Who said that retrospective 2021 doesn't rhyme with commonplace?

Para escrever assim esta retrospectiva, busquei na leveza justificativa. Olhei para um lado, olhei para o outro, me vi diante do óbvio – e achei pouco.
To write this retrospective in this way, I sought the lightness of justification. I looked to one side, I looked to the other, I found myself facing the obvious – and I thought little.

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To write this retrospective in this way, I looked for lightness justification. I looked to one side, I looked to the other, I faced the obvious – and I thought little. What else could I in the throes of the year come up with? I hesitated, hesitated, pondered. And even fearing the boss’s reaction, I decided to rhyme.

reader a laugh I can’t start, that at least manages to give you a jolt. And take the daily boredom out of those who follow the news. To the reader, therefore, who I never underestimate, I offer this day my ultimate folly. In a year in which there was no lack of journalistic antics, there is nothing better than ending with these rhymes, half crooked, half mystical. And so imperfect, the damned ones, that in verse I dare not write. I follow this tune, hoping the reader will entertain.

434526719 It will be short, I promise, because time escapes me. Let me just see my notes here so I can have a map of the events. Oh yes, how to forget? In January they invaded the Capitol. And in my opinion it was another nonsense that Cain included in his portfolio. What else was there in that month that I now think so far away? There was a writer acting as a militant and a fool talking about “necessary authoritarianism”. And there was even a columnist asking for impeachment with “talquei” in a hilarious text.

434526719 It’s already February and, speaking of BBB, I ask the intellectual about Karol Conká to write. The conversation was good, intelligent, promising fun. Everything was going very well, even from the Lava Jato the STF nailed the coffin. In a year without carnival and in a time of sealing, I was left to see the parade with my imagination, this warrior. A few days later, I interviewed Roger Moreira. We talk about this and that. It’s so good to talk! It’s a pity that the STF does not respect parliament.

In the third month of the year , was little what I wrote. I took a few days off, traveled with my son, Davi. In the short time I had, I spoke of a pandemic, of this macabre birthday. I also spoke about Flávio’s mansion – at the time a great disaster. The restraint of the politician, I would say, is none. For this very reason, it is worth admiring the miracle of the common man. In March, “A Prince in New York” was followed up. And earlier this month, Fachin benefited Lula with a decision. And because of her next year, we will have the ex-convict in the election. Before the month says goodbye, I must mention: the Emenda came to life and now it’s too late to complain.

We arrived in April and there was a robot – robot! – complaining of harassment. Definitely our time does not let us die of boredom. I’m looking for a rhyme here, but I don’t even know what bilva is. It only remains for me to say that I spoke with Alexandre Soares Silva. The chat was good, but it’s no use, you can’t ignore the narrative: from the scientists I questioned the notion of self-importance and the estimates. Ignoring enlightened foolishness from science, I could only appeal to optimism and say: Lula as a candidate is good news. I also spoke to Glenn and, you see, marrow has been proven to have it. The month was ending, there was no shortage of agenda, and it was with great regret that I commented on the astronaut’s death.

In May my life changed – for the better, I don’t complain! But now the question hit me: do I have the rhyme for that? Right at the beginning of the month, I caught a stink of idealism and ran to defend the legitimacy of pocketnarism. But my text is not a pamphlet; at best a grievance. Now excuse me, I’m going to dress all in black to talk about Paulo Gustavo. Some leave and others stay, that’s the plot of life. A few days later I had the honor of talking to the great Ary Toledo. The news is piling up, but I can’t complain if I still have the opportunity for Renan Calheiros to make fun of it. To end the month of brides, I speak of marriage: FHC had lunch with Lula and I contained my cursing.

Unfortunately, in June, the number killed by Covid reached half a million, and the colonel’s spectacle began in the Senate, which would last until the end of the year without finding corruption. There was also Copa America – how we waste time debating nonsense! But leaving aside the hysterical left and its bullshit, I allowed myself to cross the border to talk about Alberto Fernandez spending all my portunhol.

July is the coldest month in my dear Curitiba. And it started with a politician taking on homosexuality, hoping to cause a stir and realizing the opportunity. Meanwhile, at the CPI, Renan Calheiros gave a show and I made a mockery of Xuxa. Face-to-face that I am, I sent this witch to shame, to write a script that no one bothered to read – wow! There are also some singers who are addicted to sealing, who take the pacifier out of their mouths and chant “no, no, no, Bolsonaro is a fool either”. Speaking of easy rhymes and also cardboard, what about Joyce Hasselmann, who after a stumble, went around accusing a big conspiracy?

In August, the crazy dog ​​gave the air of grace in Tokyo and the gymnast’s withdrawal generated a whole colloquium. If there was a lack of impetus there, there was more bravado here: while in Brasilia tanks paraded, there was a minister drooling over his tie. And in Congress, deputies, ignoring the outcry, buried the auditable vote, awakening supposed presidential desires to wake up the infantry. Who really woke up, however, was the STF, which imposed a mequetrefe censorship for opponents to intimidate. Which led even my wife to doubt my sanity.

September was very crazy, although it passed quickly. It started with coup talk, everyone was scared, and ended with pizza enjoyed on the streets of New York and with the far left rehearsing a comeback. In the midst of this, however, there was a gigantic demonstration and a belligerent climate, for everything to culminate in an impressive retreat.

In October I got tired and again I had to go away. Not before watching the CPI and sharing my disgust. I asked the readers, and I heard a lot of abuse, if running over a criminal is a Christian and legitimate act – be serious! Speaking of seriousness, in October there was a hot debate about the distribution of tampons. Thorny theme. I lack room for speech. But as I’m stubborn, I write anyway. And I go into the living room, I turn on the TV at random and Chappelle stabs me with a lot of jokes, showing that this woke generation is really privileged.

November, this one, was a stormy month. It started with a volleyball player suffering outright cancellation. Then there was a lavajatista entering politics – a fact that did not pass unscathed on my pity, oh so critical. When the singer died, there wasn’t even time to cry. Because Moro spoke “gross” as much as he could. And Gil joined the ABL, in an incomprehensible election. As if not enough things were happening, Toffolli also had the real coup acknowledging. Closing with a golden key, the cliché could not be missing: in São Paulo, the sculpture of a bull gave rise to talk.

In December, which I thought would be a calm month, Olavo “fled” the country and I had to comment on that. While Wagner Moura was stuffing himself with shrimp, I read Lula’s biography. And in the Senate the underdog, André Mendonça, the Saturday articulates itself. The year is ending, the PEC dos Precatório was approved. Even Randolfe got engaged in a reserved ceremony (jeca). Before resting, Luiz Fux spoke a lot of nonsense. But it was Barroso who ended the year enjoying himself – to whom I owe ironic allegiance.

Only texts here at Gazeta 434526719 there were more than two hundred. Not to mention the Polzo Show, O Papo É and also the Quarantine. Now here I go to the well-deserved rest, dive into the gentle sea and, gratefully, dream of a 1280 in which, in the absence of peace, at least chaos be fun.

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