Sunday, December 26, 2010

The Putrid and the Pure

Do You Reject Berlusconi, Father of Sin and Prince of Darkness?

Jeeesus, What's that smell?


What? Who's calling me?

Pay attention now. Can you remember your surname?

Of course I can! My surname is...


Well... it's... it's personal.

Do you remember your job?

Yes, in a few moments I think I... But please, open the window, I just cand stand this smell, it stinks just like... rotten flesh?

Can you remember your birthdate?

Well, It's... eleven... twentynine... seventy... thirteen... I beg your pardon, I'm a little confused.

Can you remember your death date?

No, I am sorry. I can't

In what year do you think we are?

Two thousand and... and something.

We are sorry, there's not a soft way to tell you this. We are now in 2273.


Now, what do you think about it? Please answer frankly: do you think you are alive?

Well, I would be really, really old. And maybe I wouldn't... smell like this.

Leonardo, you have been resurrected.

Great! Jesus, I knew you'd been coming! And you know, I've always been a catholic deep inside, even if sometimes...

This is not the catholic resurrection.

Shit. I knew it. You're Jews. I'm screwed.

We are Antiberlusconians.

Oh, come on, you are joking.

Our civilization stands upon the ruins of yours, supported by some unfaltering pillars. One of them is the reject of any berlusconis.

Any of them.


Even those nice little ones, with curly hair... what have they done to you?

You can't understand. In your times, “Berlusconi” was still a family name. Now it's a common name, which means evil, bad, wicked, disgusting, ignoble, sordid, morbid...

All right, now I understand.

...Vessel of Insanity, Ark of Bribery, Tabernacle of Corruption...

I've told you I understand.

Don't you dare interrupt the Litanies of Berlusconi! Or we should re-start from the beginning.

Hey, you really believe in all this berlusconi thing.

It's one of our unfaltering pillars. The reject of all berlusconis.

Well, I have to say I like it and... I feel very honored to take a part in it even if I am... I am stinking a lot, I'm sorry, could you deodorize me some way?

You're smelling right for us. But why did you say you feel “honored”?

Well, I mean... you resurrected me... I don't think you're doing this to everyone.

No, we're not. We have plenty of people on this planet, without disturbing the dead.

So, maybe you're ressurecting just some people who... who left you some interesting stuff.

That wouldn't be very clever. In that case we would keep your stuff and brought you flowers sometimes.


You have to know that every year, the 29th day of the 9th month we 'celebrate' the father of all berlusconis.

Right, the progenitor! So you want to know how it was to live at his times, well, I am your man, definitely.

You know, I could tell you a thousand stories...

What a moron.
He just does not understand.
Silence, comrades.

Leonardo, you have to know that every year, the 29th day of the 9th month, we hold a trial against some wicked berlusconian who lived in the past.

I've got it, just like that pope, Formoso... that's cool! And what about me, am I the witness, shall I testify...

You are the accused.


Please stand up.

How could I? I have no feet, anyway... hey, it works... I am floating in the air! Your technology is science fiction to me!

It's the middle age technology for the marionette show, you are suspended by wires.

Still, it works great. Quite scenographic. However, this is a big mistake. I'm just not the one you need.

Are you pleading not guilty?

I am not berlusconian, I've never been. If you only could read what I wrote about him...

Yes we could. You are one of the most read and discussed authors of XXI century.

What? Me?

Don't flatter yourself! That would be berlusconi!

Yes, but try to understand... first you resurrect me, then you say I am a great author...

We don't think you're a great author. 25 years ago the internet collapsed, and we lost almost every bit of Italian literature of your time.

But you still had paper books, I suppose.

Paper? What's... Oh, yes, paper. No, we had already burnt that stuff.


Fuel. To make the internet work.

So you've lost...

Every Italian book written in the XXI century, except for the 62 books by Travaglio the Prophet and a good half of Parodi's Cotto e mangiato. And some of your posts we recovered on a usb key in the pocket of a jacket lost in a lundry.

Funny. Still, I think you couldn't find any apology of berlusconi there, because I never wrote anything like that...

This is Blasphemy!
You rotten snake!
Please, comrades! Let the Evil come out and manifest itself.

Leonardo, do you deny you wrote, in december 2010 – that it was necessary to love Berlusconi?

Well, I didn't really mean it, I...

Do you deny you wrote, in april 2009, that it was necessary to teach our daughters to give themselves to Berlusconi "not for money or for fame, but for their own pleasure?"

Well, I could even wrote something like that, but I wasn't serious, I was...

Do you recognize the following statements? “I want twenty minutes of Berlusconi, every evening, on every network. It's not enough to prosecute those who criticize him: I think we should prosecute those who omit to praise him every day. In every speech. About every matter. Morning horoscopes. Football reports”.

I see. You didn't burn only the books. I guess you have burnt irony with them.

Don't berlusconi with us! We obviously know what the irony is! We read Socrates and we read Pirandello.

So you understand I was not really serious while I wrote those lines.

But you should have been serious! Your times were serious! More serious than you've ever been! We know how irony works, and we know how you used it to sweeten the bitter berlusconi pill your readers had to swallow! You subtle snake, you really think we couldn't get it? You humanized the repulsive "daddy" who flirted with a 17-year-old girl, the biggest gaffeur of all the European Parlament. Didn't you?

Listen, I know, Berlusconi was the bitterest pill. I can only say... those were my times. I had to swallow it too. Sometimes when I came home, and I was tired... irony was the only thing that helped me to survive. So I wrote and laugh at the Beast. Is this a crime?

So you confess! You laughed at the Beast you should have fought!

Yes, I did laugh, and maybe I did not fight enough. Maybe I just lost my faith after a while, and then I just kept on laughing, not to cry. Maybe if I had more faith, maybe I could have helped Berlusconi to fall... because he is fallen, right?

Of course he is!

Great. So you can condemn me if you like, but please, just tell me how his story ended, because I really did not remember, maybe I was buried already...

We were saved by the Pure. Those men and women who did not cooperate with the Beast, as you did. Those who never softened the Snake with the faible irony of the weak, I mean you.

The pure. Well, I did not know about them.


But where did they come from?

They were far from your mass-media circle. Some of them were in clandestinity, hiding from the crowd.

Yes, it was the only way. Hiding out in caves. I should have known better.

Some were in confinement, some in captivity, but they never stopped fighting and hoping. We have carved on our temples their names – names you probably never heard: Gianfranco Fini, Pierferdinando Casini...

Wait, what?

Don't you dare to interrupt the holy litanies of the heroic Comrades who saved us from the fetid Snake! Gianfranco Fini, the column of righteousness, who never bowed to the lure of Arcore, Pier Ferdinando Casini, a champion of chastity, which at a glance converted a hundred of escorts, Enrico Mentana ...


The bravest and most elusive of the reporters, who fought with his samizdat for twenty years the domination of Mediaset; Carlo Taormina .... 


... Tower of justice, fearless judge who among a hundred and a thousand perils and perfidious attacks pursued to incriminate him; and the wisest of the wise, the Man who without any unfair slice of pity gave him to the shivering crowd wielding pitchforks. ..

Let me guess this one. Gianni Letta.

Complements. But how can you remember ...

It does not matter. So you have been saved by Fini, Casini, Mentana, Taormina, Letta...

Do not muck with your filthy tongue the holy names who delivered us from evil!

Yeah, right, that would Berlusconi. Let's get over it. I plead guilty. I request the death penalty.

But you're already dead.

So what punishment do you have in mind?

We shall throw your bones in the river Tiber, we'll scratch your name from any document or monument, and we'll let mold and rust invade your beloved birth place.

You mean the General Modena Hospital? That won't be so expensive, I guess.

You guess right.

Low budget, I presume.

Cut budget. You know... this crisis.

Which crisis? I ressurect in 2200s and you aren't out of the crisis yet?

The next semester maybe. In the meanwhile...

You can't throw money to punish dead bodies.

That would... er...


It was on the tip of my tongue.

I knew it. Can I go now?

No, now we let the children in.

What, you show them a marionette show with a dead man? That's horrible.

They have little arrows. When they catch your eyes they win a chocolate gianfranco.

That's cool.

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