Honestly, Alvaro Uribe is like someone out of Shakespeare. Macbeth, say:
If I were a director at Stratford, I’d strongly consider casting El Narco to play Macbeth. He’s definitely got the chops, if you’ll pardon the pun…Of course, Macbeth was egged on to commit murder too–just like El Doptor Varito, who did it in Venezuela and Ecuador. Heaven only knows where he’ll pull his knife next, but a word to Bolivia and Brazil–watch your backs!
Is this a dagger which I see before me,The handle toward my hand? Come, let me clutch thee.I have thee not, and yet I see thee still.Art thou not, fatal vision, sensibleTo feeling as to sight? Or art thou butA dagger of the mind, a false creation,Proceeding from the heat-oppressèd brain?I see thee yet, in form as palpableAs this which now I draw.Thou marshall’st me the way that I was going;And such an instrument I was to use.Mine eyes are made the fools o’ the other senses,Or else worth all the rest; I see thee still,And on thy blade and dudgeon gouts of blood,Which was not so before. There’s no such thing:It is the bloody business which informsThus to mine eyes. Now o’er the one half worldNature seems dead, and wicked dreams abuseThe curtain’d sleep; witchcraft celebratesPale Hecate’s offerings, and wither’d Murder,Alarum’d by his sentinel, the wolf,Whose howl’s his watch, thus with his stealthy pace,With Tarquin’s ravishing strides, towards his designMoves like a ghost. Thou sure and firm-set earth,Hear not my steps which way they walk, for fearThy very stones prate of my whereaboutAnd take the present horror from the timeWhich now suits with it. Whiles I threat, he lives:Words to the heat of deeds too cold breath gives.—Macbeth, Act II, scene i