Ridatemi l’estate
( o Fini un’eran’ tortellini?)
Ma di’o un’ doveva
arriv’à l’estate.. gente
Ed invece un’ci stò
a capì niente;
Di solito arrivata
la stagione dell’ombrelloni
S’aspettava settembre
pe’ ricomincià le discussioni;
Invece nulla,ir troppo cardo deve avè dato alla testa
tant’è che ir panettone è arrivato prima della festa;
O chi un si ri’orda le vacanze di qualche anno fa
Dove si mangiava la porchetta alla festa dell’Unità;
O ragazzi,un vi spaventate lo dio.. io son di destra
Ma mi piaceva andà a senti parlà i compagni alla loro festa;
Parlavan’ di legalità,giustissima, del popolo oppressato
Tant’è che a quei discorsi mi c’ero abituato;
Poi ritornavi ar mare e tra chiappe,
tette e bimbetti che rompevano in coro
Ti leggevi novella o la settimana
e ripensavi al lavoro;
No quest’anno no è tutto strano un son’ più quei tempi
I ragassi tra gli ombrelloni un’son più tanto sorridenti;
Guardin verso il mare,oltre l’orizzonte
verso il loro futuro lontano
Perché in questo un’c’è lavoro
e nessuno che gli dia ‘na mano;
Ma anche il padre di famiglia,
che deve stà allegro pe’ finsione
Pensa ar su’ rientro che un’sia
solo alla cassa’ntregrazione;
Ma dai.. meglio un’pensa e allora
mi preparo ad un bagno nel mare salato..
E scopro che armeno metà di
questo paradiso è stato inquinato;
Allora mi fermo e comincio ad avere l’amaro in gola
Perché d’intorno un’c’è niente che mi consola;
C’è la mafia al governo, un’c’è lavoro
e ir prete ha fatto der male a un bimbino
O un’no vedete che quest’anno l’estate
è davvero un casino?
Se poi ci mettete che Fini è
diventato l’unica opposizione..
Allora si che mi mettete in confusione;
Dai un fate i biscari,ritirate fori
l’estate per piacere
Quella senza ir NANO tra le palle
e i politici che fanno il loro mestiere!
DO' STANNO DE FINI I COLONNELLI?
DE SOLITO ERANO TRE
CHE INSIEME ANNAVANO A GIOCA' A PALLONE
E QUARCHE VORTA A DA' MANGANELLATE
A NA' MANIFESTAZIONE!
LI' RICORDO BENE ALL' EPOCA STI' TEPPISTI
CHE METTEVANO LA CAMICIA NERA COME LI' FASCISTI...
The Mussolini of AssSure, you could focus on the corrupt, quasi-fascistic side of Silvio Berlusconi's long reign over Italy. But as his adoring supporters will tell you, that's not the point of "Silvio!" What sustains a nation is the man's dyed hair and shameless libido. Devin Friedman goes in search of the self-appointed dictator of macho hedonistic unprosecutable pleasureBy Devin Friedman giugno 2010 see Berlusconi's government of beauty
There is a place where all the breasts are large. Large, young, tanned, and naked. A place where everyone fucks and fucks and fucks and never dies. Where the men are rich and carefree and the women are beautiful and pliant and young. Where television quiz shows are strip quiz shows. Where sports-talk shows are sports-talk shows bookended by women in bikinis. The women in government, too, are the women of buoyant, ageless breasts. They are members of Parliament. They are the sexiest cabinet ministers in the world. In this place, most schoolgirls hope to get jobs someday doing the special TV shimmy-dance you do by yourself on-camera, and then maybe go on to marry a soccer player or take their place in the parliament of beauty. You don't have to pay taxes in this place, and the laws are only laws until they limit your dreams. This place was invented by one man, a man who changed the world of rationing and punishment into a place that promises you can have everything you want and need never be punished again. This man dreamed up the television, he appointed the ministers, he started the revolution, and he is the greatest living exponent of his vision. A man who never, ever gets old, never goes bald, never gets untan or looks as short as he used to. A man who never, never stops smiling.
In the winter, before the regional elections, the Presidente has booked the ancient Temple of Hadrian for an event for his political party. Rome is the living museum, they say, and this space, made from giant slabs of stone 2,000 years ago, today features a large banner with the Presidente's face on it and a phrase that roughly translates as "Join me, at my shoulder, to defend your desires, your interests, and your freedom." A few minutes before the Presidente enters, a music video plays on a big screen, depicting a huge political rally in the streets of Rome. Violins are struck. The footage of passionate party members holding candles is replaced by a visual of two young men behind a counter, scooping gelato…and one of them begins to sing: There's a great dream / That lives in us. / We are the people of liberty. / Presidente, we're with you. Then everyone in the gelateria sings: Thank God there's Silvio! There are young people in a classroom, on the steps of a government building, serving cornetti at a coffee bar. They sing that they are the people who want to change this dream into a reality. Now the man mixing cement joins in and sings. We are the people who never give up, / Who reach out and encourage each other! Now the girls running on treadmills join in! There are no old people in the video, there are no ugly people, there are no immigrants. There are only strong, passionate young Italians in business-casual clothes, who sing with feeling: Thank God there's Silvio!
Silvio Berlusconi loves this song. He was once a professional singer on cruise ships—this is before he became the third-wealthiest private citizen in Italy and the seventy-fourth-wealthiest man in the world—and often employs a pianist to accompany him in his homes. As the video plays, Berlusconi, the Presidente, enters the room through a side door and then disappears among the party members almost immediately. He appears from time to time with a hand on a woman's shoulder or kissing a man affectionately on both cheeks. Then he bounds onto the stage, sits at a table next to a striking woman with lustrous, shiny red hair, clasps his big hands in front of him, and smiles.
"We are here to disturb you once more," Berlusconi says. "To present one of the many initiatives of the People of Liberty." The People of Liberty is the current name of his party. He changed it from Go Italy! a few years ago, which is what the Italians say when they're cheering for their World Cup team. He wears a navy suit tailored in the Italian-tycoon style, crisp baby blue shirt, navy tie with white polka dots wadded at his neck. His face and hair and teeth are impeccable. His skin is a perfect tawny brown that goes whiter at the neck, where the makeup fades out. His hair isn't identifiable as hair, per se. It's more color than substance, a deep, shiny brown, and it's pleasing. You would never confuse any of it—the hair, the teeth, the skin—for something real. But it doesn't matter. The artificiality has long been acknowledged. It's like a woman who has excellent fake breasts: The image pushes certain pleasure buttons. Sitting there and speaking about the upcoming regional election, he makes a compelling argument for face-lifts.
"The other day the minister brought me this mound of letters," he says. "I think 300 letters, which asked again and again: When are you finally going to ask us to do something useful for our country?" In response, he says, they will be founding a new initiative called Freedom Promoters.
None of this was his idea, he explains. It was the people's idea. And as party leader, he felt he must let the people take to the streets, give more of their time, promote even more freedom. The people of hate accuse him of having become a dictator in the manner of Mussolini or one of the Roman emperors. But they don't understand that he is just a conduit for the desires of the people.
"It is important that the party be democratic—really democratic," he says. "I only execute the wishes of local party members."
For example, it is true that he passed a bill whereby citizens don't vote for actual members of Parliament (MPs) anymore; they vote for a party, and the party picks them. And as a result of that law, Berlusconi's personal criminal-defense lawyer has been made an MP. Several women who used to be showgirls on his TV stations were placed on the party's roster, and another four were on the roster for the European Parliament. Berlusconi's physician is an MP now, as are a number of his former executives. The people aligned for no greater purpose than to bring Silvio Berlusconi down say it is like when Caligula made his horse a member of the Senate. But that's the most vile sort of untruth!
Read More http://www.gq.com/news-politics/big-issues/201006/silvio-berlusconi-profile#ixzz0vCCo1n64
