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Pro astris

In memory of all the fallen stars tonight. Primm'e walls that have also had to hear 'nu cuofen' strunzat and type "Please let me be the cycle" or "Let me fuck with this here before but that is drunk vomits, please"

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For example I prefer the policy applied to

I do not like make the record.
I never liked it.
This is not only objectively and not because it is boring.


mean, for heaven's sake, even if the record you can do funny things happen, like the time in which to Caritas Poggioreale un'assessora provincial evident in overweight said that his work was good not because they earned a lot of money without making a fuck but because you never know what can happen and two minutes after the break-chair where she sat arousing the laughter of the thousands of homeless people there. I, however, which showed a certain elegance to punish him without the link, while evident, including the extent of the Councillor ass and reduced circumference of the plastic seat. Or that other time when public debate on disability issues, disabled people are caught to blows with each other to determine who was more disabled.
"And you so 'nu disabled? You miss nun tien' na hip" and so this step.

Nevertheless, I still prefer the policy.

First, because here there are things much more fun.
you can happen, for one thing, to stay for five long minutes in a revolving door of a luxury hotel with Antonio Di Pietro, who tries to escape to in the windows not so much because they do not want to comment on the latest statement of De Magistris As it takes a bad constipation and abdominal, you know, if the heart can not control much less in the ass.
Or you may happen to be female, the females enter the bathroom and see Massimo D'Alema, who washes his hands.
That is, while not himself a female.
Or at least, not in appearance.

The real reason for which I prefer, however, the policy is that there are funerals.

That is, the political atmosphere more funeral you may want to address is the electoral defeat, but in this case, since in most cases the center-left Democratic Party or otherwise, is not embarrassing for a reporter to ask questions , both those we are accustomed to for decades now, and then there is not much difference with the usual tone, just adjust a little to the statements of politicians replacing the word "Winning" with "We could have won."
And then there's people crying.
mean, yes, but they are just voters.
That is, we are, because I always go to vote as a supporter of the theory under which the exercise of the right to vote is necessary et instrumental exercise of the right to complain iastemmando mothers and fathers who won the elections for the umpteenth time.

the news instead we are the funerals true.
Those with one or more truly dead.
And real tears.

And there is not enough time to change the verbs to put together a decent piece.
No! Here you go and ask one by one if you are really suffering or if it's fake, if he is right that the dead man is dead and, above all, if you remember any anecdotes that tasty reporter can isolate and put in a nice boxino except that the very people we like to know whether the dead man, but when he was alive, we liked more, as I know, pizza and cheese fries or cigoli taralli 'nzogna and pepper.
But the worst thing the funeral but this is not so much.
The worst thing is that while you feel a jackal because you have to go to bother friends and relatives of the dead discovered that rather than look forward.
fact, beginning to make sustained and inveigh against nosy reporters.
Then they cry because they are overwhelmed pain.
Then, still sobbing, to tell you when they were dead with the asylum and were sharing the kinder egg.
Finally, while drying their tears and good for you mark your name and blood type are you the same question, "But that paper comes up tomorrow?"


Eh, the one where I write about, but of politics, however.

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Mutism blogs, and more generally in society

Realised Was My dream But I was sleeping.

O was in the toilet, which is even more likely as an eventuality, dicimm.

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Those old never fail (and oxen from your Pappici)

said the pappice near the nut: "The truth hurts, I know, and if we say it all the time does not heal miss cock.
Here.

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Goodbye Rome, goodbye, au revoir, in short, it was a pleasure of fools.

There is a saying in Naples that goes something like this: "Who vo '' a mort '' and ll'at, 'a soy is' Haret' on port" . Which, translated into Italian modern and contemporary, it means that the more it is hoped the death of others, the more favorable one's own.

Embee, and then you think I wished someone else to die, and put an end to his sufferings, without receiving anything in return?

That is, I say so 'stupid, but not until this point.

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Long Way Home

soundtrack when the sun comes home and is instead just coming out and everything sembra essere perfettamente in grado di non farti buttare più il sangue.
Se non altro per il tempo di una canzone.

Ben Harper, She's only happy in the sun

I know you may not want to see me, on your way down from the clouds.
Would you hear me, if I told you that my heart is with you now?
She's only happy in the sun, she's only happy in the sun

Did you find what you were after? The pain and the laughter brought you to your knees, but if the sun sets you free, sets you free, you'll be free indeed, indeed.
She's only happy in the sun, she's only happy in the sun

Every time I hear you laughing, hear you laughing, it makes me cry.
Like a story of life, of life, is hello goodbye.

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typical cancer

Mo 'I do not know if it's because mo' mo 'I'm coming home after another night in crazy water, but I wanted to make a attimino share my intimate and personalized with your horoscope.
Well, I've never believed much in that fact that according to the time when one can be born in one way rather than another, although in my case are many who believe that the coincidence space time of my arrival in the world with 82 world cup in Spain has influenced not just my schizophrenia since my father thought it well to propitiate the goal Tardelli rattling vuvuzela to type when I held only a few hours old and I was still in the hospital.

But at some point in my troubled life I met a person who, in turn, I did meet another, but not in the same evening that we were both too drunk and we went home but crawling later.

This other person is named Ivana Raffa, horoscope ago and in a nutshell, all the guys know me.
That is, one day he also said "the EU Statti careful that the girlfriend of the guy you're fucking right for two years sgamerà and today I'll be a bit 'of time everyone unhappy and incompetent at the level of tears. "
I mean, I gave her there and then not listening, but that he kept right!

And so from that day every morning uo uo I have to read the horoscope to see what Ivana facets happens.
No, because Ivana knows!

Not only Ivana, however, what is the problem.

For example, there is one of my boyfriends of the month June, I think that the two middle weeks, which, in front of my very common and normal behavior which

- iastemmare the fact that two weeks after my university degree was found tax receipts of the thirties and why not, also the certificates of rabies vaccination of dog
- will long for a Chupa Chups in traffic;
- get hormonal storms come on the ring road and express themselves through bites all'intrasatto;
- decide you want to spend the rest of their lives as taking home the process of the park Virgil
- to completely erase their tracks when it's over but in the sense of trying to avoid all the places I frequent and that he attended because he was born the need to escape as not to hurt more and all these facts here

argued that "it is typical of cancer."

More specifically said "You developed a cancer of rubbish."


But mo 'honestly, if I just have to trust someone who tells me what I need or do not have to do according to how Mars has parked in my sign and those with which Venus but is facing the premenstrual syndrome, I'm hear to Ivana, not you.

Stu idiot.

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Rex tremendae majestatis

Today I'm really in a good mood, but I could type well simulate an orgasm without thinking of the same lace centerpiece of my living room that does not fit much with the furniture and I always forget to tell my mom that we should buy another.
The next time I have to write me.

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not to let all ills are a hand

Enough, I decided that from now on I see the glass half full.

And this even if the glass is not just a dick or not there is just the glass and it is only the result of my hallucination.

So this afternoon when my colleagues told me that we had to go to a funeral, I decided that I should not because Sunday iastemmare already sucks and there is only a funeral in the mountains of Benevento to complete the picture of despair.
No.
I remembered that I had to see the glass half full.
So in order to facilitate the successful operation as soon as I got drunk the middle of Jack and then I thought that if only I could dress as I wanted without anyone telling me the usual sentence "UA, but will someone died?".

short, see the glass half full is good.

The important thing is that when you empty and then fill it again in half.