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:: Sunday, 6 July 2003 ::

So kill yourself, already, sheesh

I really do not know which Italians this woman is talking to. Certainly not my cousin Fausto and his mates, or my buddy Daniela and her mates. I mean, how is it possible to be so ignorant of a nation, and still be breathing?

She is like those left wingers who simply cannot understand why their leftwing party is unsuccessful at the ballot box, because they actually never mix with real live voting people who think differently to them.

To whit:

From Pinocchio to Mussolini and now Berlusconi: it's a logical progression of lies, boasts and posturing. Pinocchio pretended that he was a real child; Mussolini that he was the leader of an invincible army; Berlusconi that he is the Condottiere who galvanises his people into claiming a seat at high table in the international arena.

Italians, practised in this kind of carrying on, shrug cynically. What can you expect of a fellow Italian but that he should embarrass you in public? He'll blow hot, then cold, puffing himself up with self-importance: but in the end, nothing changes. For even Berlusconi is not much worse than what came before him: there were no heroes to mourn, and no halcyon days to recapture with his overthrow. Recognising this, Italians embrace their future with fatalism. It means they'll put up with a jerk who insults a nation in their name - but under the circumstances, their resignation is far less devastating than any fond hope of a better tomorrow.

Remind you of anything?

Phillip Adams and Hugh MacKay and Marian Wilkinson et al writing about Oz.

Friedman and Moore and Franzen babbling about US.

Monbiot and Alhibai-Brown writing about Engerland.

They are all diseased minds who cannot imagine that pleasure can be had by anyone who is not them. All of us who are not them, must be miserable, self-hating, ashamed to sign our national anthems.

To them all I say, channelling the spirit of Silvio Berlusconi: One day a film will be made about the truly awful people of this world - and it will feature you all.

The truly awful, being all those folks who cannot imagine that people who do not share their world view are somehow happy and successful or at least capable of feeling happiness and of achieving success.

Peasants. Monbiot and Odone, I mean. Not youse all, my readers.

To youse, love.

:: WB 1:43 am [link+] ::

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