The imaginary week of the Republic

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Every Saturday, Louison puts herself in the shoes of a personality (or almost) who made the news and imagines her logbook.

Monday April 18

Often, by allegory, I am represented as a woman, Phrygian cap screwed on the skull and determined gaze as never before. I think it would be fairer, and more 2022, to imagine myself at my wits end. I'm tired of being your Beyoncé, who reinvents herself all the time, even smiles on fifteen heels with a lurex bodysuit that half fits in the buttocks. I now want to be shown as a heroine of Almodóvar, the cigarette in the mouth, the approximate rimmel and the air on the verge of a nervous breakdown.
But you don't always do what you want in life, rarely even, and since you count on me, again and again, I'm going to pull up my panties flat stomach, splash a little water on my face and eat two or three filled chocolates like a Petri box and you'll be fine, you'll be fine, you'll be fine.

Anyway until Sunday.

Tuesday April 19

In fact, Sunday seems a long way off. I understand the children in zone C, looking forward to Friday and on vacation to rest a little. Or like those deliverers at Deliveroo, who may be able to take advantage of a little of the fine imposed on their employer to take a day off, or a few hours, let's be crazy, without having to deliver burgers for nothing. One can dream, because I don't have the impression that the Republic is at the heart of the values of these new exploiters.
When you think that it would be enough for people to go get their microplastic supplement sushi themselves to solve the problem of the working conditions of these people. But instead, they are hesitant to vote on Sunday or to order a gourmet delicacy from Vietnam prepared by a self-entrepreneur adept at flexibility. Yes, that's what we call a bo bun overpacked by an exploited employee in 2022.

No, really, Sunday is a long way off.

Wednesday April 20

You know what, with tonight's program, I didn't even want to get up this morning. I don't know why, but it tires me in advance to listen to them talk, the two of them. Well, yes, I know why, I was already exhausted watching them bicker five years ago, and there's no reason it should be more fun this time around, even though since CBD has been available over the counter. Especially since I'm pretty sure they'll talk more about LBDs.
And meanwhile, like a brat who couldn't reach the interregional ping-pong final of his weight category, the other rebellious decides that in fact ping-pong is for dummies and asks his compatriots to elect him Prime Minister of Jokari. Whereas with the automatic elimination of Russian and Belarusian players from the Wimbledon tournament, there was clearly an alternative for a real conversion. And finally retirement.

Thursday April 21

I told you that it would be painful, and I was right, but I confess, all Republic that I am, and God knows that I have seen others, even since 1905, I never thought that a debate would fall into such extremes and destabilizing maneuvers. I never expected to see such baseness, such indignity. I thought that would be the fate of one of my successors, the sixth or chaos.
You imagine, all the same, people who aspire to the highest office of the State and who end up printing eight-year-old tweets on A4 sheets. And in color too. Or worse, who knowingly make a series of disastrous choices that lead to Gérard Majax being woken up for a duplex on BFM the next day at dawn. Poor sleeping capital of a retired magician, struck down victim of this decidedly absurd campaign.

Friday April 22

I looked for her everywhere, I went around the world. From Venice to Java, from Manila to Angkor. From Joan to Victoria, from Venus to Mona Lisa. I couldn't find it and I'm still looking for it. And I'm afraid I will have to look for him for a long time yet, because Jacques Perrin, the Maxence on permanent duty in Nantes, the dreamy prince of Catherine Deneuve, the lover of the oceans is no more.
I don't know what Sunday's vote will be like because I'm only the Republic, I don't read the future in the tea leaves of the undecided, but I can tell you one thing: if even the prince charmings leave the ship on tiptoe, you have to make sure that you don't already have water up to your knees.
I could tell you about his eyes, his hands. I could talk to you about her until tomorrow. But instead, I would tell you that it is fragile, this democracy, and that on Sunday, you have to go and vote for Emmanuel Macron, even if it is not a fairy tale.

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