In heaven there is a seagull trying for two hours to follow a certain direction but the wind (60 km / h) prevents him sending it to the right and left without interruption.
must be fun to crazy, this son of a bitch.
Saturday, March 28, 2009
Pokémon Doujins Online
In heaven there is a seagull trying for two hours to follow a certain direction but the wind (60 km / h) prevents him sending it to the right and left without interruption.
must be fun to crazy, this son of a bitch.
Thursday, March 12, 2009
Talking About How Horniy
Lisbon last week, or the anxiety of everyday boredom
As now seems to have become a habit, almost as a personal duty to update the blog I am going to post monthly, until better times arrive.
As usual, I could abandon myself to my proverbial logorrhea, but I find myself in a time of resignation / accommodation / predepressione / praedepressione / prodepressione unlikely to be able to give birth to something with a logical or a minimum of interest in I find the occasional readers. I could dwell, for I have chosen this evening to update this wretched place of whole sull'ennesimo sacrifice which took place last night, with a massacre at Manchester United and Wayne Rooney to play with our entire defense (that only thanks to a dazzling astronomical that fool of Ferguson has set aside the first leg), as I was surrounded by English and fatty red jersey dresses in a Irish pub in which my skills on the uptake were severely challenged by only two liters of kilkenny swallow in the first 45 minutes of play, but still able to reveal how the man who many call the best coach in the world did not prevent the attack Red Devils to drill at the same time of two minutes twice in the same game. Only the fault of the wrong mentality that, of course, is the daughter of our way of being, but that this Portuguese novel by fortune when compared to the national average is paid to mitigate. The last ten minutes of confusion to clear trademark FC Internazionale Milano in 1908 made me relive the usual emotions of frustration and inexplicable mystery that only the immense love for colors Inter allows me to overcome, we will never be able to win and first of all convince ourselves, because our struggle has always been against our own ghosts. In the championship every other week and the other one sneaks well, the only scheme that can draw is Setubalense ball back if Ibra is something else good comes out boh, a recruitment drive many to bankruptcy and crap came out of his mouth without a hint of rose reflected on the ground. Mancini Robertone least the owner could call it eleven. Between this initial deployment and replacement work in progress so far has only apt (Santon), but not just because the owner had put Rivas leg would prevent the next round for offending public decency. Mourinho is incompetent and we do not change anything, and will not be so black and blue that I will speak of the aristocracy, and even Sweden, a land of beauty and cold but polite and orderly, clean, beautiful women who seem delicate rose petals and fragrant, sweet and ethereal, and I presume that the most annovererà 'soon among its inhabitants (the contrast with Portugal, is so jarring to hear the futility of everyday life penetrates the bones and weaken my strength), having no doubt that my integration into society Lusa (loose) and my almost bilingual gives me wonderful moments, like a good job poorly paid (the ability to set aside 10 € later this month almost impossible), funny and witty friends, walking at 25 º C to 13 March, a wonderful sight and the smell of the street to invade the house when I open the windows, the heat out of season, a corner away from the world, seven goals conceded by Bayern Monaco, known for the case that people told her story remarkable, all things that I feel duty without it.
A boring, I was born to dream and to realize my dreams and follow them until you realize, and I said, Sweden, and Sweden will be my next dream.
Occhei enough, there is no question of that, my life is so flat and so empty that I do not listen to a CD that will convince at least two weeks, that Ruby is not going to talk because his voice trembles every time I see her that I did not like writing, I do not want to be heard, I do not want to be understood, I do not want the summer, I do not want short sleeves, I do not want the others, I do not want anything but to come back early November, independent films, rankings year-end, two weeks of heavy rain and lots of silence in me, while eavesdropping broke and the tears of my lonely neighbor, to the sound of the album lost in the memory of those who made them. 
As now seems to have become a habit, almost as a personal duty to update the blog I am going to post monthly, until better times arrive.
As usual, I could abandon myself to my proverbial logorrhea, but I find myself in a time of resignation / accommodation / predepressione / praedepressione / prodepressione unlikely to be able to give birth to something with a logical or a minimum of interest in I find the occasional readers. I could dwell, for I have chosen this evening to update this wretched place of whole sull'ennesimo sacrifice which took place last night, with a massacre at Manchester United and Wayne Rooney to play with our entire defense (that only thanks to a dazzling astronomical that fool of Ferguson has set aside the first leg), as I was surrounded by English and fatty red jersey dresses in a Irish pub in which my skills on the uptake were severely challenged by only two liters of kilkenny swallow in the first 45 minutes of play, but still able to reveal how the man who many call the best coach in the world did not prevent the attack Red Devils to drill at the same time of two minutes twice in the same game. Only the fault of the wrong mentality that, of course, is the daughter of our way of being, but that this Portuguese novel by fortune when compared to the national average is paid to mitigate. The last ten minutes of confusion to clear trademark FC Internazionale Milano in 1908 made me relive the usual emotions of frustration and inexplicable mystery that only the immense love for colors Inter allows me to overcome, we will never be able to win and first of all convince ourselves, because our struggle has always been against our own ghosts. In the championship every other week and the other one sneaks well, the only scheme that can draw is Setubalense ball back if Ibra is something else good comes out boh, a recruitment drive many to bankruptcy and crap came out of his mouth without a hint of rose reflected on the ground. Mancini Robertone least the owner could call it eleven. Between this initial deployment and replacement work in progress so far has only apt (Santon), but not just because the owner had put Rivas leg would prevent the next round for offending public decency. Mourinho is incompetent and we do not change anything, and will not be so black and blue that I will speak of the aristocracy, and even Sweden, a land of beauty and cold but polite and orderly, clean, beautiful women who seem delicate rose petals and fragrant, sweet and ethereal, and I presume that the most annovererà 'soon among its inhabitants (the contrast with Portugal, is so jarring to hear the futility of everyday life penetrates the bones and weaken my strength), having no doubt that my integration into society Lusa (loose) and my almost bilingual gives me wonderful moments, like a good job poorly paid (the ability to set aside 10 € later this month almost impossible), funny and witty friends, walking at 25 º C to 13 March, a wonderful sight and the smell of the street to invade the house when I open the windows, the heat out of season, a corner away from the world, seven goals conceded by Bayern Monaco, known for the case that people told her story remarkable, all things that I feel duty without it.
A boring, I was born to dream and to realize my dreams and follow them until you realize, and I said, Sweden, and Sweden will be my next dream.
Occhei enough, there is no question of that, my life is so flat and so empty that I do not listen to a CD that will convince at least two weeks, that Ruby is not going to talk because his voice trembles every time I see her that I did not like writing, I do not want to be heard, I do not want to be understood, I do not want the summer, I do not want short sleeves, I do not want the others, I do not want anything but to come back early November, independent films, rankings year-end, two weeks of heavy rain and lots of silence in me, while eavesdropping broke and the tears of my lonely neighbor, to the sound of the album lost in the memory of those who made them.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)