Dejected Counterdemonstrator Wannabe

Does anyone read this blog? I really don't think so. Reading over it, I am not surprised. I am going to the square in front of parliament tomorrow morning and engage in some good natured ribbing of the peasants who pitched camp there and who irritate the crap out of me. You see, the peasants (okay, farmers, but peasants sound so much more on point) are demonstrating against the socialist government because they did not get their subsidies. They brought in a ton of farm equipment and paralyzed the city. In typical Hungarian fashion, the minister of agriculture refuses to talk to 'politically motivated right wing lunatics' and the peasants refuse to talk to 'uppity ass commie bastards'. How anyone can call someone right wing when they are demanding EU subsidy payments... but I am starting to talk politics and I hate politics.

I am only going to look at this from the point of view of a bored urban intellectual. I am bored. I don't like peasants because they are boring. I am going to attack them with witty repartoire (probably misspelled repportaire). This will probably result in my death, and I will not be bored anymore. There. I am hoping for death by some kind of enormous farm machine, something extremely heavy and cruel looking, used to harvest green peas. At the very least, if I am killed by a hand operated farm implement, it better be a scythe.

Now there is a FINE tool! A scythe! That is the word of the day, as far as I'm concerned. This word has no vowel! It is a weapon! It is pronounced completely different from the way it is written, making it into one of those terrifying English words that make foreign people think that English is hard until they realize it is not.

I must say I eat well here, probably thanks to the peasants I am going to be killed by tomorrow. I breakfasted on fresh gooseliver pate (for those of you... wait, nobody is reading this blog, so what am I doing addressing people? I suppose I am reading myself.... Good. Now that we have established that I am a schitzo, let's move on - from now on, when you see the word 'you' I am referring to you, that is, me, you. Yes. You've got it). I just had fresh crepes with cottage cheese, apricot jam and raisins. This may sound odd, and it is, but what the hell. It is tasteee!