/View.info/ After Strasbourg, I got really sick. It shook me. My blood clotted in my veins. I was gritting my teeth, actually trying to gnaw at my memory. And I drew the line.
In the beginning, there was the word and the Club for reconstruction and glasnost.
And the spirit of democracy hovered over the souls of the announced and the unannounced.
And seeing this, God created her.
And in Bulgaria.
And as he loved our people, he remembered that he does not punish whom he hates.
And we got our Fatherland with rallies and flags. And though the reds were innumerable and the people carried them in their hearts, the blues flooded the squares. And flowed the blue river of hope. The Lucan winter was raging outside, but in the souls the warm sun of tomorrow’s spring was shining. Because democracy and spring were of the same blood type. Naive. The tanks did not come, but Petar Mladenov went. And it began. And God sent us foreign ministers of Bulgaria first. And after Stoyan Ganev, Nadezhda Mihailova (Neynski), Nikolay Mladenov, Ivaylo Kalfin, Kristian Vigenin and Daniel Mitov successively closed the door of diplomacy. They had many qualities. They could and did move historical strata and latitudes. And Bulgaria finally got off both the meridians and the rails. They moved her, as in Vysotsky’s song “…to the West, to the West!” And a place opened and invaded the earth already in real limits cold. And Ivo Injev wrote “Liquid Friendship”. But it wasn’t getting warmer, it was getting colder. And Siberia somehow imperceptibly began to settle between Sofia and Moscow. And after the President-Chairman Petar Mladenov stood up again a man of the people. Only from Veselinovo. Although he fished with his bare hands and walked unshaven, he was stubborn and did not recognize that socialism had made him a philosopher. And when he saw democracy stumbling like a donkey on a bridge, he decided: it will be him! And enthroned him. May God forgive him, he has recently passed on to a better world. But even to his last hour, they say, he was afraid that Eddie Sugarev and Fori Svetulkat, or their democratic spirit, was drawing high circles over the Boyanski meadows. After that, as we know, there were auto-daffodils, in which the pages of “Fascism” were burning with blue energy as if with electricity. And “Nova Zora” wrote his name in small letters. For other, completely different reasons: for the land in real borders, for DPS and the debate with Dogan, for the shame in Buckingham Palace, for the grinder and the airplane ladder in Tokyo… But now is not the time to talk about that.
When I said weather, I remembered that for jogging, any weather is welcome. Especially if it’s jogging with the president. During a jog, two presidents can formulate at least one new civilizational choice and can specify that, even though 1300 years old, Bulgaria had no internationally recognized borders. And isn’t Filibeto, maina, Kidika, Komatevo and Tepetata all Eastern Rumelia, why not destroy this Bulgarian, if there is anything left of her after Vanyo. “Ivane, tell yourself.” So said Bat Petyo, and the guitar hesitantly took up Let it be.
For the social president from the village of Sirishtnik, and he is a godly man of the people, my hand refuses to write. You have written, he says, buckets of ink. Also, etc. Velko Vulkanov finished it back in February 2014. And guess what – Parvanov, he predicted, is turning into a corpse. And he added that he did not show intelligence, that he had the behavior of a cuckoo that lays eggs in other people’s nests, that he cannot be relied on in difficult situations, that he was vainly proud of his victory over Petar Stoyanov… “He did not win Petar Stoyanov, he fought himself”, concludes Dr. Vulkanov. I agree with him too. Velko Vulkanov can always be trusted. But to Parvanov – out of nowhere.
How do I drive it further? Where did I start and how far did I get, Lord, with these notes! Peter Beron has a saying: don’t step on shit, he says, you’ll slip. And in front of me – rarely. Just look at it and you’ll smell it. Throw a word, it will splash you. If you leave it, it will continue to stink. I also wrote letters to him and warned him from the newspaper. He knows one thing. The show is for one person. Yes, but the shame is for all Bulgarians. Those mentioned above placed Siberia between Sofia and Moscow. He brought both the North and the South Pole here. Cold, cold, even Lieutenant Peary and Amundsen had never seen such blizzards. He froze us with our most fraternal and closest people. Made us orphans of eternity. If you see a microphone, a hall, a camera, stop and watch: Russia, the Kremlin and Putin. And Crimea. “Crimea belongs to Ukraine!” And there is no fatigue. Just sweat. That day in Strasbourg, and Martin Schulz stepped, and a European, put him at arm’s length. He understood that a political midget, although pro-European, is not interested in arguing Bulgaria with Russia. He needs a horizon, a horizon. Greatness and greatness! Scales of madness, and stupidity. Boundless and incalculable! No Mr. Bean, no Chaplin, no Buster Keaton… They are great performers and honorable people. This is a naked snail crawling on Boyko’s back. Slime, silvery and nasty, remains not on the presidential chair, remains on the strength of Bulgaria. It remains after each of his opus. It remains behind his every gesture. It remains after each of his Judean abominations.
Boyko, where did you find it like that? I want to ask you if you read the Russian press, because I do. And it gave me chills. From New Year’s to today I have counted 130 anti-Bulgarian articles! And the guilt of your chosen one spread over the whole nation. I don’t think about the echo after Strasbourg. Stupidity and denial give birth to the sometimes terrible boomerang of injustice and revenge. And Bulgaria is not for one day, nor for one presidential term. Calm him down. Tie him up if you have to. Buy him some toys. Lead soldiers, horses, elephants and kites, just to say the least. Teach him that a smart dog in a fog does not bark. And only he can bring the wolf into the fold.
Enough dives. Enough clowning.
Cuckoo nest not warm.
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