Godzilla Lives!

Where Godzilla is the Italian government, which is Berlusconi and the best politicians his money can buy, and underfoot is the country he’s destroying. Nature of the beast.

The weird part is that he’s been dead for years, and everyone pretends the contrary. The emperor has a stick behind his back that holds him upright, a Jokerman smile thanks to plastic surgery, hair made of steel quills that they press down with a hot iron (to cover his horns), and recorded slogans played by pulling a little cord hanging out of his pants. It works better than live politics.

The rumors that he has sexual relations with his four female ministers, any actresses that want to be on the tv shows that he controls (all of them), overage and underage prostitutes and generally any willing Barbie doll are all untrue. The girls he sleeps with (sometimes one, sometimes several, Ruby, Noemi, Patrizia, etcetera) are not prostitutes! He pays them cash, yes, but it’s a gift. He gives lots of gifts, like Saint Nick.

So, as the richest man in the country (this year he may have “slipped” into second or third place, no diff), Berlusconi can do anything he wants, right? He’s above the law and common morality and clearly better than everyone else. And, as we saw today, he bought the country and he can damn well do anything he wants with it. We’re all his sex slaves now.

Our local congressman from Messina, for example, noted for his enormous personal debts (liens on all seven of his houses), was more than willing to change his vote to please Mr. Money-bags, along with several other Judases who reversed the confidence vote against Berlusconi in Parliament. So, one might think, he lives to fight another day.

But he’s dead, remember? Morally and politically and legally dead. Morally for the above stated reasons, politically because he isn’t really the leader of the people but a phony mannequin leader who leads himself, his paper-doll copies and the flag-wavers he pays to turn up at his rallies. And legally because of the vast variety of serious crimes he’s being tried for and that he keeps passing laws to save himself from (see Wikipedia for a list).

And the worst? You won’t believe this. The Italian parliament, with a Berlusconi majority, on a Berlusconi government proposal, recently attempted to pass a law that eliminates obligatory arrest for anyone engaged in ‘minor acts’ of pedophilia. A pro-pedophile law! Could it have been inspired by the priest caught getting serviced in his car by a 12-year-old girl? (that is, figuratively, the Catholic church, which admits to only 1.5-5% guilty criminal pedophile priests: 5%!) Or by the president of the council of ministers himself? I’d bet they’re not the only interested ones. Rumors of coke parties and Lolita orgies involving Berlusconi’s cohorts and guests have circulated for years.

The press, controlled by Mr. B (you know he owns all three big private networks and controls the three public ones through his puppets, right?), has been mute on this topic. Deafening silence. No scandal at all for the most disgusting thing I’ve ever heard of. Back to the days when the local noblemen were supposed to de-flower all the teenage girls of the village.

In Italian there’s an expression which roughly translated goes: There’s no limit to things getting worse. Okay, but could we not have a leader who’s articulate, calm, politically skilled and statesman-like instead of a raving, degenerate fool? As Mutt and Jeff would say, “you get what you deserve.” Yeah, but when have we been punished enough?

Keeping you informed … your informal correspondent in Italy …

Happy trials, Martin

Mutt: In Australia, the Local Area Network is called the LAN down under.

Jeff: In France, they cook their omelettes with only one egg.

Mutt: Why’s that?

Jeff: Well, you see, in France one egg is un oeuf.

Mutt: In England, they do not have a kidney bank, but they do have a Liverpool.

Jeff: In Texas, an old rancher was drawing up his will so that he might provide for his three boys when he would pass away. He decided to divide his land up evenly among them. His wife suggested that he name the place The Focus Ranch. "Why should I do that, my love?" he asked.

She answered, “because it is where the sons raise meat."

Mutt: In Boston, you know what you need to start your car?

Jeff: What?

Mutt: Khakis.

Jeff: In South Carolina, two boll weevils were born and grew up. One went to Hollywood and became a famous actor. The other stayed behind in the cotton fields and never amounted to much.

Mutt: So?

Jeff: The second one, naturally, became known as the lesser of two weevils.

Mutt: Are we funny yet?

Jeff: Merry Christmas.