Protesters recently almost approached Moncloa, which is more than
palace or bunker It looks like a country house with arbors, stables and a maze of tomatoes and ferns, and these frugivorous or fruit-bearing people who have come to us now are ready to go. The Moncloa bunker is much talked about as that basement where nerds with charts, plumbers with history, gorillas with a bat and Sanchez with an exercise bike, like a sculpture of Jacob Epstein or like the bosses They serve. on an exercise bike, wearing a plush, monogrammed tracksuit and a Morsillon towel around his neck. Moncloa was already a place that is as isolating, stunning and intoxicating as an Andalusian castle, and it is not for nothing that there is talk of Moncloa syndrome, which all presidents suffer from sooner or later. But now, with Sanchez, the Moncloa bunker will truly become a place that you can’t leave, that you can’t enter, with a police wall, churns, parapets, helicopters and push pins. and another wall of angry people behind it.

I think that the move from Ferraz to Moncloa was a natural step for the national cabreodrome, of which there is nothing in Ferraz, or only one employee with a visor, a coupling and a telegraph, as in the post office in the West or in Puigdemont. embassy. Ferras is no one anymore, there is nothing in Ferras anymore, and it seems that all these protesters there are making noise in front of the PSOE headquarters, like in front of a 7-Eleven, let’s see why. PSOE no longer exists and Ferraz is a warehouse for cardboard, photocopiers and wind-up dolls with saucers. The only thing that exists in Sanchismo is the Moncloa bunker, where Sanchez has his little throne with a prostate chair, his advisers, his chiropractor, his hairdresser, his mattress manufacturer, his stewards, his scientists, his creative people, his thugs and his bridge. command like a Bond villain. The truth is that the staff are installing it in Ferraz, and it only scares the neighbors, while Sanchez sleeps behind ten meters of concrete, the same number of nurses and the same number of pillows.

The only thing that exists in Sanchismo is the Moncloa bunker, where Sanchez has his little throne with a prostate chair, his advisers, his chiropractor, his hairdresser, his mattress manufacturer, his stewards, his scientists, his creative people, his thugs and his bridge. command like a Bond villain

People continue to protest against the amnesty, which is not so much an amnesty as the purchase of Moncloa as if it were a small farmhouse, and the degradation of democracy and the powers of the state to the level of a teenage or pregnant craving. The other day we had a Sunday Saturday, like those Mondays that are sometimes Sundays, and again tens or hundreds of thousands of people walked through the streets of Madrid, like a lonely neoclassical palace without a roof. There Savater spoke very well to them, wise and passionate, with that Dalai Lama, who was gradually getting angry, having already exceeded all the patience in the universe. However, I believe that this protester, who dresses like Colonel Tapiocca from the anti-Sanchista demonstrations, lacks something of a compass. What I mean is that people don’t really know where to go and then they get scattered or lost, like they don’t remember where they parked.

Anti-Sanchism is not yet organized, not to mention that the right does not have as much practice as the left, who spent their entire lives demonstrating against the same rich djinner or the hard man of the Restoration, against the same Francoist blacks. marketer and against the same NATO bomb, as iconic as the warhead from “Planet of the Apes.” In other words, one day you see an orderly, geometric and attractive display that looks like it was made out of Lego, and then you see a few lost people on the A-6 motorway searching for Moncloa like a tourist searching for the Temple of Debod. But of course we also heard Savatera one day, another day, the guy with the rosary, with his Marian drinking and sugar cane hat, as if he were in El Rocío. We should also talk about those Nazis who go to Ferraz to show off their bare nipples between their straps, like in a dark room, and about the familiar national bird like the old lady’s parrot. Although this fauna intersected with the amnesty, like with a football derby, and this is the same desire to show a nipple, tongue and shoe to a country that does not pay attention to them and will not, unless Sanchez needs more fascists, except from his already partners.

Protesters with no organization, no compass and no time ended up blocking the A-6 highway on the way to Moncloa, where Sanchez sleeps like the pea princess, or perhaps no longer sleeps, waiting for prophecies or ghosts like Macbeth. On the one hand, the truth is that, despite the improvised solution, it seems to make more sense, even symbolically, since I don’t think anyone is thinking about storming Moncloa with pitchforks and torches.

For a long time now there has been nothing in Ferraz except parrot telephone operators,
old stickers and rotten flowers, like in a greenhouse from a horror movie. All the strength of Sanchez is concentrated in Moncloa, I mean even physically, topographically. All of Sánchez’s power is a small part of Moncloa, who is commanded and humiliated by his partners in the Council of Ministers and Congress, who is booed by citizens on the street, and who will soon be looked upon with contempt in Europe. he shook his nose as if he smelled of feet and banana, like a little tropical dictator in a flat cap, a fringed mustache and a wet armpit.

Sánchez, so vain and invincible, will have to be content with displaying his vanity and invincibility beyond the walls of Moncloa, his private resort, his dry beach, his labyrinth of cypress trees, his golden prison and Tapies, his little drawing room, a throne filled with echoes, adorned with mirrors and crossed only his laughter and his servants. The anti-sanchista cabreodrome is still not very organized and not very thoroughly analyzed, and perhaps the protesters headed to Moncloa not because of strategy or symbolism, but because they got lost. But Moncloa is on its way to becoming the place where Sanchez buries himself or locks himself away, between the grave, the smokehouse and the panic room. Would
It must be approached with serene, sad and compassionate respect, as if it were a mausoleum, a pyramid, the ruins of the kingdom of Ozymandias or the ruins of Xanadu.