Catalonian — language of choice both for the giants of yore and the heroes of today

Catalonian — language of choice both for the giants of yore and the heroes of today



Isn’t it ludicrous…?
A hanging judge of a creep called Khernand-oh,
Another of those hideous fascists from Asspain,
He who speaks spic (the ugliest, more useless, sounding shit
Imaginable,) another fascist in a high place in Asspain
(The fascists never having been purged, still hanging in there
After all those years… And where,
Oh, where, is the Nuremberg
In order at last to rid Europe of such pestilence…?
Seventy years of fascist dominance in Asspain and counting…)
Pretending (the fascist creep with the ludicrous speech,
Speaking spic, the ugliest, more despicable spiel ever heard
From turdsucking lips,) pretending Catalonian is
No longer a language fit for the heroes of today,
Just for the giants of yore…

When in fact, of course, Catalonian is
The richest and most convincingly
Beautiful language out of Europe,
And is (as Anthony Burgess famously said) the real koine
(Or shared language) of the whole Mediterranean.

Catalonian, when spoken at regular speed,
Is understood all across the vast lands
Belonging to the Occitans (whose language is twinned to
Catalonian since time immemorial,) and understood,
When spoken apace, by the French, and the Italians,
The Portuguese, the Rumanians, and so on, every intelligent
Human in classical Europe…, while the sad
Garbled unbearable shit of spic is understood
By nobody in Europe — and in the world just by a few
Worthless too-far-gone garbage-sifters,
Sorrowfully, desperately disinclined to better
Themselves…

Catalonians — from Eivissa to Perpinyà, from Alacant
To Tamarit — speak Catalonian most proudly…
Plus, as a second language, they all are knowledgeable
In American (or English, so-called, quaintly, in Europe,)
As the serviceably international tongue it is…, plus, thirdly,
Chinese, as the world language of the future…

Catalonians are all trilingual (or soon ought to be,)
While that clueless folkloric stinking sick shit, spic,
Only “fine” for asininely hee-hawing and stupidly
Cavorting about during those vile sessions
Of horrors called flamenc-oh, or for savagely screaming
During those cowardly murderous archaic types
Of torture, cow-killing, has, wisely, been
By all Catalonians definitely cast off (or soon should,)
As the gruesome pollution it is.

Revolting spic, flamenc-oh, cow-murdering…, nothing else,
No, comes off it — the Inquisition not being any
Longer in order — and hey, let’s not resuscitate it
By any means…

Don’t we all hear the rattling of rusted dog-chains,
The rabid uniformed killers at it again,
Again plotting their coups…? — (Please, hasn’t anybody
Got a spare atomic bomb handy enough to drop
Over there, where the murderers fester…?)

(For how else shall the Catalonians — Catalonia, as
The pinnacle of civilized countries, being loath to dirty its
Hands by dealing with such filth — be ultimately free from
That millstone-like vise round their necks,
The thieving grasping avaricious claws of the
Fascist spic beast trying to garrote them
Once and for all…?)

No, but you fucking tell me.