Friday, September 27, 2013

Barilla gay family ads spot video satire parody

Stories and News No. 597



"I am for the traditional family, I will never realize a commercial with gay people," Guido Barilla said, chairman of the known multinational. "For us, the concept of family is sacred," he added, " it remains one of the company's core values . Health (?), the concept of family. We will not make a gay commercial because ours is a traditional family."
Not satisfied, he has annotated: "The family we are addressing to it is a classic one. The woman has a fundamental role, is the cultural center of structural life of this family."
Dear Guido, why only homosexuals?
Come on, be brave.
Here's a suggestion for the best traditional ads:

Lunch time, dining room.
In the foreground there is a table set.
It’s Sunday, the most sacred and traditional day.
The woman, the cultural center of the structural life of the traditional family, after having been lost all morning to cook for her husband and sons, appears in the doorway, to call them.
"Pasta is ready," she exclaims.
Pasta Barilla, needless to say.
Well, no… cut!
Let’s come back one frame.
We dare, Guido, we dare.
The woman, the center you know, does not waste her breath and rings a bell.
A few seconds and an exotic waiter arrives breathless.
"Tell the lord and little children that pasta is ready," the lady orders.
He goes away, while the woman decides to bring pasta to the table.
Pasta Barilla, of course.
Oops, cut!
I said to dare, Guido, right?
Let’s back to the exit of the waiter.
The woman sounds twice the bell and the maid emerges from the kitchen. She is also inevitably foreign.
Otherwise, we would not have a sacred and traditional classic family spot.
"Bring pasta on the table," the woman orders.
A few moments ago the children make their entrance into the living room.
Three blond kids, all beautiful, cheerful and extremely polite.
Thanks to sedatives, but we do not have to say it.
What about the father?
"Where is my husband?" the woman asks.
"The Chinese caregiver is offering him a massage," the waiter replied.
That is tradition, Guido, isn’t it?
The lord has his own needs and, among other things, whether the woman is the cultural center of the structural life of the classic family, who cheats?
Cheats… then, who spoke of betrayal? I said massage, let imply, let the spectators to insinuate.
That is the advantage of the classic traditional and sacral family: everything you see is perfect. The rest are lies and, as the motto says, if the carpet is great you may put all dust under.
And our traditional sacral carpet is huge, right?
Finally the lord comes, looking relaxed and smiling like a bully.
This is the privilege of those who are not the cultural center of the structural life of the traditional sacral family.
"Serve the pasta ", the woman orders to the maid.
Pasta Barilla, it is clear.
And good appetite.
"When even their larder will be empty and they will remain only with the classical and traditional sacred family, these people will have just one chance to survive," the waiter murmured to the maid.
"They will eat each other," she said.
Guido, do you like this pulp final?
And I did not us the gays.
Are you happy?

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Wednesday, September 25, 2013

Chinese mother woken from coma by her son kiss video

Stories and News No. 596

Gao Qianbo is 2 years old.
He was born from a mother in a coma due to an accident and since then has chewing food for her.
By reversing the roles lovingly as only a child could do.
And a day like any other his mother opened her eyes and smiled...

Wake up.
Wake up, Mom.
Stop sleeping.
It's time to return.
We left for a while.
But I've waited, as you would have done with me.
Running back and expecting my arrival.
Encouraging me.
First, second or last too, here is the victory.
Our victory.
Anyway.

Wake up.
Come on, Mom.
Open your eyes and do not worry about the past.
What it is not and never will be.
I laughed and cried for you too.
Believe me, I've noted all for you.
Views and worth mentioning moments.
Rejoice and be glad because the day when I'll tell you everything is close.
And then, when you will think of the dark past two years, it will be insignificant as a blink of an eye in the morning.
But not just any morning.
Do you know the beginning of those days that already have been wonderful just thinking about the night before, imagining the happiness that awaits on the horizon?
The birthday, the end of that year or the beginning of next?

Wake up, my mother.
Because that day is today.
So we’ll remember it forever.
The day called today.
When a day is today among many, all, how much can a blink of an eye count?
And if that blessed day could perform the miracle repeating again and again, don’t you think we would still be fortunate souls in the real darkness of the world?
The real darkness does not envy the light because it did not know what color it is.
That's why we can only celebrate a natural act we never will consider such.
Eyes open into each other.
Your voice in me.
My hands on your shoulders.
A single smile.

Wake up.
Wake up, Mom.
And come to the world.
Again.






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Friday, September 20, 2013

Police officer kills black man video storytelling

Stories and News No. 595




Let’s bury all

Another case Trayvon Martin in the USA, that is how many newspapers have started the news.
The problem is the adjective another.
Jonathan Ferrell was 24 years old and was killed by a police officer who shot 12 times.
What was Jonathan sin? He thought of having the right to ask for help after a car accident.
Oh, I forgot one thing, sorry.
Jonathan was African-American.
In a video message, his mother said: "I do not want to bury my son. My son should bury me..."
However, he is gone.
So it goes.
Well, if this grave must have a sense, let’s fill it as it deserves, once and for all.
We buried a guy with infinite lives ahead, since many possibilities were waiting for him on the horizon.
But with him, let’s bury the idiocy of the newspapers, the television, the cinema too, and also the books, when painting the black with the most mendacious captions.
Bad, dangerous, dishonest, enemy, to be feared and rejected.
Let’s bury with Jonathan the fear, that pestilential and obtuse carcinogen mixture that has invaded the stomach and the heart of many, too many, unable to see anything beyond the skin.
But this time seriously, we have to remove the tumor.
Because there is a universe to be discovered over the appearance.
It's not all good, I am not going to tell you lies.
Nevertheless, I expose myself and I am ready to stake my life in the promise that it is not less human than us.
Let’s bury the stranger and all deceptive words that imprison the wings of our imagination.
That is not fantasy, the one that works on the stage of our minds always giving the usual spurious version of reality. It is instead a cheating creature, a pathetic swindler who is ever preparing the same dish.
Good on one side and evil on the other, well separated by an infant and rhetorical emptiness.
Let’s bury next to the young man the bigotry that we have in our DNA showing us the only two colors that our castrated vision allows.
The white on one side and black on the other, well divided by a underhand and sadistic fullness.
Someone is gaining from this farce, behind the many.
Someone feeds on this foolish illusion, walking among many.
In the meantime, we are missing the wonderful spectacle of what was not.
And never will be.
As a 24 years old boy who becomes a man, a companion, a father and so on.
Let’s bury all, be courageous.
Let’s bury all that makes us potential murderers, just as the agent who fired 12 shots.
Only then the inhuman death will have a sense.
And the life of the world can truly be its opposite.
Human.



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Wednesday, September 18, 2013

Ugliest animals ever in the world Blobfish video acceptance speech

Stories and News No. 594



Blobfish has been voted as the ugliest animal in the world and this is his acceptance speech:

About the merits

Ladies and gentlemen,
All kind voters,
And especially you, ugly animals on this planet that I have contended my recognition.
I would like in particular to share this time with the hideous frog scrotum and the deformed proboscis monkey.
They gave me a hard time and I realize that, looking at them, it was a good fight.
Indeed, an ugly one, if I let pass the trivial word game.
Thanks, this is what I say now.
Thanks to all of you, because precisely this award brought me here, right now, to keep this speech.
It is a special occasion and I'm not going to waste it.
The merits.
I would like, if I may, list the merits of us, ugly creatures in this world.
Merits which most of you benefit daily.
Even now, at this very moment.
I start with the most obvious, but not to those like myself.
Thanks to the ugly, the beautiful are.
And it is always about the ugliest in the world that even those who are not so beautiful just feel better thinking about us looking in the mirror.
Thanks to us so many get rich by selling alleged miraculous remedies and spells to no longer be so.
Ugly.
It is also for the merits of the ugliest in the world that often too many, mocking us, hide the soul’s dust under their skin’s carpet.
The invisible ugliness.
And thanks to us some of you live as privileged people convinced that everything is about anything besides the case.
A beautiful case, I have no doubt.
It is again for the merits of the ugliest among us that even the saddest person in the world is able to laugh at our clumsy face.
Perhaps this is the only time that my peers and I are happy to be who we are.
Hopelessly ugly.
I could go on but I will stop here, because I assume my words are enough to remind you to appreciate the wonders you enjoy, leaving even the most limited space in your memory to the realization that it would not be such without their opposite.
Ugly, poor, lonely, hungry, thirsty, discriminated, and so on, ingredients making a counterpoint to the fortunes of humanity.
Blessed daughters of his majesty fate…



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Friday, September 13, 2013

Multicultural education school video: the perfect classroom

Stories and News No. 593



Once upon a time there were two parents.
They had an only son, and, as almost always happens, both had placed on him hope in the future.
In the past, when becoming a mother or father was just a word waved on the horizon, these expectations had become precious, especially for dark clouds of mistrust and fear following them along their respective paths.
That is typical.
So, the first day of school arrived.
But with it, the clouds above were further blackened, predicting storms and cloudbursts without any mercy.
The cause of this fatal nightmare was identical for both.
Their little child would have been alone and helpless in the midst of an entire class of strangers.
It was unacceptable to them and so they decided to transfer him to another school.
As if to say, less contaminated.
We are not racists, they said. We love our son, that’s it. Who could blame us?
The following year, in the day starting the new journey between books and lessons, the infant found himself back in the trenches, alone against a majority of Chinese pupils.
So, without delay, the father and mother moved the child to another school.
That means more homogeneous, of course.
Ours is not racism, they thought. We just want the best for our only son.
What parent could disagree?
One year later the first day of school was once again marked by an irrevocably sadist destiny, because the kid got surrounded by students from North Africa, with all the risks involved.
See Islam, terrorism and drugs, you know what I mean.
The parents looked at each other with unexpected distrust, suspecting the seed of bad luck, however, they wasted no time in their personal quarrels.
The two firmly grabbed their beloved puppy and took him to another school.
As if to say, less polluted.
We do not discriminate on skin color or what else, they swore. We have to worry about the quality of education of our son, not of his integration with different cultures.
Now, I realize that, from this point on, the story takes paradoxical contours, not to say grotesque, because the horrendous dream repeated again.
Again.
And again.
Every year the parents relived the same wicked scene with their son ready for to start a new school adventure in the company of an alien multicultural horde.
Nevertheless, they never gave up and, after years, finally found what they were looking.
A class of equal and recognizable students for their only son.
A paradise in which to see him growing safe.
Forever.
So, they embraced and greeted the creature whom they had placed all their hope on.
And with an incredibly happy smile on their lips they leaved the hospice...




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Wednesday, September 11, 2013

Largest volcano on earth Tamu Massif video storytelling

Stories and News No. 592

The largest volcano on earth is Tamu Massif, the Mauna Loa in Hawaii is no longer the king.
Until today we celebrated the latter for its 5,180 km square area, when in the depths of the Pacific Ocean, east of Japan, there is a giant of 310 thousand square kilometers .
How worshipping a solitary firework with the big bang behind.
Well, this was only the beginning.
The largest of the volcanoes is ready to show us what escapes our myopic eyes.
Tamu is the king of wonders.
The secret ones...
Secret until now .
As the most beautiful woman in the world, finally coming to light.
The true light.
I am not talking about the television studios bright and even less the false sunny that illuminates the walkways of the fashion shows.
She was simply out of the sea, moving a foot on a beach like so many of the Mediterranean.
Yes, you read right, indeed.
And you have you seen with equal precision.
The most beautiful woman in the world is an immigrant.
Clandestine and refugee.
Call and insult her how you prefer.
You cannot avoid admiring her.
Falling in love for her.

Tomorrow the world's richest child will be on all the news.
Not him, his name, but not him.
Not his face.
You will know he exists, but you will not know the contours of his happy face.
Above all, you will skip the amount of his wealth.
Diamonds? Oil ? Shares?
Nobody will be able to tell you the reasons for his opulence.
You will know he exists and that he is happy.
You will know he exists but you'll never find him.
Because he stood up and began to walk, over there, to the south of our generosity. Beyond the boundaries of our solidarity.
Because he has stopped dying for us.

The oldest man in the world is not dead, simply .
Neither the first nor the last .
Because when we learned of the death of anyone among them, he have only pretended to leave this world.
As the old man who preceded him, and his successor, the shrewd ancient guy has just closed the curtain.
And as who has shared the stage at least once well knows, when the two tents kiss each other and the lights turn off, it does not mean that life stops beyond them.
That is the secret life of wonders, sons and daughters of King Tamu.
Hidden from the crowd with nose and eyes up toward what makes more noise.
Now, let the real music begins...





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Friday, September 6, 2013

Syria war video 2013 story of Ashur and Lilith

Stories and News No. 591

According to United Nations ( July), the Syrian civil war has caused over 100.000 dead.
On the eve of another mission of peace, preventive war or whatever you want to call it - once again led by the United States, two children , two cousins , orphaned of their parents and brothers , play in a refugee camp.
Ashur is eight years old and his father died fighting against Assad.
Lilith is seven and his dad deceased on the other side of the fence.
That also happens in so-called civil wars.

"What are you drawing?" Lilith asks.
"A hand."
"What hand?"
"The hand of a man."
"I like it," Lilith says. "It looks real."
"It is real."
The wind that caresses them is warm and unaffectionate. This does not prevent them from approaching each other.
Despite all.
"Are you happy?" Lilith demands.
"About what?"
"The Americans, Americans are coming."
"Why should I be happy?" Ashur replies without stopping to perfect his design.
"Obama will defeat Assad," Lilith responds as if the former is a kind of super hero, " that was what my uncle wanted, right?"
My father.
The child needs time to translate the words into his personal interpretation of the fundamental relationship, swept away in a day like many others, in homage to the god of hate.
"Dad wanted to defeat him without foreign help."
The answer goes through the mind of Ashur but does not dare to cross the border of the lips, because the heart has blessed timing to alert the brain that the battle of one has deleted his brother's life and vice versa.
Let alone the victory.
"This time will be different?" Lilith asked with pleading eyes.
For the first time Ashur looks up laying his eyes with prudent delicacy on her cousin ones.
The beloved friend is back with horrible price.
This time will be different from Iraq. This time it is not about oil , the evidences are true, now, we believe it, it must be so.
This time will not be as in Afghanistan, the enemy is really here, he is not hiding in Pakistan.
Friendly Fire? Nah, they will be good, precise, surgical, the defenders of peace.
This time will be different from Bosnia, they will leave less rubbish and more serenity behind.
Democracy and interests in the Middle East have no ties this time.
The Nobel Peace Prize swears on it.
A Peace Nobel Prize leads the army, this time.
This time nobody will be able to bring in casualties among civilians, women and children that continue to grow after the end of the show.
After.
And after that.
As in Iraq and Afghanistan.
This time will be different, right?
Ashur is not responding.
But he shows a smile.
Whether it is a yes or not only the future will tell.
Meanwhile, the child approaches the head to Lilith and gives her a kiss on the cheek.
"Look," he exclaimed pointing to the drawing now finished. "This is the hand of my father."
"It is beautiful," she murmurs.
It is the same as that of my father…

Read other stories about friendship







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Wednesday, September 4, 2013

Italy I would like to see video storytelling

Stories and News No. 590

This story is in my book “Il dono della diversit√†” (The gift of diversity), Tempesta Editore, Rome.

Italy I would like to see

Italy I would like to see is nothing extraordinary.
It is not the adolescent dream of a naive and deluded guy.
It is also not a perfect country , such as the stories with inevitable happy ending.
Living in a perfect country would make no sense to me.
I love to get up in the morning knowing that there is something to fight for.
Something to make better.
Starting with myself, of course.

Italy I would like to see is not the richest nation on the planet.
The people buried on this earth taught me that although without any money, especially without it, you are able to create such wonderful works, thanks to that inestimable gift which is called imagination.
That imagination that is priceless, so you cannot buy it on ebay.
That same imagination which made me be here now, literally.

Italy I would like to see is not heaven.
I have no desire to spend eternity singing hymns suspended on the clouds .
I'm too interested in what goes on under them.
Although I love the idea of finding two tabs on my back, able to make me soar high, away from the madding crowd and all the so-called problems, misfortunes, difficulties of earthly life, my eyes would force my head to tilt down.
It would drag me down, deeper and deeper, into the most hidden and unfortunate south of the earth.
Who loves the stories knows it is there and only there that the most beautiful ones are born.

Italy I would like to see is not the country of the good citizens.
It is the land of immigrants like my father, who worked honestly all his life, reacting to ignorance and fear with courage and dignity.
That is the Italy of Italians we can meet every day, not to worship on TV or movies, but on the streets or for a moment in the crowded subway.
I am talking about Italy made of people who dedicate their lives to happiness, without feeling entitled to steal it to others.
That Italy is here, now , before our eyes, but we have not yet found the strength to look at.

This is Italy which corresponds to the sound of our hearts, that deserves something better, first of all by ourselves.

The video:





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