Netflix looks more and more like the old drawer of the Vips, those containers in which we put our hand and took out books, video games or movies, a little to the tuntún. Digging these days to avoid seeing the electoral debates of the regional chains, I have come across a thing entitled The apocalypse of the past. They put the words "apocalypse" and "past" together and I get a very pleasant table torpor. If we add some Nazis or UFOs, I fall fried by Pavlovian reflex. What a good series of balance for nap.
This coso narrates the adventures of Graham Hancock, a man with the appearance of an English lord who has been living big for years thanks to the dissemination of a series of crackpots, the fattest of which is that there was a very advanced civilization back in prehistory of which we do not remember, but whose existence is proposed to demonstrate. Without slowing down the budget, Hancock goes sightseeing through archaeological sites around the world, where he always finds someone who follows the flow and feeds his delirium.
As the minutes progressed and I could not fall asleep, I discovered with discomfort that this no longer amused me. There was a time when these things were a harmless game, a pop pastime, but they can no longer be viewed with irony. Hancock is part of a conspiratorial international that has mobilized and that sometimes gives him to storm parliaments, and others, to stand for election. Those of us who looked sympathetically at Jiménez del Oso as a charismatic showman now wake up from sleep. Something similar has happened with electoral propaganda: those exalted geeks who occupied the strips of free advertising today have seats and mayoral rods. Tonight, after the count, not a few will win public office. So there is no one who takes a nap.
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