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And suddenly, it was like having fallen into a parallel world where everything was boobs. Yes Mark Zuckerberg It scared us a few months ago with the announcement of its Meta, something was happening in Benidorm that in a matter of hours we were absorbed by the Teta. The Tetaverso, a virtual universe in which the entire cosmos was summed up in a tit. In principle, that of a singer named Rigoberta Bandini. Then it didn’t take long for the minister’s empty speech to appear Irene Montero, which is the sure indicator of the degradation of any topic of interest. And finally, we descend to the detritus level of the sociological-twitter analyzes where something as beautiful, nourishing and sonorous as the (word) boob was left mummified, dry and inert.

References to Woody Allen and the famous scene with the giant tit in Everything You Always Wanted to Know About Sex, or the Kafkaesque novel by Philip Roth, ‘The chest’, do not contribute anything to raise the debate. Among other things because the tit is probably the last issue in life that can be debated. There is nothing more irrefutable than a boob. I do not add the adjective “good” because, first, qualifying this or that tit as good already depends on each person, and, second, because it is redundant: the tit itself is always good. As usually happens in these things, it is the censors who best appreciate the object of the censorship. Like the Spanish inquisitors who banned novels in America for more than three hundred years, that is to say, who understood very well the transgressive power of that literary genre, the censor pixel of Instagram it is a safeguard against the mobilizing and disrupting force of a tit. For this reason, the feminists who go out to the streets to protest with their tits give me a lot of tenderness, believing that this is how they scandalize the heteropatriarchy. Who believe that society eats the hook that they want to scandalize the heteropatriarchy, when we all know that what they want, and they are fully entitled, is simply to show their boobs. Not as a political instrument but as boobs. And people, in general, regardless of the political current they profess, tend to be benevolent with boobs. It’s the damn ideology that prevents us from recognizing ourselves on the tit.

For this reason, because the worst thing that can happen to the tit is that it becomes an empty sign, only filled by the nourishing milk or by politics, I celebrate that Rigoberta Bandini has not won the Benidorm festival and that, instead, that nice woman called Chanel whoever represents Spain in Eurovision. In fact, as soon as it became known that the latter was the official candidate, the bululú around the tit vanished, like a planetary tit that dissolves in the air with the subtlety of a soap bubble. Serve, in any case, this provincial impasse of that beloved province called Spain so that we do not take the tit for granted. Let the priests and priestesses of the political parties not degrade her, who see in her a sin or a torch. Nor let us fall into the heresy of assimilating it, for example, to an ear. Or make it interchangeable with truly ignoble body parts, like the elbow.

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