Monólogo de Alsina: "Creo que debería cenar menos y superar la adicción a los churros y las porras"

Carlos Alsina is convinced he needs to eat less for dinner and "finally overcome his addiction to churros and porras" because his dreams are becoming increasingly surreal and feature increasingly outlandish characters. https://www.ondacero.es/programas/mas... #psoe #spain Last night I dreamt I woke up. And, restless, I looked out the window and discovered that everything had changed. Madrid was a water park. Thanks to the melting Arctic ice, the Manzanares River had swelled, and the entire city was now navigable. Reyes Maroto earned a living as a gondolier while Almeida played guitar. The city had absorbed Alcobendas and San Sebastián de los Reyes, and Atresmedia could only be reached by horse-drawn carriage. On television, an announcer reported that former president Sánchez was enjoying his new life in a kibbutz near Masada. His successor as president, Miguel Tellado, was in Rabat strengthening ties with his Moroccan counterpart. And, indeed, they broadcast a video of Tellado and Asís Ajánuch making out passionately. Beside them, the foreign ministers of both countries were also kissing passionately. Spain's was Tamames, and Morocco's was still Albares. "I love you, Ramón," the latter could be heard saying. And then they discreetly discussed Abascal's departure from Vox, disappointed in himself and exhausted from having to save Spain from the Moors every morning. "He deceived us all," said Tamames, "he was a softie." Albares, speaking perfect Berber, confirmed to his colleague that the treaty ceding the Canary Islands to Morocco was ready for signature. Government spokesman Borja Sémper had been asked by the press at Moncloa Palace about Western Sahara, and he had congratulated the Sahrawi people on now being Moroccan property, without autonomy or anything. "They're going to have a great time," said Borja, who's quite the intellectual. "Well, what a U-turn you've made!" shouted a journalist. "Pragmatism," replied Sémper, "the world is a very complex thing, and long live Spain!" The journalist persisted: "But weren't you the ones who criticized changes of opinion?" And that's when Vito Quiles, the Secretary of State, jumped in like a spring: "You come here to ask questions, you leftists; if you want to give your opinion, go to the Seventh Avenue." The seventh channel was indeed seventh in the audience rankings. Its star presenter was Óscar Puente. The title of his program? 'More Was Lost in Ceuta'. It boasted of pluralism, and with good reason: it featured Graciano as a panelist once a quarter. The biased press was the one that used to call itself critical. And the critical press had become biased. "The Leopard!" preached Pablo Iglesias on his pay channel, "The Leopard!" And he himself shaved his legs live on air to demonstrate that, hair or beast, nothing ever truly changes completely. (He also did it to attract more subscribers, because they offered half a leg for free and the other half only after paying a hefty fifty-year subscription fee). I thought about doing a crowdfunding campaign to see the complete shave, but in this new world, generous donors had become extinct even before moderate commentators. Garibaldi was no longer a tavern; it was a dog grooming salon whose mascot was Monedero. I felt someone touch my shoulder and turned around quickly because there's no point in dwelling on dreams. It was Cristina Pardo, who said to me, somewhat unnervingly, "Remember, I have a premiere tonight." Her new program was called "La Mesta," a tribute to transhumant people. That's why, I thought, she invited me. To go transhumant at odd hours, taking advantage of the fact that where Atresmedia is now, it used to all be pastureland. I thought about showing up on set wearing the Osasuna jersey that Daniel Ramírez García-Mina (the one they used to call "the new guy" back in his day) gave me, but I changed my mind without Félix's help because, it's true, it wouldn't have been understood in Getafe. Cristina was smiling like Hitchcock when he put Tippi Hedren in the phone booth in The Birds. "You intimidate me, Pardo," I said to her, "you intimidate me, my little kite." And she muttered, "Get ready, little guinea pig, I've already lit your coals." I asked her to send me a canoe to my house because I understood that she has a fleet of vehicles for picking up guests on TV. "You're one of us," she told me, "you'll have to swim." I knew for sure that I'd capsize at the first question. And that instead of a life preserver, she'd throw me a churro. Maroto gave me a discount and took me to San Sebastián de los Reyes in the gondola. I think I need to eat less for dinner. And finally overcome my addiction to churros and porras. I've made a firm commitment because the show deserves it. To stop being an addict and become a critic. A churro critic. That's my dre...