THREE-LUNCHES VENIZELOS NOW HAS TWO OFFICES. IN THE STREETS OF ATHENS, HIS FELLOW CITIZENS RUMMAGE IN THE GARBAGE. BUT BRUSSELS APPROVES OF HIM. When things finally start returning to normal in Greece (life without Brussels-am-Berlin bullies, corrupt politicians, having enough to eat etc) the first bloke likely to have his neck stretched or enjoy a little rueful decapitation will be Evangelos Venizelos, the man who even stole another’s surname to sell himself to the highest bidder. The only problem in carrying out this lenient sentence will be finding a long enough piece of ship’s rope to stand the weight as the trapdoor opens, or a guillotine deep enough to travel all the way through his 500 centimetre neck. Or indeed, finding his neck in the first place. Verrizealous has become the personification of spineless Greek elite resistance to the Mad Sprouts, as he is winched and wedged from one limo to another, surrounded by Blackwater guards, dark clouds of Lagardelist, and the whiff of continuous emissions from his anus. But now, his bloated ego (still trying desperately to catch up with his belly) has made more demands to go with his Nick Cleggolopoulus-style non-job as Deputy Prime Minister.
Posted on: Sat, 27 Jul 2013 21:09:54 +0000
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