Bacillus without frontiers


Tuberculosis is an infectious disease. In Italy there are nearly 6000 people who are infected. At least 1000 in Lombardy. About 400 just in the city of Milan.
After the smog that kills, even the bacillus that infects. From the moral capital to the deadly capital. What does it depend on? On the rubbish? On the lack of hygiene practised by the people of Lombardy? By immigration?
It’s unpopular, I know, but someone has to say it. Those who arrive in Italy from a country that’s at risk, where illnesses like TB are widespread, must be examined and if they are found positive, given treatment. Instead of the CPT, a medical check up and treatment. What’s the point in being vaccinated against malaria and yellow fever to go abroad if you are breathing in TB on the metro?
I’ve got a question for the health authorities. The companies, the schools, the public administration finding they have cases of TB, do they have to communicate this? Or do they have to stay silent to protect privacy and help the bacillus? Which comes first privacy or contagion?
Certainly, this silence is strange. With 6000 cases of TB we should ask the WHO for help. Meanwhile I suggest that Livia Turco reopens the sanatoriums. The cool ones high up in the mountains. And at the frontiers I would like our ministers to take turns giving a welcoming French kiss to the new arrivals.

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Posted by Beppe Grillo at 05:40 PM in | Comments (3)
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An Open Letter to Paris Hilton
Written During Her Incarceration

I hope this correspondence finds you as well as you might be all through these thorny, for you, times. I see no reason to rejoice about your imprisonment. You have been denuded, both physically and mentally, and set in a chamber which is in total contrariety to the standard of living you have experienced since your childhood. This is traumatic—it would be harrowing for any person regardless of his or her economic standing. Nevertheless, I also wish that your punishment will be used as a “breathing space” prompting you to reflect upon the entirety of your life and not just what has recently emerged concerning it.
As you contemplate, you might come to the very heart-rending realization that you have been manipulated ruthlessly. And not just by the adolescent-minded paps. By a whole nation, and more, which finds some perverse pleasure either in seeing you deprived of your deluxe way of life—something most of us have not—or in revelling in a Fantasyland genuinely desiring it had what you hold. You have been set up to be the sole recipient of a whole society’s guilt complex—one which marinates desperately in a vindictive groupthink. You now know that the paps would have been even more pruriently comfortable if you had driven your car, in a state of intoxication, into some tunnel where it would have careened off some cement stanchion leaving your body in many broken, bloody pieces. And those indecorous paps, too, would have scurried with their digital cameras to the nearest news room to haggle over the price for the gory details surrounding your death. As a Vietnam veteran, I know well what it means to be the rubbish bin of the vicious collective consciousness of the schizoid citizens of the United States of America. You have my sympathy.
I will tell you straight away, Paris, why you are the most fortuitous woman in the United States. If you mull over your past with vigour, face some exceedingly disgusting facts, and use the innate intelligence I am convinced you retain, you will find yourself in the unique position of being able to formulate a resurfacing and, after, brandish a reprisal worthy of a finally-victorious field commander. The hour has arrived for you to claim your right to be respected as any other human being instead of being gazed at as the whipping girl of a confused, fickle, and sadistic society. That accomplished, you will assume the stature of a woman of dignity and charm and serve, in the future, as an admirable exemplar for all of us to imitate.

“Sail on Silver Girl, sail on high, your time has come to shine,
All your dreams are on their way…”
Bridge over Troubled Waters, Simon & Garfunkel

Your friend,

Written by Anthony St. John in Calenzano, Italy on the First Day of Summer, 2007

Posted by: Anthony St. John | June 26, 2007 07:41 PM

Bravo! Finally someone has found a way for politicians to give and receive at the same time. Perhaps they would work more diligently at protecting the public, which is supposed to be their job, if the performance of their work had a more direct effect on their own life.

Bravo, amico mio. Ciao dalla California!

Posted by: Roger Anderson | June 18, 2007 03:12 AM lottery blogs

Posted by: lionas | June 14, 2007 10:12 PM

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