El Comierdante
Inspired by Asha Nair, who coined Il Cazzomandante, I have two coinages for today:
El Comierdante, and Il Cazzomierdante. I mean, the guy's meeting his end in a pool od his own crap and blood, fittingly, for somebody who bloodied a beautiful country and turn everything he touched into shit, like a reverse King Midas. If you want to give it some francophone or francophile twist, you can call him Le Grand Emmerdeur, and it sounds like an imperial title, the Emperor of Crap if you will....
Y'all be wondering how can I come with such names and I have to confess that it's a family thing.
I will be adding to this post in a while, since I didn't go to sleep and I worked all night. But y'all will love it. Back.
Well, I happened to have an old relative -who passed away many years ago in Cuba, whose quirkiness was kind of legendary. Among the phrases he coined or invented were two verbs; mierdificar and mojonozinar. For our Anglo readers, they mean, respectively: mierdificar, the art and action of turning something of a pretty good quality into crap or shit, crappify and "mojonizar" the art and action of turning something of a pretty good quality into a turd, tudificate.
So, he one day -our of the blue- solemny declared that: fidel castro ha mierdificado este pais, or, in the tongue of the Bard, "fidel castro has crappified this country". We were at the dinner table and those words brought a load of heavy silence with them, which was broke little by little first with giggles, and then with a burst of laughter.
In another ocassion, he arrived late to his best friend's funeral. His explanation to the widow was simple: "fidel castro ha mojonizado el transporte publico". Or "fidel castro has turdified the public transportantion". Y'all be reassured that I was blessed with a family populated by quite excentric characters.
This gentleman knew castro from way before he was powerful, he had no respect for him. He only considered castro a gangster who knew how to sell the idea that he was a liberator. And he routinely would go into blaming the New York Times very own Herbert Matthews, "ese borracho -that drunkard" and the American glossies of the times that created, fed, sold, and make the monster into a desirible myth for the masses. And y'all need to remember that in the fifties people believed the American press with the same kind of belief that they had on the Scriptures of the Holy Bible. Very mistaken that they were, because the American press was no other than a collection of a nest of wasps (pun intended) and communist vipers (just a mild description)
My relative was surprised by a visit of castro himself to his office, in a crispy morning of January 1959. My relative was on the excentric side, as I mention, a bit too much on that side, and he had just taken a shower in the office. He was wrapped in huge white towel, and he had another towel around his head (surely a sight) and when he opens the door of his office to go to his desk in that full spa regalia, who does he see at his chair with dirty boots on the shiny worksurface? No other than castro himself.
He just said "get your hoofs off my desk".
And castro retorted: "you're crazy!".
My relative said: "yes, I am. That's the difference between the two of us, I am a crazy genial madman, you're just un loco de mierda". (a crappy madmad)
That was my relative's last day of work in his whole life.
He was not detained or anything, he was just erased, banned, and deemed insane.
He never left Cuba. He had traveled extensively, and he claimed that he would never live anywhere else, that his happiness was in Cuba, and his sadness too, and Cuba was at the same time his freedom and his chain and ball.
I come from a very stubborn family.
Why on Earth am I telling you all of this?
Because I dreamt of him last night.
He was telling me that castro was already dead, that he had volunteered to boil him in Hell in a cauldron of freshly collected shit, to make him pay for the mierdificacion & mojonizacion of Cuba. I told him that to me, he was already a good Commie, that is, a dead Commie. Maybe that dream is becoming reality or is this already a reality?
El Comierdante, and Il Cazzomierdante. I mean, the guy's meeting his end in a pool od his own crap and blood, fittingly, for somebody who bloodied a beautiful country and turn everything he touched into shit, like a reverse King Midas. If you want to give it some francophone or francophile twist, you can call him Le Grand Emmerdeur, and it sounds like an imperial title, the Emperor of Crap if you will....
Y'all be wondering how can I come with such names and I have to confess that it's a family thing.
I will be adding to this post in a while, since I didn't go to sleep and I worked all night. But y'all will love it. Back.
Well, I happened to have an old relative -who passed away many years ago in Cuba, whose quirkiness was kind of legendary. Among the phrases he coined or invented were two verbs; mierdificar and mojonozinar. For our Anglo readers, they mean, respectively: mierdificar, the art and action of turning something of a pretty good quality into crap or shit, crappify and "mojonizar" the art and action of turning something of a pretty good quality into a turd, tudificate.
So, he one day -our of the blue- solemny declared that: fidel castro ha mierdificado este pais, or, in the tongue of the Bard, "fidel castro has crappified this country". We were at the dinner table and those words brought a load of heavy silence with them, which was broke little by little first with giggles, and then with a burst of laughter.
In another ocassion, he arrived late to his best friend's funeral. His explanation to the widow was simple: "fidel castro ha mojonizado el transporte publico". Or "fidel castro has turdified the public transportantion". Y'all be reassured that I was blessed with a family populated by quite excentric characters.
This gentleman knew castro from way before he was powerful, he had no respect for him. He only considered castro a gangster who knew how to sell the idea that he was a liberator. And he routinely would go into blaming the New York Times very own Herbert Matthews, "ese borracho -that drunkard" and the American glossies of the times that created, fed, sold, and make the monster into a desirible myth for the masses. And y'all need to remember that in the fifties people believed the American press with the same kind of belief that they had on the Scriptures of the Holy Bible. Very mistaken that they were, because the American press was no other than a collection of a nest of wasps (pun intended) and communist vipers (just a mild description)
My relative was surprised by a visit of castro himself to his office, in a crispy morning of January 1959. My relative was on the excentric side, as I mention, a bit too much on that side, and he had just taken a shower in the office. He was wrapped in huge white towel, and he had another towel around his head (surely a sight) and when he opens the door of his office to go to his desk in that full spa regalia, who does he see at his chair with dirty boots on the shiny worksurface? No other than castro himself.
He just said "get your hoofs off my desk".
And castro retorted: "you're crazy!".
My relative said: "yes, I am. That's the difference between the two of us, I am a crazy genial madman, you're just un loco de mierda". (a crappy madmad)
That was my relative's last day of work in his whole life.
He was not detained or anything, he was just erased, banned, and deemed insane.
He never left Cuba. He had traveled extensively, and he claimed that he would never live anywhere else, that his happiness was in Cuba, and his sadness too, and Cuba was at the same time his freedom and his chain and ball.
I come from a very stubborn family.
Why on Earth am I telling you all of this?
Because I dreamt of him last night.
He was telling me that castro was already dead, that he had volunteered to boil him in Hell in a cauldron of freshly collected shit, to make him pay for the mierdificacion & mojonizacion of Cuba. I told him that to me, he was already a good Commie, that is, a dead Commie. Maybe that dream is becoming reality or is this already a reality?
5 Comments:
Who knows if it is or isn't reality. It'll happen, maybe it already did happen. However, like you said a few days back the future lies with what happens next, not with the sole act of his death. That doesn't mean I won't celebrate like crazy when he's deadh, though :-)
Of course, once the ogre is gone, that's more than a great cause for celebration. Still, the future lies ahead, and his death will only be the beggining of a new phase in the history of Cuba. Believe me, we will witness the emergence of a much better Cuba. The Cuba dreamt by many!
I pray the dream is true, and that God has given your relative a special dispensation to take the Down Elevator to Hades just long enough to boil the bastard's filthy soul in feces until it has been mierdificada y mojonizada, con mojo criollo o no, no importa, and for eternity.
La historia lo absolvera? No. La mierda lo disolvera.
bravisimo!
Priceless Alberto! PRICELESS !
Post a Comment
<< Home