Mariella Gattini

PP wants to live forever. You think I’m kidding, but I’m not. I wish I was. PP doesn’t want to die. In his mind, only the weak die, you know, the inferior ones. He would consider his own death his ultimate failure, so right now he’s at war with death. At the same time, he’s keeping his nazism and misogyny as vague as he can publicly because he knows his daughter, Wendish, will know about it one day and she will probably judge him. Who wouldn’t?

He couldn’t care less about others of course, in his deeply detached alternate world nobody compares to his unattainable state of ultimate perfection, where he is the almighty. And he has grown bored, so bored that he’s now embarked in this his quest to live forever, since he thinks he’s indispensable for humankind, sorry, for his human kind.

If I had him in front of me, I would say to him, “If you were poor and uneducated, I would show you the same compassion that I feel for the MAGA crowd, which would follow any idiot who says what they want to hear to the point of their own demise. But you? Contemplating compassion for you would be just like giving pearls to swine. With all the opportunities your family gave you, what you’ve learned, in all the years of your long, empty life, is nothing. And nobody is at fault but you. Respect is earned, doofus, not imposed, and press releases don’t count. They are bowing to your money, dummy, not to you. Yes, including the ones closest to you. Believe you me, PP.”

(Of course that I would introduce this piece in an amicable initial salutation, a piece that I would need to write down and rehearse first, because I know that in the heat of the moment, I would forget more than one important thing and my argument would fall flat in this one-shot encounter probably interrupted by his own diatribe. Besides the fact that he most probably would try to evade me as fast as he could, and would scream profanities at me from afar. Do you think I wouldn’t dare? Have you read my blog? Nobody is saying the things I say, because everybody wants a piece of the pie, and bowing to money, no matter its provenance, always comes in handy.)

PP believes that at this point in his life he should already be the master of the universe and doesn’t understand why it hasn’t happened yet. Of course he blames the left for this; the problem is that he’s so far to the right that everybody else is at his left. How ridiculous he seems, and there’s nothing he himself can do to improve his own image, because his delusions make him believe he’s right, that he is actually better than everyone else and nobody is really acknowledging it. Talk about daddy issues!

All that money, and so little time left. And giving his money away is out of the question, of course, he’s going to need it, if he’s going to live forever. PP never grew up and keeps a sacrosanct, moronic view of the world to which he considers himself its only answer. I wish I was kidding. Believe you me.

He believes that his education and the money he has amassed are the platforms that have put him on a pedestal to tell others how superior he is to them, but his audience is of no value to him, so his argument is a self-reference lost in circular explanations of how extraordinary he is. The problem is that he never took real advantage of the education given to him. He took bits and pieces of what he thought he understood and used them in his manipulations and machinations. Now he has in his coffers everything needed to create real value, but in the process of his constant replenishment of them, he lost his mind. So, instead of looking for ways to spend his last days spreading knowledge and good will—since he is mortal and he, in fact, is going to die just like the rest of the populace he so much despises—he chose to deny death for people like him. I know!

I wonder how many people believe he’s actually superior. He must be smart, since he got all that money, they think. He managed to bamboozle so many, and because of that, he probably is super smart, people think in this country.

He’s a moron, I tell you, a bad-intentioned one. A moron who’s paying for reactionary, conservative politicians and judges to wreak havoc in the country, because this country doesn’t mean a thing to him. He is number one all right, he is the number one patsy for foreign interest, who only finds satisfaction in other men’s approval, and couldn’t care less about women. Men are the target of his rambunctious display of phallic power. Oh, my!

He, however, forgot one little thing, he forgot that you can never underestimate the power of women who are not impressed by money or by phallic exercises of power. Women could be the demise of PP, if that were our objective, but we deem him not worth the effort. We chose instead to allow him to show himself how small he is, in that way, he is becoming, little by little, the object of his own demise.

In this story Peter Panish never grew up, and Wendish, his daughter, is not going to be able to save him from his own delusions. On the opposite, when she grows up, she will inherit PP’s fortune, one based on deceit, cruelty, and abuse of power, and it’s not going to bother her one bit, because the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree. All the innocence she has now will one day be a thing of the past deemed as the naïveté of her childhood. One thing though, deep down she will know where she really comes from, and despite all of her future press releases praising her father, after all she’ll have all his money, she will know she comes from hatred, especially hatred against her own gender. Nevertheless, she will continue developing new ways to make her father’s delusions a reality for the sake of his human kind.