He jumped out of bed and where’s that telegram I want to show it to my hernia, the Pope under my hernia, ah what a pleasure, the Pope, Jesus Christ’s father-of-the-nation, let him come in God’s name let him come and see for himself, and he made his way into town to see the guys fixing the potholes on the public roads, removing the refuse from the middle of the road, draining the backwaters left by the latest tropical storms, and bury that dog won’t you, because we don’t want Jesus Christ’s father-of-the-nation thinking we’re rascals, pick up this dead chicken, move that piece of scrap metal, take this away, dig here, fill that hole over there, and by order of my hernia, so that the father-of-the-nation of the Christians doesn’t take us for the last of the rascals; he surveyed every corner of the city, from north to south and from west to east, with national fellow Vauban of my trust following right behind the whole time, and by order of my hernia: paint all the huts white, paint the roofs red and the rest white, let’s show the world we’re an advanced people, and to prepare for the arrival of the father-of-the-nation of Paradise, he ordered only white horses, five hundred stretch Mercedes, five hundred two-door sports cars, we have to save face even if my hernia runs out of money, what would become of us if the father-of-the-nation of Christians took us for a bunch of losers? He invited all the journalists to the Hotel des Carillons and, ladies and gentlemen, go ahead and ask me anything you like about the functioning of my hernia, the functioning of the ministers and the functioning of the people, at this very moment when we’re preparing for the arrival of the father-of-the-nation of worshippers, come on, now, the floor is open…. Mr. President, National Colonel sir, what do you think of human rights? Aha, now that’s a good question, I’ll answer that one: Man’s first right is his hernia, because ladies and gentlemen it may be shameful but it’s the truth, and it’s no joke that my emblem is the zipper, and take my word: it is the hernia that make the man, and don’t be fooled: when the White man speaks of mankind it is to his hernia that he turns, so don’t be fooled… your shitty power that I have just seized, have a look how it is hand-stitched with pricks; I think I’ve answered that question, so go ahead and ask Mr. National Lopez another one…. He interrupts him to say to him, dear boy, address me like real people do or get the fuck out of my country, and while you’re at it take your hands out of your pockets ah you look like you’re proud to be White, but my hernia is laughing at you, because the White man’s merit is to have brought the world to the ground… and that’s not a good question anyway, someone ask a different one; Mr. President, sir ah ah let’s not have the same people asking questions all the time, you there, ask a question: Mr. President, sir, why the Pope? That’s a good question, I’ll answer it: because he at least does not spit in the hand that feeds him, the Pope is a good president, there is no better president than him on this earth, trust me on that, remember how National Tonso gave himself to the Russians and how the Russians wiped him out, and National Matos that had entrusted himself to the Amerindians and they didn’t think twice about wiping him out, and Juarioni who went and turned himself into a utensil for the French and they didn’t think twice about wiping out, but I’m an instrument of the people, that’s it, period, I’m not like that Dartanio Diaz who went and gave a chunk of his bald head to the citizens of that Flemishything and poor old Dartanio Diaz, God rest his soul! And he motioned to Vauban of my mom, check out that girl, isn’t she something, as beautiful as four women; and Vauban’s already extending his officer of prey’s claws, I want her tonight, yes Sir! but I want her perfectly fresh and with no scratches on her, yes you old devil sir! No bullshit and yes National Colonel, ah Vauban, you see, out of bad comes good, I don’t really care for their questions but each time they come here there’s always one that’s as beautiful as four, who arouses my blood and activates my balls, eh! National Vauban, this beast (he points at his prick) this filthy beast is our next heart, imagine that! And he points at Edouardo Maunicka from the Tomorrow My Hernia newspaper, now ask your question, yes, Mr. President sir, what do you think of the financial situation…. Ah just the other day I was thinking, no, stop, that’s a bad question…. The economy is a drink concocted over there in that Flemishy place, what do you expect my hernia to do about it? And Mr. President sir, people are saying that you have purchased several châteaux in Europe? Aha, now that’s more interesting, this is a question of space, the Flemish have land under my big sovereign hernia, so we have to have people owning land over there too, and Mr. President sir, what do you think of the death penalty? Lots of good things actually, old chap, do you read the Bible? In any case, the death penalty was discovered by God and he condemned Adam and his concubine, what was her name again? In any case, the death penalty is for women, and for our part, we’ve replaced it with the male sentence or the sentence of my hernia; it’s more refined, more humane, and that makes one hell of a ruckus, because our civilization is a civilization of ruckus, the modern world is above all about making a ruckus; go ahead, ask your questions, this is a democracy and I’ll answer them…. Mr. President sir, who killed Tarsansio Ahendio? Ah, I’m not quite sure: it was either bilharzia or malnutrition, anyway, let’s not worry about our dead buddies: there are still plenty of people alive. Mr. President sir, why do you offer gifts to rich countries?
“Yes, I was expecting someone to ask that question. I give to Vauban’s country to show that I too have hands. The hand is a machine for politeness as opposed to the heart and the prick that are political utensils. The hand does not think: it gestures.”
Then he took off to repair the potholes, drain the backwaters, pick up the dead chickens, while waiting for Jesus Christ’s father-of-the-nation to arrive.
But on the day the Pope arrived in our capital, at dinner time, as he was dancing with the Christian’s father-of-the-nation and was teaching him some local moves no not like that Monsignor, like this, with your butt in the air and your thighs unintelligible, as he laughed his big historical laugh because, Monsignor, you’re stubborn your rump should be lighter, brother Carvanso, right at the very moment when the service was offered to His Holiness, lifted the national flag that had been draped over the banquet table to reveal a roast. The guests all jumped to their feet and screamed: Oh my God!