The pollster asked a subject: “What is the sense that is most acute when you are making love with a woman?” Most of the responses he received were on the side of sight and touch, and there were even some that mentioned taste (very his taste). To the surprise of the interviewer, the guy replied: “The sense that heightens the most when I’m in bed with a woman is that of hearing.” “How is that?” the girl wondered. “Yes,” the individual confirmed. “I need it to hear the husband’s footsteps.” What a task awaits Quirino Ordaz if he is ratified as Mexico’s ambassador to Spain. It will have to mend what the occupants of the National Palace and the small group of official historians who accompany them, so similar to the bureaucrats of history who undid it throughout the long PRI domination, have torn. Will Don Quirino make the Spanish monarch forget the absurd demand that López Obrador presented him to ask for forgiveness for the abuses committed 500 years ago in the conquest of what was not yet the Mexican nation? Will you tell King Felipe that AMLO did not mean what he said when he said that all the Spanish businessmen who come to invest in Mexico are looters and thieves? Surely our brand new ambassador will appear in Court as the little dog that ate the soap, saddened and confused, and only the formality of diplomatic protocol can serve as a barrier to face what is called embarrassment after the reckless actions and statements of its president , and after acts as recent as the removal of the statue of Columbus, an act that seems part of the anachronistic and absurd anti-Hispanic attitude that the current regime has shown. I don’t want to be in Mr. Quirino’s shoes. It is difficult to compose what a goat has done in glassware, and even more so if it has been accompanied. The little story that closes the curtain of these lines today belongs to the category of those that Americans call oldie but goodie, oldie but goodie. It appeared here perhaps twenty years ago, and it comes out again for my new generations of readers to know about it. Don Soreco – his name tells us – was short of hearing. The good lord suffered other crusts, but it is irrelevant to mention them as that would constitute an invasion of his privacy. On one occasion he attended a spiritual retreat. Upon arrival, he knew that he should share his room with another of the participants in the pious event. He was already in bed the day before the exercise was to begin when his future roommate, a young man of prodigious stature and the muscles of a blacksmith, entered the bedroom. “Dante Huerta” was courteous and urban. “What are you saying, fool?” Don Soreco burst out furiously as he jumped out of bed and grabbed his umbrella to use as a defensive weapon. I am looking for peace of the soul and mortification of the body -especially through food- and I come across a degenerate, perverted, depraved, corrupted, canalized, debased, and wayward! human justice, that the divine will surely reach you the day you appear before it! “. The young man was confused and stunned when he heard that barrage of insults and threats. “I don’t understand, sir,” he managed to stammer in bewilderment. “Why do you tell me all that? All I did was give you my name: Dante Huerta.” “Geez, boy, forgive me!” Don Soreco apologized sadly. I’m a little hard of hearing, and what I heard was, ‘Turn around.’ “END.
“.Pemex is bankrupt.”
As a teacher said
when dealing with this case:
“It doesn’t matter that it’s a failure.
The oil is still ours. “
ARMANDO SOURCES AGUIRRE
These are days of murria, due to the confinement to which the Chinese shadow of the condemned virus has condemned us.
I don’t leave my house other than what is necessary. already dispensable. I do not do the shopping – I have never known how to buy or sell – nor do I carry out the errands around the house. I am already vaccinated, and months ago I received a visit from the unfortunate bug, but my case was like that of the guy who wooed the pretty girl. She asked him, “Are you not married?” “Yes I am,” replied the cynical subject. “But asymptomatic.” Thus, asymptomatic, it was my already distant encounter with the virus.
However, I maintain the same precautions as before. I rarely leave the house, and even less do I leave myself. After doing my homework, I read the books I haven’t read for years, I listen to the music I haven’t listened to for years, and I play chess on the rogue computer that only occasionally allows me to beat it.
The best are the talks with my wife, all presided over by the same question: “Do you remember?”
Ah, I also watch movies and series on my tablet, some excellent, others terrible. These make you screw up for wasting your time watching them.
The days grow long and the weeks short. When will this end? Maybe never. We will end up ignoring him, even if he kills us.