best quite well. I wish to add the final touch to the main “achievements” of the different prime ministers our “democracy” has known. I leave the deeper, more thorough political analysis for the experts, some of them very smart and worth reading at the papers despite being outnumbered by the twats willing to get closer and closer to the big dog.

    - Leo the Brief. Although he wasn’t elected by the voters he is not to be blamed, for his time in charge was so ephemeral he didn’t have the time to do either good or bad. He seemed a serious man yet his closer circle remembers him as intelligent and witty; bestowed with that ironic sarcastic humor I so much appreciate. I think he may have been an interesting chap, no dissimilar to that also brief Pope who preceded the Pole: he promised a lot but died under strange circumstances. 

- The Barber of Seville. He still appears in TV every now and then, pretending to be a progressive man although he will never spontaneously tell us of his estates, or how he obtained, for example, the house he owns in Marrakesh, Morocco. It’s said it was a present from the current king of that land as a reward for the service provided to the king’s father when the Barber was our prime minister. He wouldn’t detail why the trips to Mexico and Venezuela on his private jet to attend the parties thrown by his friends, some of them owners of the world’s biggest fortunes. Was he invited for his liking for growing bonsais? For including us in the NATO? For letting, being Mr X, his friends Barrionuevo, Vera and the like go to prison while he was never charged for the “trivial” GAL case? For backing Mr dull-man zp while the former was in office? It is true that every time I hear him talk I fall under the spell of his charming, know-it-all speech. He shall be remembered for his momentous quotes such as “We must rather be socialists than Marxists” and “My country will never join the NATO”.

 - Ath-narr, the Moustached. Two milestones came along in 1999: Zola R’s birth and the arrival at the power of a formerly rather obscure man. We all knew his obstinate phrase “Go home, Mr X” repeated once and again to the burnt-out socialist president. There were times of economic growth and of worldwide political turmoil, especially because of the firm convictions of his friend “Mr Marshall” about one satrap-ruled country hiding mass destructions weapons. Eventually the weapons remained unfound but the dictator was cast out and everybody was congratulating themselves. History will remember the three big fish’s summit at the Azores: the Moustached, his friend and the Briton, all of them showing their filthy paws on the table, and our self-content “presi” “spikking” good English, let’s say putting on a Mexican-Texan accent. We don’t know if he turned down his annuity, what does look clear to us is that he is big boss of a key foundation in Spain’s future and some even dare say he is part of the board of directors of some “humble” corporations. Not to mention his meritorious deed of placing his sugar plum as the mayor of the realm’s capital. Equally, we shall always cherished in our hearts the picture he was taken at during his daughter’s wedding where he shown himself closely together to his counterpart who would get later involved within a dark, corrupt plot spread all over the País Valencià.


To be continued…


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