Happy Birthday, Chavecito…here’s the oppos’ present to you!

“The tongue as temple of pleasure”. I shit you not, that’s what the headline says. Do you want to read the whole thing, in Spanish? Or shall I just spare you that unsafe-for-work stuff?

Yes, it’s Chavecito’s birthday today, and the laughs and hate from the oppo whore media just keep on rolling, no matter what day it is. From Venezuelan prog-blogger Okrim, who dug the above jewel out a few days ago, I bring you…convulsions:

The obsession many opponents have with President Chávez is endlessly amazing. If you comment on anything to do with international politics, they compare this event with Chávez, even a suicide attack in a country where the average escuálido has never heard anything from before (such as one in eastern Germany). If you talk about how bad the weather is, they think of Chávez, and how “bad” the entire country is. If you talk about your last vacation, they say they didn’t enjoy theirs because of Chávez (even if they just got back from a Mediterranean cruise). But I confess I’ve never found such a twisted example of obsession than the one I’m about to share with you.

On the ground floor of my apartment building, I found several pages of El Nacional the other day, and idly picked one up to read it. The article was about sex, particularly cunnilingus, that is, oral sex performed on a woman. I read it unawares, thinking–oh, in vain–that I would find none of the classic dissociated editorial line of Miguel Henrique Otero. I was wrong. After a series of explanations of the sexual practice in question, in which the use of the tongue is indispensable, I found the following pearl of wisdom:

“True, there are those who use their tongues to insult, and talk a mile a minute in cadenas [televised presidential speeches, required by Venezuelan law to be broadcast on all channels] but the most privileged know that the tongue represents […] an infallible instrument to offer and achieve pleasure.”

WTF? What level of dissociated obsession must a person have when talking about sex in the context of televised speeches by President Chávez? You can be sure that the most Chavista woman in the world isn’t thinking of Chávez when the topic of conversation is oral sex. So what strange psychological mechanism is at work in some opposition sexologist mentioning the president in an article on oral sex? Fixation? Obsession? Persecution mania? Common, garden-variety craziness? All of the above?

The strange thing is, this sort of conduct is common in many oppositionists in the most diverse circumstances. They live thinking of the President: on the way to work, at work, at lunch, on the way home, at home, alone, with family, on vacation, and probably–though it’s difficult to prove–even in a coma.

I understand them at the bottom of it all, poor bastards. If I thought about the President in each and every instant of my life, at all occasions and moments, in the face of any comment or situation, the way they do, I would surely hate him too.

Translated, in its entirety, by Your Humble One.

Yow. I know Chavecito is a sexy stud (and so do lots of other women, believe you me), and that his mouth is undoubtedly his handsomest (and most active) feature, but this obsession of his enemies with his tongue is just killingly funny. Even in bed, they just can’t get him out of their heads! What must their sex lives be like, I shudder to ask?

Okrim is right…I’m the most Chavista woman in my hometown, maybe in Canada, maybe even all of North America, and even I don’t think about it that way, at least not by daylight.* Most of the time, when I think about Chavecito’s mouth, I think what hilarious truths have come out of it. He has no qualms making fun of his enemies, or denouncing them either. And he does it with wit and comic flair, which is in itself very sexy. He’s not afraid to get a little goofy; that’s an appealing trait, and no doubt explains a lot of his common touch. He can get along with anyone, and he can make anyone laugh–except maybe those obsessive oppos, who all walk around looking like a chronic case of indigestion, and little wonder.

When I picture myself meeting him, I imagine we’d have a helluva good conversation, in which he ignores my stumbling Spanish and I politely correct his restaurant English (that’s what I call it when someone speaks just enough of a language to be able to order a meal.) And of course, I imagine laughter. Lots and lots of laughter. Laughter is a great icebreaker. And it’s also a great leveller. I certainly don’t think of him as a tyrant; actually, I think of him as someone you could have a beer with, unlike Dubya (who is a dry drunk, and in any case, if you don’t belong to his grandparents’ country club, you will never have so much as a glass of Coke with him.)

Yeah, I guess you could say that’s the secret of Chavecito’s sexiness right there. Women actually LIKE him, as a person, because he likes them–and everyone else, too, unless they give him solid reasons not to. Like, say, Dubya and that failed coup eight years ago, for example.

Liking and likability are two things the oppos don’t have much of, if they have them at all (I’ve never seen any evidence that they did); hence their constant exercising of the bile ducts. Even when the topic is tongue-sex technique, somehow they figure out a way to work their hateful obsession with a capable, likable leader in there! Clearly their mothers never taught them that you catch more flies with honey than with vinegar and gall. That’s why I doubt that even a clear, detailed explanation of how to go down on your lady is going to help them much. Either you have it, or you don’t, but you can’t pick it up from reading a trashy newspaper article. Technique is just no substitute for a certain je ne sais quoi, y’know?

So, Chavecito, happy birthday…I can’t give you anything more than my warmest greetings, but that’s okay. You already have everything you need anyway. And those who have too much of all the wrong things and too little of the good stuff, well…they’ll just go on eternally hating your guts for it.

Poor devils.

*I will confess to having had the odd naughty dream about him, though. And Rafael Correa and Evo, too, although not all in one go. I’m not that greedy!