My great big fat Greek Deputy Prime Ministerial blob.

Benny Hill’s only known love-child

Three-lunches Venizelos now has two offices. In the streets of Athens, his fellow citizens rummage in the garbage. But Brussels approves of him.

When things finally start returning to normal in Greece (life without Brussels-am-Berlin bullies, corrupt politicians, having enough to eat etc) the first bloke likely to have his neck stretched or enjoy a little rueful decapitation will be Evangelos Venizelos, the man who even stole another’s surname to sell himself to the highest bidder.
The only problem in carrying out this lenient sentence will be finding a long enough piece of ship’s rope to stand the weight as the trapdoor opens, or a guillotine deep enough to travel all the way through his 500 centimetre neck. Or indeed, finding his neck in the first place.

Verrizealous has become the personification of spineless Greek elite resistance to the Mad Sprouts, as he is winched and wedged from one limo to another, surrounded by Blackwater guards, dark clouds of Lagardelist, and the whiff of continuous emissions from his anus. But now, his bloated ego (still trying desperately to catch up with his belly) has made more demands to go with his Nick Cleggolopoulus-style non-job as Deputy Prime Minister.
Evanjello already has one of the best government offices in town, in the foreign ministry’s Andreas Sygros Mansion located only a stone’s throw from parliament. But now the Pasok Pudding is to get a second government office – and twenty staff – to allow him to ‘fulfil his role as deputy prime minister’. The cost of all this – published in the government gazette or FEK of two days ago – is described in nauseating detail.
In a full year, this second office for Evanelobese will cost the state – or the taxpayer, depending on how you look at it – the grand total of €468,706. And that’s not including the 24/7 Domino Pizza & McDo mobile canteen that travels behind his entourage at all times.
And news just in confirms that Venizelos will be banned from visiting the Parthenon, for fear that he might lean on one of the pillars, and thus ruin sixty long years of patient restoration.
But this unpleasant lump of globule in human form is the man trusted by the Troika and Herman van Rompuy to help lead Greece back to the paths of righteousness. My own solution would be to roll him up into a ball, and launch him towards the next Troika contingent that arrives, as a sort of Ten-Pin Bowling solution to the crisis.
Whatever fate befalls Evangelo Venizelos in the end, he will go down in the annals of political history as the quintessence of depraved, greedy rejection of a Socialist tradition from which he supposedly emerged. The French would use the term collaborateur, with all its ghastly overtones of doing business with the Nazis while others starved. It is the perfect analogy.
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