That’s when the fecal festooned fan goes nuclear,” once more proving that if you want to get the real skinny, the unvarnished score, just haunt the local watering hole. Barmen might as well be spooks tapped into the clandestine pipelines. “Feces flying fast onto federal faces.
“Buddy,” goes the gent’ with the smart frock and even smarter rug. He’s a real looker of a barkeep. The sort that makes you yearn for the old days of prohibition and the dames with the cigarette crates. Now, his oaken pirate leg and the pink painted iguana on his shoulder were matters best laid aside and explored in some other tale.
“Buddy, what I’m talking about is beer. Alcohol. The mana of the gods. The very Elixir of Life. The Award Winning Panty Wrangler. The Full Bodied zest of our forefather. You have to know your patrons, and in Caracas, the moment that the suds become a hard commodity to find is the very moment the top will explode. No sooner will the lager dry out, that they’ll be playing volleyball with the head of that ass we call the President. We’re willing to wipe our behinds with lotions and school notebooks. We’ll get very creative as far as safe sex and a lack of Trojans. And, we will even explore culinary horizons viewed from afar like alchemy. But, there is one thing we will never tolerate – a clear mind. That’s why that raving buffoon up there will never expropriate Polar Industries.” Here, he points with his middle finger straight at the television screen.
A Society Being Herded Straight Into An Asylum
This boy who at 14 is carrying a 9 mm pistol has his brain full of thousands of hours of broadcast series in which people kill people. These days we are watching Spider-Man 3 … It is one of the series that young children most like.
-President Maduro blaming Peter Parker’s Alter Ego on National T.V., for Venezuela’s crime spree.
Everybody in Venezuela is one drink away from being tipsy and going postal. The world is on its tippy-toes in anxious anticipation; waiting for the surreal shit to start and make the front page exciting again.
“Bang bang,” went a medieval mallet. A demented toad was practicing his whack-a-mole routine on the airwaves and promoting a zero tolerance policy towards rebel reptiles. Once more, as was now the clockwork routine, the lights had gone out in half the country. Complete sections were reduced to caveman standards. No dildos and vibrators knew the joys of electricity. Fred and Wilma in search of candles and matches, that by all accounts had been missing from the supermarket shelves since 2014. The man, the President’s proto-minion, was ranting like a loon, a drunken loon.
“Bang, Bang,” the animal routine continued. Promises to implement a multi-million dollar investigation were put forth. “A little bird told me that a clandestine Yankee organization is training the Iguanas in the art of guerrilla warfare. This government will not be destabilized by the CIA and her scaly pets!” Once more proving that any regime bankrupt of even the slightest intelligent ideology strives on seeing enemies where there are none and swims in kaleidoscopic whitecaps of Special K.
The bizarreness reached a new height this week when the Venezuelan government announced that the major blackout Ciudad Guayana had suffered the day before was to be blamed, not on years of mismanagement and underinvestment, but on a wily possum that had chewed through cables at a local substation.
-The New York Times
Throughout the bar, heads shake, wallets are opened and wages settled. On a blackboard, in white chalk, odds on which scapegoat the government would pick – the Iguana came in second, right after Rebel forces, two rungs above El Niño, and just before Godzilla. Curiously, the constabulary had already used the emerald leather pigeon on two other occasions. Tokyo’s bad boy waited for his turn, certain that his time would come.
“They are getting soft,” said the bartender. “Repeating the same scenarios. Lacking creativity and originality. Reruns…”
Life continued as if nothing odd was taking place. Up by the television, the polliwog politician entertained his entourage of reprobates. Stacked rows of sick sycophants clapped like walruses for their scrap of fetid fish of the day. Aisles bloated and fat with undue riches, yet hollow inside and missing a core. Vessels, empty, having sold all in a hellish garage sale for pennies. The Devil felt jibbed.
Then, the main attraction snatched the spotlight. El Presidente upstaged the conniving crackpot with a series of so many non-sequiturs that the fella’ was either having a seizure or orchestrating a beatnik freestyle retelling of Lewis Carroll’s brilliant acid trip.
Multiply ourselves, like Christ multiplied the penises.
-President Maduro, August 2014 on National TV, playing loose with the Bible. A slip of the tongue, that happened twice, “peces”:fishes versus, “penes”: dicks. His interpretation on how to combat food shortages.
The canteen continued on its merry way, not even flinching when the Commander In Chief talked about Hugo Chavez’s ghost as if he had a direct line with the compost heap Commandant. He had a national Ouija board under the control of a cabal from Mattel. Clearly, the intelligence service’s main tool in banana espionage.
“Business as usual,” went all.
That scene alone is the true heartache of Venezuela. It is a unequivocal fact that the country, its populace as a whole, have become willing inmates in an insane asylum. More than 15 years of drinking the Kool-Aid has done its number on the old cerebral cortex. It is gray matter resembling bubbling dog puke slowly macerating on a steaming sidewalk. You can’t help but be gobsmacked, punched by sheer bewilderment, at the society’s downward spiral into senselessness. So many stupefying acts of random dementia, that for a second you feel as though they might have failed to pass out the crazy pills back in immigration.
When Did It All Start To Go Down The Shiter
I have always said, heard, that it would not be strange that there had been civilization on Mars, but maybe capitalism arrived there, imperialism arrived and finished off the planet.
-Chavez pontificating on National T.V marking World Water Day, 2011.
For many years, an almost kindergarten-like handling of the very pillars of the government has led this once thriving nation into a state akin to the wild west. Absolute chaos, civil disobedience and marauding bands of street hooligans are fixed fixtures on the local landscape. What should likely be, given its export, the Dubai of the western hemisphere has in turn transformed into a countryside that even Somali pirates refer to as a shit-hole.
During Hugo Chavez’ reign, Venezuela was nothing more than a disguised autocracy. One charismatic supreme being who held firm to the leashes of a gaggle of hungry jackals. One man, that although flawed and whose many blunders are now the galvanizing force behind these landslides of turmoils, managed to control, helm, and bandage the holes in a rotten and sinking ship. His mutant power was sheer will and bending reality to his vision. What he could not control was cancer, for everything else he simply twisted the table in his favor. No sooner had his body turned cold, that those very vile vermin he had restrained went mad with power. Their dash to plunder what was left of the dying vessel was fast and precipitous; a lightning blitzkrieg that stripped everything clean, including the floorboards, the life vests, and the escape pods. Two years later, the boat remains afloat, out of inertia, and the rats have infested everything.
Venezuela holds a society hostage. A civilization balancing not on a cliff put a pin head, nothing but vast open air, ready to swallow them all down. It’s a society looking to all sides and seeing nothing more than the heralded call of doomsday. Each horizon spells ruin and desolation. To the north there is flimsy civil infrastructures about to collapse and send everybody into the dark ages. To the south, venturing on the wings of mosquitoes and riding the surf of a faulty sanitation system, its a storm of cataclysmic proportions. Down by the west, a foolhardy economic system whose very currency holds less weight than Monopoly money. And finally, to the east, a political chessboard lined on one side by an official power-base rotted into a state of theocracy and an opposition who couldn’t find their dicks with a magnifying glass while trying to piss.
Everyone’s To Blame
After all, diplomacy is the art of saying “nice doggie” until you can find a rock. The problem the Venezuelan people have yet to realize is the fact, that although they’ve managed to secure almost two-thirds of Congress in the last elections, said representatives have long ago been neutered.
When the opposition, after almost 10 years, once more seized the majority, they came in like a conquering army. An army about to expunge the usurpers. Campaign promises, a list of buzz-worthy initiatives, plans of attacks. They sold themselves as the second coming of Christ, instead, so far, they’ve fizzled out like Crystal Coke. Almost 3 months warming the benches with nothing but their fingers seeking gold in their ear canals. Their only victory? Having taken down Hugo Chavez’s portrait from the wall.
Throw out all of that rubbish for me.
-Henry Ramos when he commanded to take down the pictures of Chavez from the whole of the National Assembly
The only positive point on their score card? A makeover. Top marks on redecorating the hallowed halls of legality. Way to go, lads! It’s sort of like exclaiming you’re going to fix the corroded mezzanine, the waterlogged basement, the termite infested support beams and scotched together a roof. “It’s a promise!” Handing over a bill of wages and coming out a month later, hardhat and greased up, proclaiming in triumph “compañeros, we’ve done some light spring cleaning!” Bowing for a standing ovation. Ominous creak in the background.
Aside from that lofty triumph, the only other thing they’ve accomplished is to give pundits catchy headlines. They’ve sold smoke; the fire is a specter they fear. Political dissidents and prisoners? Someday. An economic plan and stimulus package? Eventually. The yearned kick in Maduro’s keister? Soon. A close inspection of corruption charges and a Supreme Court appointee? In the future. Notice the trend? A vague outline that might very well mean tomorrow as well as next century. Meanwhile, they bluster and puff out their pigeon chests, screaming bloody revolt and soon it will end. All the while stepping back and readjusting their tampons.
The whole of the assembly stirs the pot, claiming the end is nigh while squirming below their witch’s gown trying to draw our sights away from the massive red welt printed on their derriere.
You’re astonished by the level of daydream revenge fantasy the National Assembly is nursing. An awe-inspiring masturbatory session of epic proportions. One giant round of circle jerking with Ramos Allup handing out the vital porn; only, instead of Playboys and Penthouse, it’s a collection of Guns and Ammo and crayon drawings of Maduro hanging by his testicles.
We have discovered something terrible … you’ve only seen one percent of what we’ve found,” Maduro said during his first month of campaigning for the presidency. “The videos and photos of the orgies are unpublishable.
-Maduro making homophobic remarks directed at his opponent Henrique Capriles, during the inauguration of a funicular at Petare slum in Caracas August 14, 2013. Reuters.
Reply, homosexual! Accept the challenge, faggot!
-Pedro Carreno one of Maduro’s lackeys adding wood to the fire that very day… He further drove home the idea with the following remark.
What they (opposition leaders) do with their asses is their problem, but they should get serious.
On the other side of the aisle, an official pantheon lead by thugs and desperadoes. A strong-arm faction of vultures picking what’s left of the meat from that carcass known as Venezuela. A scatterbrained mass of delinquents who know there is no need to go the extra mile and cover their tracks because they are surrounded by pussies. For years, they’ve been feeding the populace and the opposition tasty piles of horse manure; they’ve complained, they’ve coughed up and demanded something else, but come supper, they’ll open up and take what they’re given. They’ve succumbed to plot induced stupidity but given that they are the highest rated show on the air, they see no need to change their ways.
They track through the governmental affairs on rickety rails of nebulous responsibility and hazy planning, showing little to no foresight and a clear case of inbreeding.
The problem is that we rely on servers like Google and Firefox that are search engine technology that we don’t have under our national control. That’s why we launched two satellites into space and one of them is meant specifically to materialize our own technological platform so that we can assert our independence and control this situation.
-Maduro before a crowd in December 2014, giving a speech on Venezuela’s “Economic War” and it’s 3 digit inflation rate.
Maduro’s biggest gripe, the one stone he can’t seem to shake off, is a the collapse of the Bolivar. In his two years in control, the statistics have basically gang raped him against a pinball machine. The wildly skyrocketing inflation has passed the three digits and actually knocked the doors on the fourth. Once more, proving that everyone is off their medication, the federal blame game has pinned the damaging debacle on an internet portal… A lone Website called Dolartoday. If that’s the case, their inefficiency is a thing to write papers on. They should just quit out of a sense of honor. Get someone who doesn’t let a two-bit portal pass economic policy and throw a monkey wrenches in a well oiled gubernatorial plan for peace on earth and happy-happy-joy time. A he said, she game debacle, exasperated by a doped out public and a hired beehive of acceptance.
The Offspring of Political Inbreeding
A country caught in the crossfire. Three factions, the Opposition, “The Chavistas” and the public. The majority, the electorate, stumped in the middle. The first two staring each other down while simultaneously wiping the business end of their digestive track with ruby laced TP.
A standoff of mythical proportions. Each side banking on the other’s stupidity. The question is not whether the country will go postal, but when it goes: Will it will be a coup of strategy and sound planning? Or simply the boozed-out desperate act of a couple of frat boys?
Each legislative session is a circus. A tent-pole performance on all sides. The dynamics usually popg into the same narrative over and over again. A cat-fight, a caterwaul of insults, unique noteworthy insults, wild invectives flying like confetti, a slowly devolving microcosm that shows we truly spring forth from monkey DNA and finally a big explosion. Alderaan becomes nothing more than a cluster of asteroids. Henry Ramos Allup and his lackey poke out from the room and face the cameras, once more telling us,“We have them by the balls.” It’s a declaration, I have no doubt, is entirely factual. It’s in the details that the dilemma arises. The MUD (Mesa De Unidad Democratica/the Opposition) is selling a vice like grip while in reality, behind chamber doors, it’s more a case of a warm, fuzzy, gentle, climax inducing pet.
It’s Darth Vader and his cronies, on National T.V., shrieking like banshees and spitting out venom laced with bigotry and hatred.
Each use the other as the legendary substitute for their continuous fuck-ups. Both sides promise a revolution. The revolution is indefinitely postponed until everyone gets back from vacation. Latin America’s financial capital, Miami, racks in the economic boom.
In this Demonstrably unstable political cavalcade, this madcap grapple for power, the people are left stunned and back-stabbed. Each day is a roller-coaster ride of ups, downs, free-falls, sudden stops and vomit inducing uncertainty; the spin never ends.
The Wake Up Call
Let’s finish the argument that it is discriminatory only to shorten the mandate of the president — I propose three amendments: one to shorten the time of the Executive, another to do the same with the legislature and one for the Supreme Court.
-Henry Ramus Allup, February 17, 2016, on why they’ll spearhead Constitutional Amendments and not a legal Mandate Revocation, by public suffrage. The latter could have Maduro out by May, the former is a pipe-dream that “might” see him gone by 2017.
I mean, have the leaders ever heard of Netflix? You just want to snatch those false prophets, those “politicos”, by the hair and sit them in front of a screen each time they come up with such witty remarks as, “We are working on a plan to shorten the Presidential period. Peacefully, we want to remove Maduro by Christmas. Revoke his mandate. The constitutional plan is one we can implement by May. Although legal, it’s hardly ideal.”
“Here, you faux roustabouts, take notes and cowboy the fuck up!”
Switch on Winter on Fire: Ukraine’s Fight for Freedom, fast forward to the very end when the President said he was willing to resign by December, in 8 months. Glue them to the screen and yank their ears up as the mob went apeshit. Was there a deafening silence? Nope, just a mad stampede for flammable material, stout sturdy sticks and a Molotov cocktail mix. The general consensus… “The fucker has to go, now. Not in 8 months. But now!”
That’s my first advice, but, knowing it will fall on the blind, the dumb, the deaf, and the nut-less, here’s a 3 prong attack, a quick remedy for all the woes that assail the country.
Fixes To Straighten The Cart
Let’s defenestrate all these ill-advised economic boondoggles, those cockamamies, demonstrably unstable displays of goofball intelligence. Away into the night with insane whirlpools of fanciful fiction. Venezuela is a linchpin in the world chessboard, a valued commodity in the international marketplace, not the fucking Shire. Time for course corrections, lest the future finally clips off its citizens’ testicles.
So let’s ditch tanks of gasoline that cost 4 times less than 7-Up, a dollar reward system that needs advance algebra, a working knowledge of Dothraki and LSD just to decipher. Above all, will someone with some common sense whack the Vice President over the head and tell him, “Dude, are you stoned? This isn’t the middle age, growing our own food stock isn’t a viable option?”
Hey, I have a plan! A freebie, President Maduro. It’s a three-point plan of action that’s guaranteed to uplift that bloody carcass called the Bolivar and start improving the national growth statistics.
One: Start booking and charging for presidential appearances. Jerry Seinfeld does it, why can’t you? A collection of faulty logic and the insight of a pet rock. The president is either the second coming of Andy Kaufman or it’s a fatal case of brain damage. I say release the spastic and watch the coffers bulk up. Hell, I’ll even be his agent.
How I could not agree to represent someone who is so clearly insane. Guess which of the three below he actually spoke in public.
- “I call Venezuelan Youth to move to the country to build the revolution by harvesting potatoes.”
- “I saw a bird… Chávez was that bird, we communicated through whistles and he blessed me and ordered me to have a perfect victory.”
- “Measure my heart with your telescope (pointing at a stethoscope) and tell me what you see.”
-3 Of Maduro’s quotes, headlines said by the very man on his syndicated National T.V. show
That’s right. All the above.
Two: Make dope and ganja legal. Let’s be truthful, it worked wonders for Colorado and Uruguay. Unlike them, Venezuela is already one foot in the game. Who am I kidding? Venezuela might as well teach and pass doctrine on the subject. They say the government is in bed with the cartels, in reality, they’re having a rousing orgy and passing the zucchini. You know who has disposable income by the truckloads? Trust fund hippies with a penchant for dipping their hooters in moon-dust. It’s a fast viable way to reactive a dying economy. It’s a job fair free for all, and a venture capitalist bonanza that will have all the other presidents green with envy and kicking their lackey’s behind for their lack of vision. It’s a given. A clear case of why hasn’t it been implemented yet? Almost all the infrastructure needed is already in place, just ask Diosdado. I’m sure he can score the country some primo deals.
An elite unit of the US Drug Enforcement Administration (DEA) and prosecutors from New York and Miami are gathering evidence provided by cocaine ex-traffickers and informants who were close to (these) senior Venezuelan officials and army deserters.
-Quote from DEA official’s who are building a case against Maduro’s right-hand man, Diosdado Cabello. So far, Venezuela has become a hub for drug trafficking.
The Godsons/nephews of the First Lady were arrested on November 12, 2015, after being discovered in Haiti with over 800 kilos of coke. They pleaded, like a Lethal Weapon villain, diplomatic immunity.
Three: If the government is truly serious about weaning away from an oil base economic plateau and venturing into different areas, they should start hiring a gaggle of TV producers. Sell their antics as a 24-hour reality show, start shoveling in the big bucks. Every day is a prime-time smorgasbord of political mud fights, social injustice, highbrow sessions of blame the Iguana, a Secret Service game of Shield The President from The Mangos, corporate sponsorship for merchandise devised in Venezuela – The Vergatario Phone, The Reina Pepiada Satellite, beautiful luscious beaches, rampant violence and more miss universes and silicon tit than you can shake a stick at!