A friend calls me who, many years ago, had an abortion due to circumstances so painful that it makes you want to throw the keyboard against the wall and go to the window to dictate the article to tell me that, if I had to do it now (after the verb abort usually goes "she had to" or "she was forced to", she never "felt like it" or "had the whim of") she would panic, put on the stethoscope and hear, from the depths, but very clearly: "A wolf like me is not for guys like youuuuuuu”.
The call is to encourage me to write about the matter.
But they have already written in this newspaper better and with more authority (
Latido
, Lara Moreno, among others): nothing to add.
Although the call, which made me laugh, leads me to a lighter matter.
Humor – the absurd, the black, the white, the irreproducible – as an escape route from the many nonsense, injustices and nonsense that you have to put up with, not in politics, but in daily life.
The ability, very present in social networks and very little in the media and forums, to recycle bullshit into jokes.
That it is necessary to disarm with arguments, in the case at hand, Vox's nonsense is obvious;
that you need people next to you who just laugh and point, a bit in the Nelson way, too.
These things must be taken seriously, but without forgetting that their natural place should be comedy.
Which is another Spanish tragedy, no less:
In his correspondence, published by Anagrama (
Las cartas de Groucho Marx
), the comedian receives an intemperate letter from Warner Bros to dissuade him from filming
A Night in Casablanca
, since the studios had filmed Casablanca five years earlier (“I am sure that the average movie fan will learn in time to distinguish between Ingrid Bergman and Harpo”, replies, in a long response, Groucho).
The text is a small masterpiece on how to disarm an adversary with ideas and, even better, taking it in stride.
“There seems to be more than one way to conquer a city and keep it under your own control,” he says.
“And what about Warner Brothers?
Is it your property, too?
You probably have the right to use the Warner name, but Brothers?
Professionally, we were
brothers
long before you."
Groucho ends by excusing the company: it has been deceived by "a shyster with the snout of a ferret."
Well, “no smudged-faced legal adventurer is going to cause animosity between the Warners and the Marxes.
We are all brothers under our skins and we will remain friends until the last reel of
One Night in Casablanca
is on its reel."
Needless to say, Warner's lawyers understood nothing of Groucho's letter, and responded by asking, please, for a preview of the argument.
The movie delirium
that Groucho poses knocks them down by KO.
We don't talk about the same thing, but in a certain way yes.
In all those gatherings where very angry people, politicians and journalists, jump on the grotesque hook of proposals aimed exclusively at pissing them off and setting the agenda, someone is missing who reminds the least informed viewer that there are many issues that end up in Congress. and they should never have come out of a
Night
Out gag .
With those responsible doing the same rundown as the director of the program.
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