Posted at 12:00 p.m.
Last week on the 20. A row of cars and pick-ups with flags. Fuck this, fucking that, fucking such. It seems that they were going to L’Assomption to demonstrate. It also seems that there was an election (the flattest in the universe) at the beginning of the week. And that everyone won, if we trust the speeches. Even the losers. We have always been told to find hope in everything.
That same Saturday, in Madrid, a single gentleman sat at a table on the McDo side near the convenience store. A coffee and a MacPoulet in front of him. With a series of “scratches” too. He scratches with a two bucks. His name is Claude. Former truck driver, from Victoriaville, retired. The goose with the golden eggs, Wordsearch, Winner for life.
“Have you ever won? I ask him.
– Yes and no, in the end it always costs me a little. But I passed close several times. »
His wife died of cancer six years ago, he continued.
“‘Is lucky she didn’t experience COVID, he added.
— Do you think you will win your elections? I asked.
– Yes sir. I have already voted. I love him, Legault. We think the same, even if he can’t say it because of the journalists. »
Intriguing note. Claude was somewhat right. We have seen the emergence of a new “other” way of doing politics this year: that of managing to convey the essence of one’s thoughts to one half of the world in order to then correct oneself piously and reassure the other half by pleading guilty, with apologies and mea culpa.
My words exceeded my thought, they say, surely advised by PR firms or consultants.
We have come to this: we now know that politicians cannot really say what they think. Some people are pleased by “escaping” and others who are offended soften up or report the acts of contrition in the media, seeming not to really believe it.
I love France, especially its wine and its museums. And I have great admiration for the blubbering of the French. Historically, they are the ones who announced and promoted revolutions. A few years ago, the yellow vests embodied the basis of a fed up. For some time they have been taking a nap, but very little noise could wake them up. With us, there is the convoy of fuck flags and the advances of the conservative parties (provincial and federal). Trump to the south. Bolsonaro who is lagging behind, but remains possible in Brazil, Italy a little more fascist, and this extreme right which is emerging in Scandinavia, a region nevertheless praised by Western well-thinking.
Basically, an overwhelming majority of people vote by wanting the next government to look like them and not because an electoral program appeals to them. Between you and me, I can promise anything knowing that I will never be elected.
The closer the losing parties get to possible power, the closer the pledges will be to the point of bliss (bliss point); this point of research on the perfect taste balance between sweet, fatty and salty (as in a MacPoulet) and just at the limits of nausea and vomiting.
The feeling of satisfaction is never very far from the breaking point. And so that we continue, looking satisfied.
I spent last weekend surrounded by several elementary and early high school kids.
“If you vote for me as prime minister, I promise you there will only be two school days a week, and you will be taught how to do math. For example: 41% majority of a participation rate of 68%, how much does that make? That means 28% of people voted for the next government. »
I suspect they only picked up the story of the two school days, though.
And they said yes in chorus when I repeated what they wanted to hear. So that’s settled the education file. We’re going to tell each other the real business, huh?
“Gummy Bears or sour candies and an apple a day to everyone! »
They grimaced a little, but they continued to support me in the National Assembly. Problem of the health system solved: sweets for happiness and an apple for vitamins.
“For immigration, I said, I’m bringing that down to zero. Not a single newcomer. Because if I put myself in the shoes of an immigrant, I will not feel welcomed in a country where the Minister of Immigration believes that 80% do not work. An idea like this: these 80% could dig the third link, I think. »
The children didn’t understand, so I said I apologized, and my words had gone beyond my thoughts. And as an act of good faith, I was also going to give everyone Gagnant à vie scratch cards on election day. And thus reform the voting system with a kind of ephemeral hope.
“What about you, your elections? he asked.
— I voted for everyone, even the losers, so I won, I answered. And we’ll make another pile of guitars behind a cardboard box in four years. »