In these mild days, when Montenegro is on the lips, and national flags are on social networks, the boulevard in the neighborhood comes to mind. I know, it's not nice to compare the country to suburban jade nor are holidays for local themes. But after the dawn of May, pre-election June will quickly follow, in which the leaders gain strength and the voters lose their minds. So it would be good to remind ourselves of the great promises whose fulfillment is awaited like Đekna's death. And the state and the boulevard according to the citizens certainly are.
The story is well known.
A few years ago, a young mayor started building a boulevard in the neighborhood of police, justice and honest administration in Vuković. He promised four lanes, bike lanes and tree lines. Fast road to Bastogne and further to the famous overseas boulevards. Today, Ivan dreams of a parliamentary bench, and the boulevard is still adorned with potholes and pre-election asphalt. Instead of tree rows, buildings and pubs are sprouting up, and their tenants have privatized roadways, sidewalks and roundabouts. The European boulevard from pre-election programs has become a parking lot for peripheral businessmen and officials, through which they drive with tense nerves and curses on their lips. No one expects excavators and modern belts anymore, but we hope that at least one spider will initiate the necessary reforms.
Anyone who still remembers the dawn of May will remember that the European Montenegro was promised in the same way. When it became independent, the country was supposed to be democratic, and because of European agendas, no one even dreamed of privatizing it. A paradise on earth was being created in which only citizens would live instead of party workers. Rich investors will beg to invest millions, but only when state commissions as impartial as Pjerluigi Kolina allow them. Corruption should have become a thing of the past as the union with Serbia, and the state administration spacious enough for sovereignists and unionists. In Balkan Luxembourg, no one would feel like an orphan, and young talents would work here instead of in the Far East.
But the story of Europe lasted until the first Burazera tender and employment by depth. The chosen babies have grown into millionaires, while the losers of the transition have long been living on Lexilium and prayers. Luxemburg has become Colombia, where chiefs, policemen and judges bake their craft according to successful clans. Citizens still exist only in the Constitution and are waiting to be erased by some two-thirds majority. We saw a full consumer basket just like Bigfoot or a reformed judiciary. Distinguished people mix mortar or flee abroad, while first-timers, fly-by-nighters and fickle intelligentsia roam the country. Forests and rivers have already been privatized, and politically and nationally, only a bird in the mountain has yet to express itself. Until she too is visited by the safe vote counters.
They promise us again that tomorrow will be better while the June election party is being prepared.
They are pushing on stage the rejuvenated lists from which the party veterans withdrew from behind the curtain. That from there they manage the youth on stage and guard state apartments and secret accounts. That other refreshed youth sweeps encrypted phones and homophobic messages under the carpet, only to once again sit in a high chair and ride through the square in a convoy under rotation. The hand of justice and the yuppie brigade are joining forces to turn us into a crypto paradise where the onion of Crmnik will be paid for with bitcoins. We will spend the shortened working Sunday in the pubs of the country of Dembele, but our salaries will be the same as in Luxembourg. Grandfathers will honor their grandchildren with the lord's pension, while we will order the waiters from Nepal and India via google translate. There will be work and no clan - ours is only to vote.
That's why IQ85 comes to mind before you forget the pensioner from Dubai and start spending your first bitcoin.
Instead of the traditional liking of flags and prayers for the salvation of the people's will, this time we have the opportunity to do something ourselves. Because the leaders openly shy away from the census, and because of that fear, new fossils are rejuvenated and former executioners unite. And while the fear lasts, we should take advantage of the opportunity. That we no longer turn the other cheek to false reformers and Burazerian economists, but to sanctify ourselves with votes.
Whoever makes you an unfulfilled promise, you cut him below the census or at least cut it by some percentage. Let party bots forgive unfulfilled European agendas and unfinished boulevards, and the voter should be careful to whom he lends his hand. That he doesn't believe videos and fanzine portals, but his own eyes. While the new and converted godfathers play with a mustache on the state plot, it is ours to preserve with our voices what is left of the ravaged economy. Until the fog sellers and false conciliators are swallowed up by the census. And if we realize that we are wondering at least until the votes are counted, maybe we will force them to finally pick up the screwdriver and complete the promised boulevards. Later, if they have enough, they can also build the land of Dembele.
Bonus video:
