Victor Entrialgo De Castro: “The Autumn of the Patriarch”

No.Or is it just that the gallinaceous prowl the Moncloa. And that the undaunted sycophants proclaim Sanchez corrector of earthquakes, pandemics, eclipses, leap years and other errors of God while solving state problems and domestic affairs with the same simplicity, taking away the crime of sedition and putting on the crime of disorder .

That the clocks in the tower do not strike twelve at twelve, but at two, so that the legislature seems longer to him while he meditates in the portable toilet, trying to cover the hum of the Nation with his fingers in his ears. , which begins to be deafening, while an upside-down foreign newspaper is having breakfast to see the gusts of the new day, about which he will once again say the opposite of what he said yesterday without flinching, always attentive to the chatter of his servants to confront the hazards of reality ruling as if it knew it was predestined to never die.

What is the indolent and unworthy waiting for, if not a cowardly Nation, to take to the streets to defend democracy and throw these covachuelistas out of the institutions? They are taking everything from us! We are already Venezuela while they put on the World Cup in Qatar, Salvame and young people watching vampire series when vampires are inside!

Moncloa today does not look like a presidential house but a market for various chickens where foul-mouthed ministers, or their husbands, auction off European funds, crimes and penalties. And the Ministries, useless shells with cows grazing on their lawns that will soon be invaded by hordes of the poor while a train of balls continues to give outlandish justifications for waste.

And in the middle of a night of bad moods, Sanchez proposes to Pere Aragonés that he risk his life with heads or tails: if heads you die, if tails I die, which is good for both of us.

But Aragonés made him see that they were going to die tied, because all the coins had both faces on both sides, and he then proposed that they risk their lives at the domino table twenty games to whoever wins the most. And Aragonés, who says he is not originally from Aragon, you have to be an asshole and a renegade, he accepted, with great honor and pleasure, my general as long as he grants me the privilege of being able to beat him.

And the patriarch accepted it so they didn’t play one game, they played twenty and Aragonés won all of them because the president only won because it was forbidden to beat him. And because he didn’t lose, because he played with all of our money.

And they reached the last game without him winning a single one, and Aragonés wiped the sweat with his shirt sleeve, sighing: I’m so sorry but I have to stop, I don’t want to die President. And of course, not because the country needs him alive, as you say.

But Aragonese continued saying that why am I going to keep quiet if the most I can do is kill myself and it is already killing me, rather take advantage now to see the face of the truth, my general, so that you know that no one has ever told you what really think only what they know you want to hear, while they bow to you in front and gun at you from behind.

I am grateful, if perhaps, for the chance that I am the man who feels most sorry for you in this world because I am the only one who looks like you, said Aragonés, the only one who has the honesty to sing to you everything the world says, that “you He is not president of anyone ».

From no one but from those who gave him the Government, who were not the Spaniards, but the enemies of Spain. And the artifice of usurping sovereignty from the former to give it to the latter is nothing more than you, jerk. And so it will remain for history.

That is why he does not walk the streets of the country that he is supposed to govern, because he knows that the moment they see him on the street dressed as a mortal they will fall on him like dogs to charge him for this, for the dance of Santa María del Altar, this another for the murderers and coup plotters that he releases at his convenience without taking into account what the Nation says, this for those who assault the cemeteries and take them out of the graves at night, sending a thug to make a fool of himself that the Nation is up to date After a night of vampires in the cemetery, that the Nation is more dignified instead of more base, drawing from the bottomless pit of its backward grudges the string of atrocious resources of its regime of infamy.

Victor Entrialgo

Victor Entrialgo De Castro: “The Autumn of the Patriarch” – Digital Journalist