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Dark clouds are rising over Greece.

Come Monday, October 5, George Papandreou (Mr. Vacant), son of Greece’s worst bane since Ephialtes, the late Andreas, may be nudging the post of prime minister.

A plywood-glue-and-papier-mâché construct of Greece’s powerful media and business godfathers — not to mention his mommy’s maniacal, demon-possessed drive to see Georgie succeed where his philandering father was convinced he couldn’t — Mr. Vacant is already acting like the “leader”.

Around him, a posse, comprising some of the most discredited, corrupt, kleptocrat old Pasokis rubbing shoulders with the younger generation of “technocrats” brought on the bandwagon by “to paedi” (‘the boy’) himself, is eagerly waiting to push the gates open and begin to loot and plunder.

Almost six years away from the trough has made their appetites insatiable.

Their mouths are watering. Their bank bill-counting hands are itching. Their made men are waiting with the leather satchels to carry the cash to destinations safe.

Further down the line, brigades of secondary, but uncontrollably hungry, Orks, daubed with Pasok’s green on their foreheads so that they can identify each other in the heat of the plunder, are straining at the leash.

The prize?

Government jobs! Appointments! Perks! Opportunities to fleece, blackmail, and extort! The chance to really make it, fatten that bank account, buy the house on the island…!!

This amorphous, but blood thirsty, horde is shuddering with almost sexual anticipation, their stench already choking the air!

Power. Government. Loot. Tax free Beamers. Trips. Private yachts. Fresh Balkan whores.

O, how sweet life in power is!

Having sucked this country almost dry over their previous 21 years in power, Pasokis need, must complete the job and unravel this place forever.

A substantial number of Greek voters are ready to give them the institutional cloak to do just that.

A country with a death wish.

pasok

“Wild, dark times are rumbling toward us, and the prophet who wishes to write a new apocalypse will have to invent entirely new beasts, and beasts so terrible that the ancient animal symbols of St. John will seem like cooing doves and cupids in comparison”.

Heinrich Heine, "Lutetia; or, Paris," Augsberg Gazette, 1842