Waking up in the morning and discovering that the world no longer exists or perhaps it’s you who no longer exists, you’re no longer the same, you’re a Martian who doesn’t understand the world. And you are not in Rome, like Flaiano’s, but in Washington, New York, Wisconsin, in short you are preparing to vote for the most cumbersome democracy where choosing a president costs 20 billion dollars. All burned in communication, that is, electoral advertising. And you see two that you don’t understand, you have to prefer one but you don’t understand, they are two Martians or rather the Martian is you.
Courage Martian, don’t get discouraged, don’t let yourself be confused, you have to vote. There are two with certain creative stylings. One, the conservative one, is a billionaire friend of an even bigger billionaire who says: electric cars are ruin, and he invented them, but now he promises to occupy Mars with rockets and a certain Italian Ilaria Salis has already booked. They define the candidate with the dough without fail “tycoon”pronounced taicùn, in the Piedmontese style, passes for reactionary but they curse him because he looks ahead, too ahead, for better or worse. The other is defined as progressive but with your head screwed backwards, to a time that no longer exists if it ever existed.
Don’t you understand anything, Martian? Then go to Wikipedia, which being the people’s encyclopedia, even if the funding never ends up with the people, says things the way the people like them: the taicùn is defined for pages and pages like a sort of Al Capone in Hitler sauce, in his life he has never done anything other than evil, but evil, infamous. The progressive appears for pages and pages as a savior of humanity, a cross between Mother Teresa, Leonardo da Vinci and Einstein, but good, as Fantozzi’s servile employees say of the megadirector. So how come the two phonates are in the balance? Because the affairs of the newborn who chooses the sex on his own and of the two esteemed professionals who go to buy it in Argentina, papal land, happen in Europe but are of American import, of a weird but deadly satanist cathedral called wokeand the world savior faction represents it, while Taiwan says: with me this massacre, never. And all the wikipedias and media in the world can say that this is the progress and civilization that people like, only that people don’t like it, only a small portion of privileged people like it, convinced that the world needs more and more laws, more and more institutions, more and more State to impose on the plebs everything that is not valid for them.
Donating Trump is crazy and at 78 he seemed more over the top than ever, perhaps a little out of control. He is a taicùn, to say a businessman for whom his word is worth nothing, someone who swears to do or not do something and in the meantime does the exact opposite (for this reason once, in 1989, he risked ending up stabbed by Keith Richards of the Rolling Stones before a concert in Las Vegas, in an arena owned by Trump: in the end nothing happened because the host’s bodyguards were less dupes than those of the rock band, and ended up recoiling). Someone who, if you throw his tax evasions in your face, will reply, well? Am I not a dragon? But he is also someone who he understood some things and he doesn’t betray them. For example, that what remains of the working class, let’s say the American post-proletariat, you cannot openly define as “miserable beggars, I think of the banks”, as did his first antagonist, Hillary Clinton, wife of someone who had already been president.
Taicùn also thinks about the banks, having a few billion dollars to manage, but he goes to the beggars, listens to them, shows or pretends to consider them and takes away their votes. The same with immigrants: here you don’t pass, he promises, but adding that those willing to become truly good Americans can make it to become like him. Colossal nonsense, but what does politics live on? And they vote for him. Unreliable Donald also understood that America was tired to be the policeman of the world, at least in a direct form, and promised that with him music would change. Call it, if you want, isolationism, but unlike his predecessors (right, Obama?), he maintained and now many think or delude themselves: if he doesn’t manage to stop Israel and those other two, who are similar, between Russia and Ukraine… Wikipedia’s stupor mundi, Kamala Harris, certainly can’t make it.
Which is indefinable, white? No, black? Not really, redhead? Well, in short, a little skin, a lot of head but the suspicion is that it’s all an act. It is certainly as distant from the plebs as the “progressive” precursors, and more than them it sponsors an agenda so unsustainable that, in fact, it is forced to deny it, to betray it point by point: integrationist, but just talking; immigrationist, but Trump is careful not to tear down the walls, rather he extends them; welcoming, but goes to Mexico to warn: stay calm, don’t move, if you pass through there we will make you regret it; genderist, open space family, more compulsory than free abortion, post market uterus but in reality wife, female mother in the most traditional American way, almost bigoted, the only thing that changes is money, which she doesn’t lack either, after a life at the top of practically all the top institutions. And the unreliable one would be taicùn? He seems crazy, she seems stupid. She has snubbed the press, she has avoided confrontations, if pressed for inconsistencies, which happens regularly, she laughs, laughs a hollow and arrogant laugh, and does not respond. Blacks still choose it, but less than beforethe red natives really don’t, and not even the very powerful lorry drivers’ union lobby. The ultra-progressive megataicun Bezos himself dumped her: there must be a reason.
In politics there are always loads of reasons, and they are not enough because politics is not an exact science. But, in the end, net of the money, the funding, the lobbies, the tours, the gombollotti, the resets, do you know what remains, my dear Martian? The simplest and most inevitable thing remains, the face remains, which then falls on your stomach: either you digest it or it stays there, it comes back to you and this translates into a vote. Trump is undoubtedly a son of a bitch, and if he ever read us there is no doubt he would send us a smug tweet. But he knows how to do it. We hate him but without convictionmore out of official duty, like the plethora of vippastri who threaten, if he wins I’ll expatriate and then he wins and they put on shows in the arenas that bear his name, because taicùn is a megalomaniac. That Springsteen, dem ass-kissing boss!
Kamala, on the other hand, no matter how hard she tries, is as captivating as a catastrophe, as spontaneous as a mirage, as authentic as a photocopy of banknotes: they are gifts or condemnations of nature, there is nothing to be done. Biden, who you progressively eliminated with a reputation for being a fool, but who perhaps we all underestimated, took revenge with a donkey kick a few hours before the vote: Called Trump voters “trash” provoking a transhumance of a million voters from his deputy to the “scoundrel” who saddens Leo di Caprio, an environmentalist on a supertanker, a champion of women’s rights who partied with Puff Daddy; ditto for the Taylor Swiftfor Jennifer Lopez, all proclaiming: let’s stop the scoundrel, let’s vote for the good. The scoundrel, Taicùn, promptly had himself depicted dressed as a garbage collector driving a Piaggio Ape.
Media triumph, but it’s not this: imagine, in reverse, the sophisticated, contemptuous, racist Harris in the same shoes: she would arouse neither sympathy nor amusement nor self-irony, she would only be pitied and angry and she knows it. In the end, the people, the plebs, prefer sons of bitches to snobbish assholes. It has already happened and it risks happening again. And what are you doing, Martian in Washington? How do you put it?
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