There was it, as a grind reminder in the park, the curse that have been hunting us down for more than hundreds of years, that goddamn piece of furniture assembled by some drunk carpenter doing community service in hell is now standing there as some fair attraction.
The legend says whoever sits in there will turn against humanity inmediately and now it is in the open, waiting to create the next anti-christian rapper, also a dick of a president.
People line up just to see how dark their souls can turn into, and that means dark as only a person in a suit with powerful friends with benefits can be.
The evil ritual takes place and a young boy takes the seat, and just like that he gets those evil eyebrows and a goatee, his hair turn a bit gray and an ugly silk tie appears on his neck.
The sky turns black and the boy in the chair starts chanting about budgets, reforms and killing teachers and scientist, the army comes down surrounding the chair and beating up kids, old ladies, criminals, journalist and poets; the poets were not actually necesary to get beaten, but come on.
Some people try to fight back but it is useless, no one knows who needs a punch in the mouth and it is all chaos. The boy seems just enjoyed, why this will not lasts forever?
Then the boy in the silla gets tackled down by his mother.
-Fuck you son, now it is my turn.
I would love to stay and see what happens, but I would rather go over there and kick some poets sonnetos before they can get them finished, it may not bee the right time for that, but come on.
