Onasagoras
Yesterday was World Snake Day and our Anita is advised to be on her guard. Her enemies may be out to get her, but just as dangerous are a few so-called “friends” lurking in the shadows. Are they friends or snakes? A famous astrologer once asked that very question. Speaking of which, Anita dear, maybe it’s time to visit a fortune teller and get that evil eye lifted.
In any case, the fact that our beloved influencer is still keeping DISY on top and herself on the highest rung of the popularity ladder (albeit just barely) counts in her favor. But our Nikos is on the rise too, and with the hundreds of photos he’ll be taking during Cyprus’ six-month EU Council Presidency, he’s optimistic that his popularity will skyrocket. He’ll be posing with foreign leaders without even having to suffer the ordeal of airport lines or flights. They’ll all be coming here. The money’s there, and opportunities like this don’t come often.
Cyprus has eight species of snakes. Only one is venomous. -Onasagoras
Having dispatched their patriotic messages to mark the grim anniversary of the coup (some reportedly used AI to save themselves the effort), our political leadership is now off to New York for the next round of talks. Of all the President’s trips over the past two years, what we mostly got out of them were expenses and a lot of souvenir snapshots, because the chances of real progress are about as likely as me catching a swordfish in the Kouris dam. In other words: zero.
The Minister of Energy, Keravnos, lived up to his name and thundered down on the undersea cable project, threatening not to pay a cent, even the agreed sum, without firm guarantees of the project’s viability. Personally, I support the Minister. In a multi-billion-euro venture, nothing should be left hanging. Everything must be crystal clear. Crystal clear, as our young Nikos would say, because down at the seabed, everything moves in deep darkness. Abyss, if you remember the movie.
I lost count of the attempted, and successful, murders we had last week. We gave off strong Chicago and New York vibes from their crime-wave glory days. Fortunately, we didn’t have a killing on the Finikoudes promenade. Apparently, the elite MMAD patrols the President ordered to the seafront (since it seems the responsible Minister and the Police Chief had gone on early vacation) did the trick. Make Finikoudes Great Again. What struck me most though was the case of the 80-year-old man who killed the partner of his former partner, or something like that. First of all, because I thought that after a certain age (say, after 40), jealousy and disputes were supposed to be resolved with a good talk. Second, because I heard that in the past they’d found 147 hunting rifles in his home. One hundred and forty-seven! What? Was he still hunting at 80? Or did he have his own private army waging war in Africa? Folks, something’s not right in this country, and it’s not just the heatwave turning our brains into jelly. Psychiatrists of the world, assemble.
