Sanity, logic, common sense, or the sheer desire to survive, traits the swindling minions of that Erzast Rolex approved communism can’t seem to find in their C.V.

The once burgeoning Saudi Arabia of Latin America giving international analysts sleep deprivation and ulcers. Not only can it not get its shit together, but it refuses – against all predictions – to swirl like a pattern approved turd down the drain; Vegas odds beaten, gang-raped and fitted for cement booties.

Somewhere, gawking from The Mountain Of Madness, Lovecraftian deities bask in the batshit lunacy that is Venezuela and discover the very fiber of their lucidity melting before the Medusian gaze of such profound and unblinking brainless absurdity.

chutlhu, venezuela, nicolas maduro, maduro, elecciones, caracas, dólares.

“There, there Chutulu, just take your meds,” goes an aged Lucy, adding the legendary “blockhead” just for good brand management. The Necronomicon poster child braiding his tentacled hipster beard and desperately digging for a semblance of rationality behind such asinine and harebrained decisions as the Vergatario Cellphone.

How exactly did the hairball happen?

It wasn’t one forceful lick, but a continued 15-year oral assault on a very bewhiskered and bushy crutch that ultimately lead to this choking situation. The eggheads at Miraflores lapping their nether regions with such gusto that any Brazilian wax enthusiast would find themselves dumbstruck by the sheer amount of devotion to the skinless art form.

Let’s untangle, in as few words possible, this flabbergasted feat of forcible fuckery and frisky failure; governmental oversight on a dazzling and shocking scale. Let’s, to drag a metaphor til’ it bleeds, unravel this accumulated intestinal globule of a shit stained coat and really make an educated deduction of when exactly the socialist hoedown became a government-sponsored rape of the masses.

In 1958, Economist, Phillip Cagan, not only coined the concept of Hyperinflation but actually gave it a particular structure and mass. The economist defined the very rules and regulations needed for this rather malicious phenomenon to occur. The last time the Venezuelan government, in a bid to maintain their slimy grips on a series of executive powers that granted them carte blanche, released certifiable data on their then current monetary state of affairs was in 2015.  That day, Maduro, announced that 2014 inflation was a staggering (and to many analysts unrealistic and shamelessly hopeful) 145%.

The main figurehead and governmental spokesman declaring that Venezuela had in fact almost surpassed, by 3 times, Cagan’s watermark of a 3 year accumulated inflation rate of 100%.

As of 1958, almost 60 countries have experienced this devastating blow to their nutsack.

Now, you only need to take a look at the state of the dollar bill compared to the relatively new coin BF (the forefather of that flammable currency, el Bolivar, was taken out to pasture in 2007 by the gas bag Chavez… the reason?… you guessed it Hyperinflation). The BF dances around more than a Mexican jumping bean on crack; it’s not only all over the place but quite possibly looking up at the ceiling and wondering, “do plungers work as suction cups? Is that how Spidey does it.”

But, what exactly made it more affordable to wipe your derrière with a handful of crisp BFs than actual toilet paper?

What calamitous misfortune befall this oil magnate of South America?

If you drink the legislative Kool-Aid, it can all be boiled down to a brilliant hat-trick that would have made the Scions at Zion and their hallow Earth Reptilian cousins turn back and exclaim:

“Dammit, cut the shit, you’re making us look bad!”

“The Empire” confabulated with other lesser “Empires” – why fixate on a word’s definition? – to implode the price of oil; Venezuela’s one golden egg in its gigantic egg basket.

This same dastardly fraternity of Stormtroopers, no doubt with the crafty hands of their CIA lapdogs, used a space laser or some newfangled sonic weapon to radiate the Social messiah, Hugo Chavez, and ultimately kill him. Poor fella’ had to guide his country, pumped up on sweet ganja, up to his eyeballs in pain medication, and from a deathbed in Cuba, for over 6 months, through unconstitutional tight-fisted binding “tweet” decrees.

Polar’s CEO, Mendoza, in a deliberate attempt to undermine the revolution, is waging a one-man war against the government and its vague social reforms by price gouging. The scoundrel in spirited and sinister sit-ins with his Sith supplements over at the “Empire.”

That’s right, Venezuela is trying to piece back its dong, after playing fast and loose with a Margaritaville blender, because the dastardly Empire, with the help of the country’s spitting image of PBR (Pabst Blue Ribbon), not only took a Tonya Harding club to its oil reserve’s knees but actually had the audacity to give their overlord cancer. The blackguards!

And that’s how you get a tin-foil bingo! UNABOMBER approved.  

The Real Scoop

Now, let’s just sweep under the rug all those heavy facts that might mystify and gum-up the truth: unrelenting government spending, the saving habits of a multimillion-dollar addict living with his dealer, a crime rate surpassing John Carpenter’s most fevered escapist dreams , a state so corrupt it practically farts out whinnied calls for kickbacks as it waltzes by, a former President in dire need of Adderall and a gigantic egg basket in a frothing longing for some new eggs.

“Blanket all that info! Doesn’t fit the Star Wars narrative. We’ll recast, let’s give it a spin.”

Let’s talk Revolution

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