Trump wins. This photo speaks for itself

“Now for you they will be kèzzi amèri!”. Getting up in the morning and finding the world upside down: but how, wasn’t everything already planned? And instead. However, hard times for trans people: in Algeria, …

Trump wins. This photo speaks for itself

“Now for you they will be kèzzi amèri!”. Getting up in the morning and finding the world upside down: but how, wasn’t everything already planned? And instead. However, hard times for trans people: in Algeria, boxing with all the male equipment, in the USA… But this is another story, we’ll talk about it, perhaps, later. Now we have to record yet another disaster of Italian opinion with related tears: well, Ciàmp, known as taicùn, won, now for you they will be kèzzi amèri. But not much, up to a certain point, given the complexity of a world as twisted as ever in which my worst enemy is often my best ally. And then we know how things go: those who were filthy rich remain so, the plebs remain plebeians. Regardless.

However, those polls already prophecies! However, those mischievous portraits, one always creamy, the other always vitriolic. There wasn’t a news program that didn’t make it clear how he thought and, consequently, how it would go: the self-fulfilling prophecy, only that, this time too, it didn’t work just as the plethora of ass-kissing bosses and menopausal starlets didn’t work. of their career or in their prime, who deluded themselves, who warned, hieratic, solemn, “vote for the good”, and the good had the one and only face of Kamala with the terrifying laugh. The good! Written on the face of the woke agendaso much preached, so little practiced. But everyone, eh, even the environmentalists for Puff Daddy, the Leos, who knows who, there wasn’t one missing, at a certain point Mick Jagger’s children even appeared, and you said cotica, the children, to say: we vote the good.

Because Taicùn is rich, right? And so all these poor sons of billionaires voted for the good one, the good one, the one who apparently made Catholics spy on Mass. It is said that in the Vatican rooms they even put plugs in the ears of the statues, that the Argentine tenant took it like the cardinal whose clumsy Countess Serbelloni Mazzanti Viendalmare amputated a finger in the middle of the launch of the company’s battleship. After all, Kamala, poor Kamala… What fun though. Months and months of guaranteeing it to us as stupor mundi, the Greatness, the immaculateness of power, as if it hadn’t had anything behind it the ruinous Obama export formatmonths of polls rigged like expired cheeses, capable of a stellar campaign, excellent in overturning predictions and destinies, supreme in countering psychotic America, as an increasingly lucid and democratic Serra wrote, in varied and picturesque company, from the small heroic Parenzo , on which the expert Paola Saulino had definitive words, and so why rage against our dance hall Olier Hardy, Alan Friedman, and a million etc.

Radio, television, newspapers, magazines, traffickers and traffickers: all for her. And the people are with her, the people are with her, God is with her, Jennifer Lopez is with her, the Boss sings for her, Hollywood is with her, the blacks are with her (in short), the red Indians are with her ( not much), the minorities are with her (we’ve seen it), the migrants are with her (of course), the truck drivers travel with her (eeeh!), she is good, she is beautiful, she is a saint, she cannot make mistakes, she cannot betray, like Edoardo Bennato’s singer-songwriter, but why are we doing these polls, she has already won, she has already triumphed, taicùn is not worthy of entering the ring with her, Good wins Evil, and then, damn it: Ciàmp wins. And one gets up in the morning and it’s not so much this, it’s that still with coffee in his throat he gets hit by mourners who explain to you today why the Meravigliosa was supposed to win yesterday and instead Ciàmp, the infamous one, won tomorrow. “Eh, we said so…”. But really no, they had said, preached, hoped, promised, sworn otherwise. You know, the round-robin polls, which are valid for the next day.

Will they be birds for diabetics? We’ll see, but more than half of America, evidently, together with Europe which still thinks, little, today sighs with relief not because it is in love with taicùn but simply at the idea of ​​the nightmare having escaped, the Splendid shining had won: the empowered, relaunched, imposed woke madnessdogmatic more than ever, mystical as never before. In all this waste of false prophecies, of backward prophecies, of dead certainties on the lips, of pained piddinism, no one has been able to indicate the true cause of the defeat of the Good: it is in a photo, it is the lively ex-minister Speranza who, an Italian in Washington, bears a sign of rare wit: K/Amala, ah ah ah. That was definitely the kiss of death. Or the vaccine. And there is a logic, and a Nemesis, in all this because Kamala, the Democrat, had forced hundreds of Americans into the serum, had kindly asked Zuckerberg of Facebook, Dorsey of Twitter, to spy, lie, censor, delete, report, the systematic distortion of social communication on Covid and vaccines to be imposed with the (brute) force of Good.

A dirty affair, although admitted, indeed claimed by the interested parties, who obviously lent themselves with enthusiasm: no blackmail, if anything the conviction of undertaking a crusade for Good, which coincided with the current administration. Here they are the good ones, the democrats. And their saint Kamala, after having done away with her superior, was punished by a sad, clam-like cowherd, one who where everyone arrives casually touches each other, furtively searches each other. What bad luck, oh well, Ciàmp won: not even the separate votes were useful. Will it be a disaster or a triumph? Neither of them, but if the other one had won, it was a certain tragedy and in any case the spectacle of abortionists, genderists, leasing uteruses, migrant workers, electricians in the sense of the car, respectable people with orgies, ass-lickers with the guitar, a rolling and writhing like in Gehenna is priceless.

So, comrades, when will you start expatriating? Come on, line up in two and well ordered, the Vulcania is already waiting for you. And without saying a word, please.

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