By Carola Chavez on November 12, 2022
French President Emmanuel Macron catches up with Venezuelan President Nicolas Maduro at COP27 in Egypt
“Président Madugro!”, Macron almost shouted, picking up the pace to catch up with Nicolas Maduro before winter catches up with him and his denialist colleagues who until late summer insisted on their plan to disown the president of Venezuela in favor of a grainy little mamarracho, because they were ordered to do so from the White House. Oui, monsieur! That is, yes, sir!
Macron shrunk, not only in stature, but also in posture and dignity, there, shaking hands with Nicolas, who extended his hand with a calm smile, and with his face of “yes, of course, I was waiting for you, Emmanuel, here in the little house”.
They met there in the little village outside the Cop27 climate conference in Egypt. There, where the truth always falls by its own weight and the truth is that the scaffolding of lies that they put together to attack Venezuela, collapses on the heads of the meddlers because so much arrogance and so much clumsiness together cannot build anything solid, stable, lasting…
“He who messes with Venezuela dries up”, Nicolás repeated down there, while that thing called “The International Community”, with its supremacist pretensions, celebrated the intelligence, the honesty and the skin of its new warmongering experiment: an imbecilic puppet self-proclaimed President for the sake of it, who should open the doors to a foreign invasion of the country where -unfortunately- he was born. Or, failing that, as he defectively turned out to be, a puppet to serve as a signatory of the plundering of Venezuelan resources abroad.
Drunk with misery, they celebrated every painful wound they inflicted on us while inventing new forms of suffering to “twist our arm”, as Obama used to say, all fashionable, all dead of laughter. This stubborn arm of ours that here, in the bajaíta, that was waiting for them with Maduro, did not allow itself to be twisted.
“President Maduro!”: now it is the Prime Minister of Portugal who seeks to approach the Venezuelan government, the real one, of course. Now all laughter, all friendliness, he asks Nicolás how we are doing. “Very well,” he answers, all at once and without hesitation. And there, on the way down, he asks the Portuguese how his country is doing. An early breath of winter made the Prime Minister shiver, and the festive tone of the conversation became pitiful… “It’s going well… but it’s not easy, with the cost of oil and gas it’s a problem…”. To which President Maduro replies: “Whenever you want to visit us, we have many Portuguese in Venezuela”.
Yes we have a lot of Portuguese here in the lowlands, and a lot of oil too.
Meanwhile, the jail-faced imbecile they called “Interim”, the one that now nobody calls or names; from his Twitter account, which is his presidential office, fights with the foul air that surrounds him and demands respect, demands the review of multilateral organizations, demands a cure for his acne… in short, demands recognition, because the moron was the only one who believed the lie they built around him. Even Fabi Fabulosa knew that it was all a lucrative show!
And here we are, climbing the mountain of difficulties imposed on us by the sanctions, the lies, the erratic arrogance of a rotten system, the hired assassin sub-governments of the White House whose leaders today, feigning amnesia, seek the outstretched hand of our President Nicolas. And he, as always,all cool-headed, all nerves of steel, all strategic patience, with his Super Mustache smile, kindly greets those who, fleeing the winter of their own lies, end up today crashing into the inevitable truth, here in the bajaíta.
Source Mision Verdad, translation Resumen Latinoamericano – US