Not now. We have always been in crisis. I take into crisis since fuck knows when. I take in a crisis since I was born, I never remember leaving with their parents in addition to the English Court of Madrid. Levo crisis since when he was studying, I could not meterme casings, chips and marijuana. I kept the crisis when hunting any chorbita with which pactaba before the first powder, which would mean for every time we leave the restaurant, forgiveness and McDonalds. The crisis was disgusting in my first big trip, while studying at Labour, Borough, and we went to Mallorca a damn bus without sleeping, to Valencia, where a boat batteries (which torture ...) and my friends and I had sobar that (I was unable to vary) en butacas mentras os pijos (non me olvido dos vosos caretos, que o saibades) estirábanse en camarotes. E vivo en crise hoxe, mirando a mediados de mes como van os meus amigos de Caixa Galicia, aos que agradezo, iso si, que me presten un piso no que vivo, do tipo HM (Hipoteca Mediante), sen poder ir de veraneo, que horrible expresión, quince días ao último nardo.
Iso, amigos, é a crise.
Pero porque agora falan de crise?
Eu nunca deixei de tomar mortadela. Quéixanse os que a teñen que probar agora?
Os bares están baleiros?
Segue habendo enchufados?
E fillos de papá? Moitos? Mogollón deles?
E os restaurantes?
Non é España campioa de Europa?
As axencias de viaxes pecharon?
As festas gastronómicas botaron freno?
Cantos coches de grande cilindrada vedes pola rúa?
E pisos de flipar?
É o que hai...
