With the column of a week ago, "There is no place for any Marx here", I was certainly very short.
Of course, I wrote it when the comical and suspicious vote on the Labor Reform in Congress had not yet taken place, which is worth recalling: a Navarrese party had promised to approve it, but at the last moment its two representatives appealed to their murky Navarrese thought and disobeyed their Navarrese orders.
And, oh chance, then, or a little earlier, a PP deputy claimed to have been wrong four times and voted in favor, while his other colleagues voted against.
The PSOE affirmed without proof that the Navarrese thinkers had been bribed by the PP, and on the other hand nobody has suggested the possibility that the PSOE bribed the clumsy, when it seems quite logical: can one be so clumsy, really,
like the deputy called Casero?
That erroneous or bought vote was decisive for the aforementioned Reform to be approved, with which the Minister of Labor Díaz, instead of failing resoundingly, obtained only an unappealable moral failure.
This vote not only expelled from this time and this country the Marx Brothers, but also Chaplin, Laurel and Hardy, Buster Keaton, Jerry Lewis, Bob Hope, Monty Python, those responsible for
Land as best you can
and of course Gila, one of whose phone gags could well have been: "Can the Ministers of Labor or Equality be on?"
“No, right now they are very busy voting.”
“Oh.
The Labor Reform?
“No, man, what does it say.
The song of the Benidorm Festival”.
It would have lacked grace, being realistic.
The moment when I usually lose all interest and wash my hands repeatedly, with soap and gel, is the moment in which the allies begin to hate and fight each other.
It is the sign of this legislature, governed by a coalition that claims to be “in excellent health” while they taunt and criticize each other, blame each other, trip each other and stab each other.
Those of the current PSOE, to make matters worse, hate those of the old PSOE, and those of Podemos, short-lived, have already split well: Más País, the Galician Mareas, the Andalusian section, the Catalan section of Colau...
And what about the Catalan independentistas: it is difficult to find interest in people from the Stone Age, when humans were also stony and incapable of reasoning, understanding or even listening.
But if, in addition, those from Esquerra abhor Junts × Cat, these from the CUP, these from the Colauitas and these from the annexed PSC, then one simply turns one's back on them.
Barely a month had passed since the exile of all modern comedians when the brawl of the PP came to also kick out Aristophanes, Plautus and Terence.
The leadership accused its most celebrated leader, Díaz Ayuso, of corruption, who, for her part, had been throwing darts and arrows at the party President, Casado, and his lieutenant Egea for some time.
It must be remembered that this woman had been appointed by Casado himself to run for the Presidency of the Community of Madrid, which she won more than enough, sweeping away, among others, her fatuous opponent Iglesias, who — don't forget — abandoned the Vice Presidency of the Government to take Madrid away from him.
She also named Cayetana Álvarez de Toledo spokesperson for her formation, to then file and sanction her, while the kindest thing she says about her party is summed up as follows: "He is a dump."
Previously Albert Rivera sank Ciudadanos and left it useless for his successor Arrimadas, who in turn had his brawls with co-religionists.
If we get out of politics, the panorama does not change, it is one of division: some feminists are facing others on account of transgender people, who a new law consecrates as women or men at the will of the applicants.
And other feminists are at odds over prostitution: some want to abolish and ban it, without learning from history that it has never worked, and others to regularize it so that workers in the sector have greater protection and hygiene, medical attention and others.
That is, the greatest adversary of feminists today is…different feminists.
The impression caused is that nobody wants to govern or achieve power or become independent;
no one aspires to improve or organize anything in any field;
and that everyone, absolutely everyone, is only attentive to their ridiculous little plot or chair, to their insignificant desires and their Byzantine discussions;
and that, consequently, no one works or imagines or thinks, as everyone is absorbed in what has already been achieved: in their salaries, in their positions, in their tiny organizations, in their furtive and pleased glances in the mirror (despite the tremendous competition, the maximum example of conceit is Laura Borràs).
I don't know how they expect to be taken seriously.
I don't know how the cheap media dedicate pages and hours to this patulea of puerile and boastful vagrants, incapable of running a country.
Not even Freedonia, that insane nation of
Goose soup
ruled by Groucho Marx, could these lead.
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