However, for the chase, Casa Pound and Forza Nuova, the Illinois Nazis of Italy, have organized a demonstration against the harmful effects of the Chinese invasion in Piazza Vittorio, asking a ban on car imports from Japan, confusing the color of the car with its provenance, and mistaking the nation as well, because they are not so-so experienced in geography, knowing only about Abyssinia since Mussolini times.

The Lega Nord, the Northen separatist formation, brought the “Pontida people” to the streets to claim independence from “ Big Thief Switzerland, or as well Road-Pirate”. Switzerland limited itself to look with pity these simpleton transalpine cousins, sadly shooking its alpine peaks.

The against-all movement, which believes in reptilians and chemtrails guided by a former stand-up comedian named Beppe Grillo, so called 5 Star Movement, babbled that misinformation regime does not want to admit that the machine was not an Audi, neither was yellow nor had a Lamborghini engine. They too were offended by the Swiss number plate indeed. Required to disclose their information, they called a press conference to argue that they would do so, only if RAI, the Italian state TV network, would transmit on air in unified networks in prime time a Beppe Grillo show, paying him full cachet. With the public financing of parties, they would have also bought chickpeas and distribute them to the population forced to watch the show on their knees. For the denial of such equilibrate proposal they filled the Internet with bogus memes of Minister Boschi driving a purple Prinz with a diesel Volkswagen engine and a nameplate of a tax haven at choice. The dad of the Minister, holding an Etruscan sarcophagus filled with millions of euros, is sitting in the passenger seat. Plainly a montage since Minister Boschi appears dressed like a nun and one can see the ballerina shoes instead of her dizzying heels. Nevertheless, they cried aloud for something frankly unintelligible.

The Democratic Party was AWOL, as ever.

Mr. Pippo Civati quickly dispatched a public notice to deny that he owns a yellow Audi in Switzerland and, anyway his dad had bought it without saying anything to him, and a Lamborghini too. Swearing again and again that he prefers bikes. Yes, he also has a Ferrari, but it has not denounced to the tax office because he does not remember where he parked. You know, Ticino is vast.

Forza Italia, Mr. Berlusconi own political movement, has left freedom of conscience to the members on the theme, and they are still trying hard to find it and also are asking themselves what to do with it when found. You know, they are not familiar with the device…

Civil society mass-responded, too.

For instance, the umarell all over the Italian Northeast, from Milan to Istria, were all moving in bulk from construction sites in the cities’ streets to the side of the highway to make their contribution in the spotting of the Yellow Audi. There they stand, a cell phone in their hand, ready to shoot a message which, sometimes, they send by mistake… Alzheimer’s sucks.

But, before anyone else, arrived the average Italian, the fantastic Italian hoaxer who never misses a chance to come out with one of their creations.

First they opened a Facebook group to collect the reports on the yellow Audi coming one minute after other from wherever in Italy, from Lampedusa to Battipaglia, from Santa Maria di Leuca to Amatrice, from Tombolo to Aglié, but not in the NorthEast obviously. Then in the Facebook group, they have published photos of everything was car, or yellow, or swiss or have a Slavic face. Finally, there was an endless flame about the chance of having Minions dressed as Dracula raping Heidi on a Fiat Duna. As this was a prominent national digital occasion, it also intervened Riccardo Luna, the much debated Italian Digital Champion, and with his usual inclusive behavior has managed to make everybody began to quarrel with everybody else. Then he was paid millions of Euros for this discordian service to the nation.

However, after that achievement, the United Hoaxers of Italy narrated that the police was chasing the Yellow Audi with a Lamborghini supplied to the italian Police, a fireball of 5200 cc V10 engine with 610 hp that can reach 325 km/h and an acceleration from 0 to 100 km/h in just 3.2 mere seconds. Sticazzi™! The similar catch the similar. Being the chemistry of methane the true industry’s dirty national product (untraslatable Italian word joke, in Italian the gross, in gross national product is the word lordo, that also means sporco dirty).

It was a hoax twice: first because the Lamborghini car is not used to chase the criminals on the streets but serves to the son of the Police Boss, a novice driver, to carry around his chicks; the second because the above guy has actually shattered the Lamborghini under a lorry distracted from that great piece of thighs that he was bringing at the side. Shit happens.

And so, while Italy was breathless in the virtual chase of the yellow Audi, swiss plated and Lamborghini-engined, in Italy arrived Mr. Rohuani, the President of the Islamic Republic of Iran, one of those Muslim fundamentalists with a turban on the head. Well, I do not understand anything about foreign policy. It seems we’ll have to keep him as a friend now that the wind has shifted for Iran, once a rogue state but now a sincere friend in spite of the blatant violation of human rights. OK, business is business, after all, and if the head of the Commission on Human Rights is the emissary of Saudi Arabia which, incidentally, does not even recognize the Universal Declaration (ha ha) of Human Rights, perhaps Rouhani has also to be considered a moderate.

I quote that event because the press discussed a lot the fact that within a route for palaces and museums where we brought our host we made our best to be good and obsequious. So obsequious to hide the private parts of marble statues as not to disturb the bearer of the turban, who maybe was fearing the comparison with the not so extraordinary genitals of the classical statues. Obviously neither the Minister of Culture nor the Prime Minister admitted that they had decided that censorship. Maybe to clarify that they would have lost every comparison in terms of genitals. It seems that Rohuani, you see, has decided by himself. That doesn’t seem strange indeed in a country where the decisions are taken all by people from the outside.

Our ruling class is here only to take the highest salaries in the world. Puppetry is an art that needs to be well remunerated.

However, this was a real news just because at the same time there were many controversies over the Cirinnà law proposal on same-sex marriages. The Papist Republic of Italy is the very last democratic western country to not have such human right (The Vatican City State is not even a democracy, as you know, it is an Autocratic Theocratic State). So, it was maybe due to the sparkling atmosphere of prudery fomented by the Catholics in the country that the press noted the censorship of the statues.

Well, in fact, no one had been outraged when only a few months ago, we had to paint virginal pants over the Tamara de Lempicka paintings’ poster (or directly remove them) when Pope Francis (the one without the turban, but with Prada shoes) was in a visit to Turin. At that time, no one remembers anymore, neither the press nor the leftish temperamental zealots of our western liberal arts. The only ones protesting for that was the usual radical-libertarians clique of Marco Pannella. But even those, it must be noted, once fought for sexual freedom of citizens and now limit themselves to the rights of marble statues. They have aged, too.

However, we had barely hidden the white pudenda on our beloved historical statues that our week took zest with the siege of the largest station in Italy, blocked and evacuated for an anti-terrorism alarm comparable to September 11th in New York.

The dangerous sniper, probably hidden in some invisible hideout into Termini railway station, was preparing himself to fire on unarmed people while they were trying to take the train unaware of all, just to add spice up to the daily experience of the hours of average delay for every minute of the journey. They called him «The Italian Sniper». Clint Eastwood was ready to make a blockbuster movie with Lino Banfi in the role of Lee Harvey Oswald. Or were the Vanzinas with Matt Damon in the role of Er Munnezza. Okay, let’s keep that open, for further research

Coming back to the Termini psychodrama. In fact, after a huge research of fifteen hours, involving CSI units all around the world, calling here the Mossad intelligence with whom now we have a great relationship, and after having distributed dozens of positions to persons of confidence of the Prime Minister («And I pay!» as the well-known comedian Totò could have said), we found that the treacherous Muslim was instead a very Italian pizza maker of Anagni, an attractive place near Rome, in the mood to make a gift, second-hand indeed, to his sick son ( OK, I added «sick» because it make so much like the classic Italian book De Amicis «Cuore», please read it).

The public enemy number one in Italy, the uber-villain, infamous and treacherous, was traveling with the absolute peace of the tired people, with a happy smile for his M16 toy pointed at the ground. He entered a metro station called Jonio under the amused eyes of two Bersaglieri otherwise fiercely armed to the teeth with machine guns and hand grenades, the most renowned and beloved military force in Italy who took Rome from the hand of the Pope in 1870. The pizza maker travelled no less than 8 metro-stations, with the rifle in the hand, up to Termini station, then with the seraphic calm of the good family father who once in a time knows he can tear a smile to his beloved son, crossed the largest station in the nation, overcame also the barrier of control where the beefy railroaders usually bother anyone approaching there just to affirm their power, and arrived at the platform for the local lines, a very long way from the entrance. He then took the train that brought him to the house with the bovine quiet slowness of which only the local Italian trains are capable.

And so, while the Rome Termini station was besieged by LMV Lince armored vehicles with machine guns blazing on the bezel, the mayhem went over the helicopters, bomb dogs and other military of all kinds were dressed for war, and also the chiefs of armed forces, the Questore and the Podestà of Rome with with bulletproof vests came to be interviewed boasting indomitable courage, the pizza man, tired, sagged in the dirty compartment of the local train where he illustrated the hardships of his life to his neighbor, a young policeman, who seeing the toy rifle said: «My friend, don’t encourage your son to join the military. The pay is low, no one loves the armed forces in Italy, especially considering we are managed by total idiots». He was completely unaware of the evident proof taking place in Rome Termini in that very moment.

So, dear friends, this is Italy, a mystical intersection of outburst of nightmares of terrible cartoons in which you can find together the absurd and the impossible, the tragic and the humorous, a slapstick comedy and insolent good feelings, the ridiculous arrogance of the rulers and the disconsolate acquiescence of the populace of this Italy too «Italian» even for itself.

But, you know, basically, I like it because, after all, even when the situation is difficult, it never is serious.

You know, the secret of a long life is never to take life seriously.

No coincidence, Italians live longer than all of you.

So now… good Italian Carnival to you all.