These are the latest minis that I have been entertaining this weekend, are to give to a person, I hope you enjoy.
Anubis.
Sunday, February 27, 2011
Sayings On Cake For Retirement From Church
Latest minis
These are the latest minis that I have been entertaining this weekend, are to give to a person, I hope you enjoy.
Anubis.
These are the latest minis that I have been entertaining this weekend, are to give to a person, I hope you enjoy.
Anubis.
Impersonal Position Filled Letter
Flaneur
Memories are whips. Today, this , now, now ... We get to remember past events that we are better than at the time that happened, even though they had been made safe, unimportant. Today, any banal fact a phone call from the girl you like, a kiss on the cheek, a glass of spilled beer, dog shit in a square footprint, just becoming more important for the slow action of gnawing nostalgia, our useless apprehensive about what it was. We are caught in a chocolate tart scent of perfume that we used in birthday parties, to the tune of the song that helped us to support the torso for the first time in a couple of tits. Any previous event is better than the "now" that "this time." Everything seems to be gone. Today so ethereal is a word that should not exist. Should erase minds and dictionaries, erase the universe. Today is the result of our way to evoke memories. Destroy memories whips back until it was raw.
The photographs in old furniture store handle these whips. Stir drawers to find a certificate, an Allen wrench and wham! we came across these pictures sepia with broken corners, and we stared at her, stunned. Immediately, we activated the machine of longing, haunting sounds, aromas and textures with more intensity than they were when we lived those moments. Thus, the portrayal of life ends up being more real life. Why mourn at a picture and did not feel anything at the moment that picture was taken? Representation of the past because that contains both the absence and presence, reminds us of what is not and never will be.
One of these photographs capture my mind, today, at this time. Recently found myself lost in a drawer while looking for a healthy pair of socks. Had three or four years. No, three, was my first day of kindergarten. With what face had gone sour. There he was, along with Miguel, the two white dresses with our wings and our auras of cardboard. We were of angels on the truck through the streets of the neighborhood. That Sunday I woke up miraculously mother early to dress in the outfit he had sewn throughout the week. He wanted his son to be the cutest Easter parade. We take the bus at eight in the morning. During the trip, looking out the window, I took some crusting of the eyes and ate them. Mom slammed the back of his hand on my cheek.
- Disgusting!
We arrived at the church door. It was a huge carved oak gate, I still remember the dark side that flowed from the wood, also comes to mind the latch, which was bigger than my arm. I dreaded the latch, I dreamed that years later became an octopus hand around me neck. Mom grabbed my hand and looked at his watch. Snorted and lifted the flap of the jacket with your other hand. I wondered what we were expecting, but said nothing. Passed across ten or fifteen little children dressed exactly like me. Mom lowered her eyes and looked at me with tenderness, but with a tenuous cease nerves. The children went to the van with which we would turn the streets surrounding the whole neighborhood to appreciate the candor that the parish school boasted Cristo Obrero within its walls. They walked in line, taken from the waist forward, without touching the cardboard wings. I sat the aura or crown she held in her face because I pressed the curls. The white dress covered me from neck to feet, and timidly could see the black shoes, too much contrast with whiteness. Mom had tried for hours in vain to take the exact extent that I can not see their feet. Now I insisted that we had to stay there a while longer to wait for a new friend who had made at the school gate. I wanted to go after the little children, but said nothing. "Her name is Ana Maria," he said. I suppose you have called care for each hair color, by wearing a new jacket or another, earrings or some other superficial signs of those that are common in women, and will have been chatting cheerfully with that excellence to always talk show for women. I suppose it will have made good friends right away and surely, my mom will be invited home for coffee or tea. I guess that after having achieved sufficient confidence, have begun to talk about how they would like to have another child, the progress of cellulite, the last day I have had the rule and other appropriate topics, and logical-to speak out of a school.
By adjusting the silver cord around my waist, I turned to the wooden door, where he appreciated the faces of the celestial beings who had carved a dedicated woodworker, perhaps for years, so that the gates were as more similar to one that, up there, guarding San Pedro. All sides were practicing mortuary expressions. Wood's eyes were open but without iris brownish mere ball without direction, but if you fixed the longer view because in those eyes, their faces were becoming angry. I hosted a pleasure to watch them fearful fixed, trying to keep your eyes during the most minutes possible, until finally died of terror, and I could not take it away with short steps. That Sunday morning I tried again, and again turned to shock me. I hugged her mom's leg with terror.
- What's the matter, John?
The school was next to the church. It was ruled by the father Peter, a priest, he told countless times over subsequent years had preached throughout Latin America, Spain and even had shaken the hands of Paul VI. While there was a director, he was the real boss of the institution. He used to appear in person every Monday in every classroom, just after the start class and not caring to interrupt the discussion of how the bean sprouts or table of four, came in to reprimand the students who had not attended Mass the previous day. I was number since, because my mother used to fall asleep, had no car nor husband who prepare breakfast. Invariably, mine was the first name uttered. Should come forward, in front of me the forty-odd heads, and the clerk asked me the same tone of voice every Monday why he had not gone to mass.
"My mom fell asleep. Was my automatic response.
To which continued a sea of \u200b\u200blaughter and ridicule of all my friends, girls included.
The day was clothed angel had three years and by mother's mental storms, the severity of priests and teachers or the obligation to pull my chute by the bad guys, so high, so terrible slide-and thus began to shape the mouth tightening, that wrinkle the nose or shoulders up today I still identified in the photo where I go.
In the distance came the so Ana Maria with another angel by the hand. The woman ran dragging his kid.
"Forgive me, Claudia. Is that I fell asleep. Now I will not do breakfast to anyone. A Miguel only.
The women laughed knowingly.
In fact, next to the woman packed in tight jeans was Miguel. The boy looked at me defiantly, I stared at him awhile and then hung my view, or went away. We were dressed the same way and while this may be ridiculous for any adult, is not at all for a child, who are more concerned about other things, more important, and play is one of them. At least the other kids, not me.
As excited, let us go mothers hand and started talking and touching gestures wacky hair, first himself and then another. That release allowed us to get a bit more, he actually approached me. He looked angry, with his trunk furrowed brows and curled. Their wings were bigger than mine, but my dress was white. Without laps I issued a challenge: "Let's play
a race to the corner here.
The tone of the invitation he gave me no choice resulted. I do not know what to say. I grabbed her hand and took me under the staircase of the church. I stood beside him and extended his arm on the side to set the starting line, and also to ensure that both were in the same position. "When I count
three lengths.
Mom was talking to one side as if he had not spoken for years, probably clothing, dyes or menses with her new friend, the mother of angel without further delay, began: "One
.
I had never played the races. Suddenly I ran out of air, the neck of the white dress I adhered to the skin, the latch giant seemed to have transformed into a snake and I curled up in his chest. I did not know how to run to the corner, but did not know how not to run.
-Dos.
Miguel continued his outstretched arm, perpendicular to your body, and thus prevented me get ahead. But at no time I never thought such a thing. Shouted "two" with far more force that "one", and I could see how he opened the nostrils. He filled his little lungs with air. Declared:
- Three!
took a little hop and pushed me with his arm, which made me stumble backwards. He immediately ran to the corner desperate. There were only twenty yards to the goal, but at that age everything is exaggerated, and looked so distant corner like an airplane in the sky. I started running with my feet black. Miguel's legs sticking out with great agility in the white dress and it ran moving his little arms to be momentum. I had no choice but to start running too, but my strides were short, my lungs were smaller, because I lost the air immediately, I felt I could not breathe, my heart would break but just ran, I had to run. To top it off the white dress and wings hindered me stability. Later, Michael was about to reach the edge of the sidewalk. I stuck my tongue out, the air passing through the mouth left me tearing the throat. Suddenly, the white dress got me into the black shoe. I stumbled and fell like lead on the sidewalk. I shot several, the wings were broken, I was four or five 'CRACs', the white dress became gray, or black, I lost a shoe and rubbed his right elbow cement. Back to the scene, Miguel jumped for joy with the lineup of Slow school. He turned to celebrate his victory, but to me scattered, with one of my wings being washed out of the street, began to laugh out loud. He laughed in that way that only children can laugh, loudly, wildly, or at least that's what I used to watch the other kids, I never get to laugh at that. From the ground I could see him yonder in the corner, doubled over with laughter with his aura of wire and not on the head but as a necklace. Remained tended not even moan. The shouting drew the attention of the mothers, who are focused while speaking - certainly, the ridiculous clothes that other mothers "baby will not eat anything." Mom ran to me, but not to save, but angry. The toc toc of her shoes were more pronounced, approaching while shouting "I kill, I kill him!". I looked at my elbow and saw under the white cloth began to emanate something red. I felt very embarrassed that my mom saw it and cover it with your other hand. She came, I got up and started slapping me in the ass. Yes there began to mourn.
"Not that you give me more trouble, shouted rude shit, while I slap your ass wrapped in white cloth, or gray, or black. He picked up the broken wing and we went into the school hall. Passed across other angels holding my laughter, but the gunpowder exploded when one of them could not suppress a laugh and everyone started pointing fingers. Meanwhile, Michael's mother approached her son. I did not hear what he said, but warned that gave him a kiss on the forehead.
A couple of hours later we were all children up to the truck. Candid, happy, so innocent greeting parents, uncles and other neighbors, as the van traveled the streets of the neighborhood, Father Peter threw holy water at the crowd and sang a song that came unbearable expelled from an old speaker. Everyone was excited, looking for their parents, screaming tween. I stood at the edge of the truck, still holding my side stained red, and not moving too much to keep my mom dropped the alite emergency I had arranged with scotch tape. I remember I saw it happen to mom, alongside his new friend, hoping the passage of the float with your camera. Mom shot just when Michael gave me an elbow in the stomach for a place. Mama smiled as she used to smile, lifting the upper lip and wrinkling his nose, with the furrows of the forehead and the corners more pronounced. It did not seem at first glance a very sincere smile, but it was. I, however, what I have bitter face in this picture. But what can I do, I've never been much to smile. 
Memories are whips. Today, this , now, now ... We get to remember past events that we are better than at the time that happened, even though they had been made safe, unimportant. Today, any banal fact a phone call from the girl you like, a kiss on the cheek, a glass of spilled beer, dog shit in a square footprint, just becoming more important for the slow action of gnawing nostalgia, our useless apprehensive about what it was. We are caught in a chocolate tart scent of perfume that we used in birthday parties, to the tune of the song that helped us to support the torso for the first time in a couple of tits. Any previous event is better than the "now" that "this time." Everything seems to be gone. Today so ethereal is a word that should not exist. Should erase minds and dictionaries, erase the universe. Today is the result of our way to evoke memories. Destroy memories whips back until it was raw.
The photographs in old furniture store handle these whips. Stir drawers to find a certificate, an Allen wrench and wham! we came across these pictures sepia with broken corners, and we stared at her, stunned. Immediately, we activated the machine of longing, haunting sounds, aromas and textures with more intensity than they were when we lived those moments. Thus, the portrayal of life ends up being more real life. Why mourn at a picture and did not feel anything at the moment that picture was taken? Representation of the past because that contains both the absence and presence, reminds us of what is not and never will be.
One of these photographs capture my mind, today, at this time. Recently found myself lost in a drawer while looking for a healthy pair of socks. Had three or four years. No, three, was my first day of kindergarten. With what face had gone sour. There he was, along with Miguel, the two white dresses with our wings and our auras of cardboard. We were of angels on the truck through the streets of the neighborhood. That Sunday I woke up miraculously mother early to dress in the outfit he had sewn throughout the week. He wanted his son to be the cutest Easter parade. We take the bus at eight in the morning. During the trip, looking out the window, I took some crusting of the eyes and ate them. Mom slammed the back of his hand on my cheek.
- Disgusting!
We arrived at the church door. It was a huge carved oak gate, I still remember the dark side that flowed from the wood, also comes to mind the latch, which was bigger than my arm. I dreaded the latch, I dreamed that years later became an octopus hand around me neck. Mom grabbed my hand and looked at his watch. Snorted and lifted the flap of the jacket with your other hand. I wondered what we were expecting, but said nothing. Passed across ten or fifteen little children dressed exactly like me. Mom lowered her eyes and looked at me with tenderness, but with a tenuous cease nerves. The children went to the van with which we would turn the streets surrounding the whole neighborhood to appreciate the candor that the parish school boasted Cristo Obrero within its walls. They walked in line, taken from the waist forward, without touching the cardboard wings. I sat the aura or crown she held in her face because I pressed the curls. The white dress covered me from neck to feet, and timidly could see the black shoes, too much contrast with whiteness. Mom had tried for hours in vain to take the exact extent that I can not see their feet. Now I insisted that we had to stay there a while longer to wait for a new friend who had made at the school gate. I wanted to go after the little children, but said nothing. "Her name is Ana Maria," he said. I suppose you have called care for each hair color, by wearing a new jacket or another, earrings or some other superficial signs of those that are common in women, and will have been chatting cheerfully with that excellence to always talk show for women. I suppose it will have made good friends right away and surely, my mom will be invited home for coffee or tea. I guess that after having achieved sufficient confidence, have begun to talk about how they would like to have another child, the progress of cellulite, the last day I have had the rule and other appropriate topics, and logical-to speak out of a school.
By adjusting the silver cord around my waist, I turned to the wooden door, where he appreciated the faces of the celestial beings who had carved a dedicated woodworker, perhaps for years, so that the gates were as more similar to one that, up there, guarding San Pedro. All sides were practicing mortuary expressions. Wood's eyes were open but without iris brownish mere ball without direction, but if you fixed the longer view because in those eyes, their faces were becoming angry. I hosted a pleasure to watch them fearful fixed, trying to keep your eyes during the most minutes possible, until finally died of terror, and I could not take it away with short steps. That Sunday morning I tried again, and again turned to shock me. I hugged her mom's leg with terror.
- What's the matter, John?
The school was next to the church. It was ruled by the father Peter, a priest, he told countless times over subsequent years had preached throughout Latin America, Spain and even had shaken the hands of Paul VI. While there was a director, he was the real boss of the institution. He used to appear in person every Monday in every classroom, just after the start class and not caring to interrupt the discussion of how the bean sprouts or table of four, came in to reprimand the students who had not attended Mass the previous day. I was number since, because my mother used to fall asleep, had no car nor husband who prepare breakfast. Invariably, mine was the first name uttered. Should come forward, in front of me the forty-odd heads, and the clerk asked me the same tone of voice every Monday why he had not gone to mass.
"My mom fell asleep. Was my automatic response.
To which continued a sea of \u200b\u200blaughter and ridicule of all my friends, girls included.
The day was clothed angel had three years and by mother's mental storms, the severity of priests and teachers or the obligation to pull my chute by the bad guys, so high, so terrible slide-and thus began to shape the mouth tightening, that wrinkle the nose or shoulders up today I still identified in the photo where I go.
In the distance came the so Ana Maria with another angel by the hand. The woman ran dragging his kid.
"Forgive me, Claudia. Is that I fell asleep. Now I will not do breakfast to anyone. A Miguel only.
The women laughed knowingly.
In fact, next to the woman packed in tight jeans was Miguel. The boy looked at me defiantly, I stared at him awhile and then hung my view, or went away. We were dressed the same way and while this may be ridiculous for any adult, is not at all for a child, who are more concerned about other things, more important, and play is one of them. At least the other kids, not me.
As excited, let us go mothers hand and started talking and touching gestures wacky hair, first himself and then another. That release allowed us to get a bit more, he actually approached me. He looked angry, with his trunk furrowed brows and curled. Their wings were bigger than mine, but my dress was white. Without laps I issued a challenge: "Let's play
a race to the corner here.
The tone of the invitation he gave me no choice resulted. I do not know what to say. I grabbed her hand and took me under the staircase of the church. I stood beside him and extended his arm on the side to set the starting line, and also to ensure that both were in the same position. "When I count
three lengths.
Mom was talking to one side as if he had not spoken for years, probably clothing, dyes or menses with her new friend, the mother of angel without further delay, began: "One
.
I had never played the races. Suddenly I ran out of air, the neck of the white dress I adhered to the skin, the latch giant seemed to have transformed into a snake and I curled up in his chest. I did not know how to run to the corner, but did not know how not to run.
-Dos.
Miguel continued his outstretched arm, perpendicular to your body, and thus prevented me get ahead. But at no time I never thought such a thing. Shouted "two" with far more force that "one", and I could see how he opened the nostrils. He filled his little lungs with air. Declared:
- Three!
took a little hop and pushed me with his arm, which made me stumble backwards. He immediately ran to the corner desperate. There were only twenty yards to the goal, but at that age everything is exaggerated, and looked so distant corner like an airplane in the sky. I started running with my feet black. Miguel's legs sticking out with great agility in the white dress and it ran moving his little arms to be momentum. I had no choice but to start running too, but my strides were short, my lungs were smaller, because I lost the air immediately, I felt I could not breathe, my heart would break but just ran, I had to run. To top it off the white dress and wings hindered me stability. Later, Michael was about to reach the edge of the sidewalk. I stuck my tongue out, the air passing through the mouth left me tearing the throat. Suddenly, the white dress got me into the black shoe. I stumbled and fell like lead on the sidewalk. I shot several, the wings were broken, I was four or five 'CRACs', the white dress became gray, or black, I lost a shoe and rubbed his right elbow cement. Back to the scene, Miguel jumped for joy with the lineup of Slow school. He turned to celebrate his victory, but to me scattered, with one of my wings being washed out of the street, began to laugh out loud. He laughed in that way that only children can laugh, loudly, wildly, or at least that's what I used to watch the other kids, I never get to laugh at that. From the ground I could see him yonder in the corner, doubled over with laughter with his aura of wire and not on the head but as a necklace. Remained tended not even moan. The shouting drew the attention of the mothers, who are focused while speaking - certainly, the ridiculous clothes that other mothers "baby will not eat anything." Mom ran to me, but not to save, but angry. The toc toc of her shoes were more pronounced, approaching while shouting "I kill, I kill him!". I looked at my elbow and saw under the white cloth began to emanate something red. I felt very embarrassed that my mom saw it and cover it with your other hand. She came, I got up and started slapping me in the ass. Yes there began to mourn.
"Not that you give me more trouble, shouted rude shit, while I slap your ass wrapped in white cloth, or gray, or black. He picked up the broken wing and we went into the school hall. Passed across other angels holding my laughter, but the gunpowder exploded when one of them could not suppress a laugh and everyone started pointing fingers. Meanwhile, Michael's mother approached her son. I did not hear what he said, but warned that gave him a kiss on the forehead.
A couple of hours later we were all children up to the truck. Candid, happy, so innocent greeting parents, uncles and other neighbors, as the van traveled the streets of the neighborhood, Father Peter threw holy water at the crowd and sang a song that came unbearable expelled from an old speaker. Everyone was excited, looking for their parents, screaming tween. I stood at the edge of the truck, still holding my side stained red, and not moving too much to keep my mom dropped the alite emergency I had arranged with scotch tape. I remember I saw it happen to mom, alongside his new friend, hoping the passage of the float with your camera. Mom shot just when Michael gave me an elbow in the stomach for a place. Mama smiled as she used to smile, lifting the upper lip and wrinkling his nose, with the furrows of the forehead and the corners more pronounced. It did not seem at first glance a very sincere smile, but it was. I, however, what I have bitter face in this picture. But what can I do, I've never been much to smile.
Sunday, February 20, 2011
Sample Of Proof Of Residency From Landlord
These beautiful miniatures I am sending a great friend and great person to know the forum "your models", which from here I send many thanks and my wishes will soon recover and return to fill posts loving the forum, a lot of spirit Kola you there!, kisses, Anubis.
Saturday, February 12, 2011
Buy Protein From Singapore
Gift Kola And the winner is .............. ..... Drawing on my blog
And the winner is Meghna, congratulations.
Anubis. 
And the winner is Meghna, congratulations.
Anubis.
Monday, February 7, 2011
Male Waxing, St. Louis
siemper thought the Internet was a distraction right, find people with your same interests and hobbies, I have met many of which came as it were, there are other sharing their day to day life through these screens.
great friendships I have established that despite the problems are still there, others have shown that our friendship was ephemeral and that the first issue the bond that united us departed, disappeared on affection, friendship, hours of telephone conversations, secrets, laughter and good times all esto.Pero compartidos.Atras stay as it says the lyrics of a famous song, "life as usual" I want to thank those who still you are there with a small lot in my blog which I'll give away on Saturday 12 of febrero.Y to those who decided not to be I wish all the best in the world.
the usual rules, make them followers of the blog, hang it in yours and if you have no leave me a private blog forum "Your miniatures" that I scored well. Kisses for everyone
s.
Anubis.
What Does An Air Walker Do For You
BCN / BCN 11
tail out of the building, reached the final of the square and turned the corner, up the street Camp del Ferro. Numbered in the hundreds of waiting for the elevator to take that first block new drywall, plastic and wooden iron. The flamboyant denizens advanced a few centimeters per minute dragging tables washing machines, bookshelves, paintings, boxes of books, television ... shyly but full of enthusiasm I joined the queue, pushing my little fridge, and a box of basic goods on top. The rest would taxi during the week because all my belongings fit in a couple of boxes. I stood in front of a boy wearing a black shirt that said Manowar and wore a beard to his chest. Ten minutes passed without the tail is moved. I decided to start the conversation was a good time to make friends.
"Hi. What plant has touched you? -. I gave a smile to the bearded man, who was flanked by a double bar bigger than mine and a guitar case.
-Eighth Gate ... seventeen.
side I said, without turning the whole. I nodded with satisfaction.
"Good thing we have elevators," I stammered. Above everyone thinks of moving the same day. "And I added a fool: - Heh!
The guy returned a smile of courtesy, but immediately turned to his fridge.
Seven minutes later the queue moved again. Six or eight inches. At that moment I heard the bearded began to talk with the blonde in front.
"Hi. And you, what has touched you plant? Fourth
third, he said.
fantasized that the domino effect would reach to the very door of the lift automatically. Thanks to my initiative all talk would be made. I was given the perfect foot to build friendships. It was only a matter of pushing the first tab, the rest would fall alone. Yes, it was possible, could eventually form a large community of neighbors, a guild willing to share everything, to listen, to lend the missing screwdriver to finish the table Malmö or Kullen wardrobe, organize dinners every week, not needing to ask the music down because everyone will want to hear the same music, we are not bothered by noise from next door because we are almost always in the apartment next door sharing good times ...
But the blonde no interest in talking to the front, and the fantasy ended there. It took another ten minutes and I have twenty meters to cross the entrance to the building. Should be a wonderful day, everyone was about to start a new life, to take possession of our home, to imagine how eagerly color fill empty walls. However, tail seemed a gas chamber. The steps on the sandstone stunned me, some coughing, some ambulance silence chopping yonder. I tried again with the back. He was a young man wearing thick glasses some books in one hand and pushing a fan. My smile trembled, but I added the fervor to ask
"Hey ... you are many things to bring? How far away is your old floor?
I looked like someone watching a cent coin on the floor and I said,
"Yes. - ... And I did not understand whether that response was for the first, for the second question or both.
gafopasto This time he managed to turn even to start the domino effect to the opposite side. Embarrassed, I sank into the collar of my shirt and I just push myself to the fridge. I decided not to issue another word, undeterred, looking only forward, breathing air and thick streams of small steps. "It's a wonderful day," he repeated. An hour after hour of long silences, friction of furniture on the floor, looks elusive, finally reached the door of the elevator. I pushed my fridge into the building without assistance. I dropped the box on the floor, I spilled silverware, books, clothes, CDs and a packet of biscuits which had been eating on the road, and nobody helped me pick them up. I took my time to put everything in the box carefully, and heard behind snorts of different tenors. Finally I went and pressed the button on the sixth floor. The last I saw the closing of automatic doors were angry eyes of a bald, green blouse a brunette, the mount of gafopasto and behind his eyes with annoyance.
The doors closed and began the ascent. But the device, perhaps exhausted from having gone up and down all day, for hours after being hauled couches, plasma televisions, washing machines or chairs Stefan, was stopped with a thud in the middle of the third and fourth floors. I felt the smell of burned cable and turned off the lights a spark. I panicked, put my hands on the walls and looked for the emergency button. Seized him came a beep, but no one answered. I searched for my mobile, but there was no sign. I leaned against the fridge, thinking. Five. Ten minutes. Sunk in the darkness, but rather floating in the succession of dark plates where to look, this children's expectation of hearing the creak of the door of my new floor, gave way to the gentle sound of my back sliding on the elevator mirror. I sat on the floor, turned to heavy breathing. Five. Ten minutes, but without thinking. Gently I reached over and felt the package of cookies. I ate a couple, I knew better than before. I did not think to scream, I did not even knock on the door for help. The elevator was warm and had enough room to stretch your legs. I slept with her head on the refrigerator, not expecting anything to happen. Thursday, February 3, 2011
Sunfish Sailboat Stand
flâneur / 10
hate the corners of Eixample. So broad, so difficult to turn ... Every day I hate them more. How long will it save if you were straight! Fuck Ildefons Cerda and the mother who bore him. Who is he thinking? Turn right, to wait for traffic lights, zebra crossing, you reach the other block, turn again, follow. Yesterday I calculated: spending an average of one minute and sixteen second per corner. A rate of fifteen round corners turned fifteen, thirty-five minutes daily. Thirty-six hours per month. Eighteen days a year wasted ... Eighteen! Do you think someone my age could be wasting time so stupid? Antonio always says: "Wow, I see you live in the Guinardó to see how you complain to the slope. " Jordi says: "Well, come by bike, dammit, and tie in the bottom of light." To invalidate all, behind the bar, Obdulio repeated: "Why do not you get a bar close to your neighborhood, old stubborn?". But forty years ago I come to this bar on foot, take my carajillo and my Sovereign, and I will keep coming no matter what. What is it to change habits ... I am well, I've always been like that and you do not like to fuck. It is not my fault that every year the streets become wider, the whores corners are wider and the bar is Cantonada me more and more streets away. I do not know why everything makes me more distant every day, but who cares. I will continue that way until I die. With two balls.
hate the corners of Eixample. So broad, so difficult to turn ... Every day I hate them more. How long will it save if you were straight! Fuck Ildefons Cerda and the mother who bore him. Who is he thinking? Turn right, to wait for traffic lights, zebra crossing, you reach the other block, turn again, follow. Yesterday I calculated: spending an average of one minute and sixteen second per corner. A rate of fifteen round corners turned fifteen, thirty-five minutes daily. Thirty-six hours per month. Eighteen days a year wasted ... Eighteen! Do you think someone my age could be wasting time so stupid? Antonio always says: "Wow, I see you live in the Guinardó to see how you complain to the slope. " Jordi says: "Well, come by bike, dammit, and tie in the bottom of light." To invalidate all, behind the bar, Obdulio repeated: "Why do not you get a bar close to your neighborhood, old stubborn?". But forty years ago I come to this bar on foot, take my carajillo and my Sovereign, and I will keep coming no matter what. What is it to change habits ... I am well, I've always been like that and you do not like to fuck. It is not my fault that every year the streets become wider, the whores corners are wider and the bar is Cantonada me more and more streets away. I do not know why everything makes me more distant every day, but who cares. I will continue that way until I die. With two balls.
Tuesday, February 1, 2011
Does Clarithromycin Give A Bad Taste
Gift Giveaway Lluna Diego
I received this morning the exchange that I have pending with Diego, look who has sent me stuff, I'll have to put the batteries if I want to reach their height because this guy when sending commands ..... thanks Diego jajajajajaja.Muchas I loved everything. 
I received this morning the exchange that I have pending with Diego, look who has sent me stuff, I'll have to put the batteries if I want to reach their height because this guy when sending commands ..... thanks Diego jajajajajaja.Muchas I loved everything.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)