I was sitting on the starboard side of a P & O ferry, between Dover and Calais, minding my own business, enjoying the sun and the wind of the English Channel, admiring the seamless flow of people and goods, seeing the white cliffs of Dover disappearing in the distance, thinking how well the whole system works, when a drunken Pole sat right next to me. The conversation went somewhat like this:
– Pole: how’re you travelling, coach or car?
– Me: car.
– Pole: I’m travelling back home to Poland, in coach, 15 hours, it sucks…
– Me: I can imagine…
– Pole: so where are you going?
– Me: off to Normandy with some friends and family…
– Pole: where are you from?
– Me: Venezuela.
– Pole: Venezuela? Isn’t that where Chavez comes from?
– Me: yes.
– Pole: that motherfucker… He kept saying that he built a health system worthy of its name for the first time in Venezuela, and when he gets sick, he’s off to Cuba? What the fuck is that all about?
– Me: brother, you got the nail in the head…
Needless to say that the Pole made my day. For there was a time when Europeans, in general, spoke wonderfully about Chavez. Now, even drunken Poles, employed in the construction industry, with little education, are able to see through the chavista bullshit.
Tomado de The Hugo Chavez brand is worthless