I’ve always touted flexibility as the cornerstone of any lasting relationship. What good is a girlfriend if she can’t perform the splits whilst suspended from the ceiling fan? (This was not a rhetorical question, send your responses to NaTiOnALizEThiSxxx@gmail.com)

Soon enough our national currency, the bolivar, will be allowed to fluctuate, lending it the same suppleness as one of Putin’s bionic female gymnasts. Just imagine the currency adjustments we’ll be capable of: devaluations, appreciations…Well I guess there are only two. Regardless, it’s enough to get la pasión back into Venezuela’s impotent financial market. For way too long exchange controls have been the life support of our currency; I guess you could say that they put the IV in the bolivar. (Medical joke! Jajaja! Good one Chavez!)

And so continues our tumultuous courtship, Revolutionary Armed Forces of Colombia. I’ve read in the fascist papers that they are calling our love “shadowy” and “illegal”. If offering refuge and public support is “shadowy”, then I don’t wish to leave the shade. If supplying you with funding and munitions is “illegal”, then don’t bother explaining to me the law.

What we have is beyond the comprehension of lawmakers, intellectuals, government officials, and model train enthusiasts. So what if the weapons are outdated? Take these broken arms and learn to fight. My sweet FARC! Love is a faculty of the libido, and as such, my love is bottomless.

Words I would use to describe a Venezuelan spring: ‘warm’, ‘wet’, ‘sultry’. Words I would use to describe the British courts’ overturn of their previous ruling to unfreeze our oil company's assets: ‘About fucking time’. And ‘super’.

With the change of seasons has come a splendid change of judicial rulings. For this reason el Chavez has become alive with the passions of this most bewitching season. You feel it too, no? Every beautiful flower, awaking from a deep winter’s nap, seems to burst with the seductive fragrance of state appropriation. In the dank darkness that is global capitalism our nation, not unlike the miracles of Spring blooming in my zen garden, has come alive.