Dear reader, if you bought this book by chance, attracted by the title, or maybe you found it in your dentist's waiting room next to magazines from 2008, know this: you are about to stumble upon the biggest lies in history. The colossal, cyclopean ones, with the big wheels, the chrome rims and the arrogant air of prime time stories. This is not a novel. Or maybe it is. It is not an investigation. Or maybe it is. It is not even an absolute truth, because in this world, the only absolute thing is vodka. It's a journey. Between lying televisions, starched governments, photogenic pandemics, bombs that never exploded and lunar missions with director Kubrick as a stuntman. It's the diary of an ordinary journalist, Federico LoZio, "Zio" to his friends, who one day realizes something terrible: that reality is a schedule. And that he himself, with his reassuring voice and host's quiff, has become a pawn in the great game. He will be accompanied on this crazy ride by: a lesbian (maybe) with purple hair, a companion with a punk heart and the perfect omelette, and a cameraman with more neurons in his camera than in his head. Together, they will discover what everyone suspects, but no one dares to say. Because, you see, the truth is not for everyone. The truth is like wasabi: you have to endure it. Otherwise, you cry, spit and go back to watching the eight o'clock news. So get ready. You will laugh. You will doubt. You will get pissed off. But if you get to the end, you might find yourself looking at the world with different eyes. And that's no small thing. Happy reading. Uncle (directly from the bunker where "THE UNCLE'S NEWS" is still broadcast)
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