On hellholes
The end-stage Leftwit Superstate.
I’m French 🇫🇷.
I was born in Paris.
I spent 25 years there.But now: I don’t even want to know what happens in that hellhole 💀⚰️.
Not “troubled.” Not “declining.” Not “going through a difficult period.”
No. A HELLHOLE.
A country where everything is dirty, expensive, hostile, bureaucratic and permanently dysfunctional.
You pay absurd taxes for public services that increasingly behave as if providing a service were an unreasonable personal request.
Paris is noise, aggression, filth, traffic, strikes, scaffolding, sirens, queues, broken infrastructure and the constant sensation that every basic task has been deliberately redesigned to waste your time.
Nothing works without friction.
Nothing happens without paperwork.
Nothing can be fixed without a committee, a consultation, a union dispute, three administrative layers and somebody explaining why expecting normality is politically problematic.
Gee, THAT doesn’t sound at all familiar.
.Like I always say: go ye and read the rest, for It. Is. Good. Bleak, yes. Grim, why sure. Depressing, no doubt about it. Nevertheless: good.
















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