Cost To Have Bathroom Fan Intalled

I


Another year has passed ...

I decadent poet

which combines weird adjectives and nouns.

I romantic

who live in my eight hundred gold.

I mathematical

I follow the laws of chaos.

wandering soul I

I love discovering new lands and new people.

Me and my roots

I love my city and my friends.

rowdy I

I talk, joke, laugh and enjoy myself.

I loving

that I take care of people.

I I I

always looking for my Self.

_____________________

: ..: S.. K.. A: ..: 2010

On A 5 Number Lock How Many Possible Combinations

Rain glass

Rain glass

the sky turin
the spell of looks.

Crowd of crazy looking

on the golden beach of Crete

stands harmony of time.

boundary of space.

Infinite ... House

_____________________
: ..: S.. K.. A: ..: 1999

Kharghar Property Rates Nov 2010

neutron stars

How old miners

fitted with ax and lantern
seek in the maze of 'unconscious love.

MA telematics.

Shipwrecked dreams
embrace the gentle breeze.

Neutron stars that shine for eternity.

_____________________
: ..: S.. K.. A: ..: 2010

Wording On Flowers At Funeral

facciaLibro

I like

random comment

belly vibrating pulsating

desire

discover new worlds and uncharted

life stories of love sick

part in my shadow jumps

ego fragmentation

stupid decadent poet

the warm snow there

There is your thinking and your writing

... chasing ghosts and sweet

_____________________
: ..: S.. K.. A: ..: 2010

Square Cupcake Holders

Ugh!

crowded square

looks destroyed

outdoor markets

men

mercenaries of time and space ships

of paper and tobacco

_____________________

: ..: S.. K.. A: ..: 1983

Indeed at first glance may seem like a poem ... instead it is a theme of my Italian place in the 4th ... more theme that, once again addressed the issue of drug ... to read the title of the theme I blurted out with a "Ugh, but again, if you really do have to be brief and concise ... so I wrote these six lines in two minutes ... and the remaining two hours I read a book.

What Is Mississippi River Look Like

Gone with the Wind


Sometimes air blowing a breeze of wind dick, the wind that makes it possible to design new routes along mysterious seas, toward unexplored shores.
You can not know the port of arrival. You do not even know if you can land somewhere.
For this reason, many prefer not to travel driven by the current wind dick. The wind blows dick
when and where you least expect it.
I, for example, I distinctly perceived at a dinner a few nights ago, when I discovered that in Tehran there is a high school Italian. It 's a high school in all respects, where he studied Italian, and where to get a year-end jury Italy for the exam. Anyone
conceived this idea has indeed been overwhelmed by a veritable storm of wind dick: an Italian high school in Tehran, in a country where the Italian community has about a hundred people, and where the law forbids non-Muslim citizens to attend schools.
The situation is further aggravated by the fact that the school is not the state. It 'a foundation of righteous living and donations.
For me this school is a kind of fragile monument. Represents the will of the small Italian community to preserve and protect their cultural identity.
It 's true that despite all the Italians are good people.
The story intrigued me, and so during dinner I further speech. I found out how the school, I felt the many problems and difficulties which threaten it. Dunno, I am fond of history.
Just as one person told me in detail what the difficulties in finding teachers who are in Italian, someone opened the door to the terrace. I felt a light breeze of wind dick I stroked her hair.
Many prefer to avoid going there driven by the current wind dick. My instinct I should not lift the anchor and not to raise the sail: the port is the safest place. The wind
dick is a rare phenomenon, and can have dramatic effects and bring enormous. The port is the safest place.
The instinct is holding me back. Yet slowly sailing salt, and as the sail is hoisted on the mast, I am surrounded by a mixed feelings. I perceive the crap, but they are attracted.
Via ... I raise the anchor!
Ah yes, you are desperate because you are missing a professor of physics? No problem, I come!
The wind pushes dick very strong, and yet, not yet fully risen, jumping flying over water. The tiller is crazy.
not see the horizon, and it is not clear in which direction you are visiting. It receives only energy and movement.
I look around.
a couple of weeks are the new Italian school of physics professor Tehran. I teach only students who will face the maturity, and I teach only on Thursday (my day off).
Teaching is not easy. In June the committee will evaluate what maturity they are able to convey to students. If I had not raised the anchor, everything would be easier. But I am so happy. I feel more alive. Overcome the fear of things new and unexplored, is replaced by a priceless sense of discovery. Freshness. Novelty. It 'beautiful. Beautiful in a way unconscious. A nice dick.
The name itself is indicative of the wind of the spirit of those who follow him.
I wish you that you're reading and all, to meet sometime the wind dick. When you meet, raise the sail. Do not stay at the port, the port is a pain in the ass. If ever shipwrecked, shipwrecked with a beautiful smile on his face ... and return to shore to swim together. Laughing.

Business Object Schedule

80 is 100


As a child I had a bike a little 'fuck. Graziella.
instead All my friends had the moto-cross with long saddle, shock absorbers and transmission. The long saddle
gave him a safe haven, the easy-rider. Pedaled comfortable, lulled by the shock. Occasionally they could even move up a gear.
Next to them, with my Graziella, I looked like a poor bastard. I missed only the wicker basket quilted. They were the king of dirt I get by with my bike that sounded off every scrap metal.
I was not the most unfortunate of all. A bike I succeed. I was also allowed to use it out of the yard. But, damn, I was the entry level of the lucky ones. The lucky base. I wanted to cross the bike with the long saddle, shock absorbers and transmission. I wanted blue. In my head I had a very light film of what I needed.
Today I think of that episode. I remember that even though torn by the desire of a blue cross bike, I with Graziella, also red, I enjoyed it.
I removed the wings, and the basket to make it more beautiful.
I learned to surge. I had changed the seat.
I went there in the most unlikely, and I used a lot, probably because it was not for me half worthy of veneration. It was a basic bike, suitable for a successful base.
Holy shit, if he returned the child on a bicycle with the codpiece court many years ago, I would have my Graziella. For me it was perfect. I think if I had the bike I would not have enjoyed cross blue suit. I was afraid of ruining it. I would have used too sparingly.
From this insight comes the title of my post.
100, or perfection. 100%.
Tracking the 100 is a pulse incorrectly. E 'distorted.
Actually 80 is 100.

Female Masterbation Instructions

Spire anything


Penumbra and sofa. Blue flashes on the TV.
float on cushions of the couch.
Who the fuck is it now?!
... ah, no. They have not yet played.
DLING DLING
Behold, I knew it!
Now I do? Never get unstuck from this sofa adesivissime liners. I try to open with the energy of thought, perhaps until now no one has ever succeeded because it has not been determined as me in not wanting to get up.
concentration. Serves the highest concentration. I suppose the door. The intercom. The receiver. Its plastic made shiny from use. Simulation in the depths of the mind to pick up the handset.
Who is it?
Dickhead, you mental powers to open the door and do not know who I am?!?
Ohmmerda: it worked! I open. Blindly. With the thought. Log in with a porcupine
combed the line on one side. A porcupine well. I had never seen one so combed before.
He hands me a pair of cufflinks for my shirt: class stuff.
Damn. Beautiful are beautiful, but I'll have to trust? His hairstyle
escape all my doubts: I reach. Thanks

He smiles but does not respond.
And now? What do you expect from me?
I do not know. I offer an ashtray: so do not smoke. I have not ever had a cock that ashtray there.
Here, my dear dear. E ' for you.
The smile increases, but does not add the word.
sit back in the ashtray, putting his paws stunted the notches should hold the cigarettes.
He pulls out two beers. It gives me one. This hedgehog is ahead.
I try to take it with the thought in fluency. I
comes naturally. I open it.
In a fit of exhibitionism even open his.
The foam comes out of cans. Quanta!
slowly covers the can, my hand, the sofa, the floor.
The room is filled with soft foam beer. Light and graceful. You can breathe. The flashes of color television on and off the foam.
A fly, to swim back in the middle of the foam, approaches. It carries with it the salty snacks. Pretzels shaped like a stylized fly back to swimming in the middle of the beer foam stylized. Oh, over there are salt crystals. Good.
I'll take a few. It will take you so rude? Boh. I guess I should reciprocate. If only I had a shitty hand ...
I do not have time to devise a way to return the favor, which the fly is gone already swallowed by the foam.
The fly has a small face and a mouth that seems a bit 'a trumpet, I remember it from school textbooks. Despite being aware of this, I had the impression that I was smiling.
How nice: after so many years the images of school books I have served something!
Between Thought and the other the level of the foam goes down. The hedgehog slowly emerges.
With the loving gaze of an old friend of mine apostrophe: Dickhead, as usual you have breathed in too much beer. Now you will be those terrible hallucinations that I always speak. Those that live in a world where everything is difficult.
The twilight gives way to the sunlight of a new day.

How Long Can I Store A Hair Relaxer

The deleterious phenomenon of premature ejaculation minutes


I am opposed to the technology easy to use and affordable for everyone.
I want that there is a natural selection on users of technology. If a person does not know how to use a certain technology, there will be a reason. It 'obvious which has a limit. Point. Not end of the world. All have their limitations and accept them.
If I do not know how to play tennis, I do not have to break the fucking world, asking for shoe bigger, smaller fields, slower balls. I have to train seriously, or change careers.
It 's a natural process. Mica I invented it now. Nature has invented, and Darwin has condensed into a theory.
Giving all technology is wrong. In the pile there is always a considerable number of minus abens they do damage.
One of the most flagrant cases of what I support is the phenomenon of 'premature ejaculation minutes or phenomenon by which people are lens to understand and think they have available technologies to communicate fast.
In the past the problem was of course mitigated by the limits of technology. Not any more. In the Middle Ages
communications took place through ambassadors, messengers on horseback, letters written with care. There was a time to reflect. To weigh. To reread. To understand what it was intended to express and control it was not clear.
Today we are surrounded by people who struggle to understand the ending of a show, but want to communicate by cell phone while driving in traffic.
People who are struggling to understand a joke, they hold dangerous tools such as email, with the command and put forwards a copy. SMS Or maybe with lists distribution. Or the Instant Messengers in multiple windows. Twitter. Facebook.
Shit, I think certain technologies should be difficult to use. Heavy. Grosse. From spring loaded, or with a steam boiler to be loaded by hand using a shovel. With the commands of travertine.
But no: any moron with access to fast communication.
The mail has come anywhere. We
in virtual space. We
online.
And to prove that it is online, it is vital to respond promptly.
Send your comment. Update your status. Responding to the email. SMS. Ah, yes, if you do not answer immediately, you're nobody.
Click REPLY Click
... Hop hop. Now. Voilà ... Click
SEND Click
... Hop hop. Now. Voilà ...
I replied.
'm finally online with my new shit.

Akc Pet Healthcare Plan A Good Idea?

Manifesto cattivogustaio


tagliatelle di nonna Pina make me shit.
I want a better world, a world where there is the caste of gourmets.
I like normal people.
People with a passion normally. For art. For sport. Math. Reading. The cinema. The pussy. Comics. Play balls.
The kitchen and the food, why not, but at normal levels.
Shit, where is normal people?!
Boh. Disappeared. Evaporated. All swept away. In their place have settled gourmets.
They came in secret, slipping on a very quiet flap: I have not noticed anything until the end.
They are everywhere. There are huge. Too many.
Those who cook perfectly, and sought only the finest ingredients. Everything else disgusts them.
Those who flaunt mastery of terms to describe a wine, and we keep strictly to use adjectives that have nothing to do with a fucking wine.
Those who eat only organic things: if they pass the cleaning department of the supermarket taste and praise even the Bio-Soon. Those who do
50 kilometers to go and buy radishes zero kilometers, which are the most genuine and do not pollute.
Those who are horrified when a combination of flavors is not perfect, using the same shocked expression of a bigot who sees a priest off a votive candle with a piss in church.
Those who only enjoy at the table.
Food is nourishment. The board is a friendly moment. These things are important, but they are at the heart of the Universe.
The Universe is able to survive even the worst combinations of food and wine.
I do not understand the fury exclusively on typical culinary connoisseurs . Follow only cooking shows, cookbooks just read, discuss just cooking and cooking only with other fans.
Dine out (the only social event designed by gourmet ), and then spend the evening eating, arguing and preaches only about the food, ingredients, service, restaurant.
Ah, the original approach in this dish!
Ah, this wine's rich bouquet!
Ah, taste this, is exceptional.
Ah, melts in your mouth!
For the record also cakes of earth that my sister was 4 years melted in the mouth. You want to try one? If you do not find the land, giving him something to make you my bitch to experience. Dear
Gourmet , but from where you jumped out? When, how and why you have taken the place of normal people?
In your head in the pot, the broth of your thoughts, there is nothing more than these four crap about what we are eating?
Do you think such behavior is normal?
The fact that it is widespread and goes out of fashion does not mean it's normal.
do not know why this thing is so popular. But it is an aberration. It is not normal.
will be possible only when a normal thing all shall conform to it.
But I resist. Perhaps alone, but resist. In a bad plate of pasta topped with a glass of foam of the discount, I'll wait. I prepare the clash eating and drinking what happens.
If it is true that we live to eat, I do not care to live.

How Much Is 1 Mb Of Mobile Data?

Oye como va


Copiaco (Chile), San Jose mine is. The hot dust
shines caressed by the rays of the setting sun.
rescue teams alternate in desperate search of a signal from the miners buried. The hope is weak: it has been more than two weeks after the collapse.
After 17 endless days of work, perseverance is rewarded by a sign. A message written on a sheet of paper. The 33 miners are alive, safe in the emergency shelter set up 700 feet below the surface. E 'August 22, 2010. Joy will
contagious and spreads rapidly among operators. Aid workers, journalists, colleagues, family: everyone is celebrating in disbelief. Then darkness falls, accompanied by the cold. The party is slowly dying and everyone returns to camp to sleep. All but
Oleander de Montecucco, a fellow miner who has abused the pisco, last in rivers during the party. Staggering
and smiling, Oleander is close to the umbilical cord that connects the trapped miners to the surface. Oleander is close to the tube . He puts his mouth and tries to speak.
- Pedro. Augustus. Antonio. Can you hear me?
Voices hoarse with emotion routes answered the call.
- Yes, I feel. We are all well. We lost hope, but you have saved. Thank you very much. We owe you my life. We are here, all 33. The room is small and dark, but we are all fine. The happiness of having been found there makes everything look beautiful.
The room is really small for 33 people. Oleander knows: he has seen during the exercises. Fifty square feet. Few to a large group. Oleander
in the eyes of a light goes on. A thousand excited giggles calls to his companions:
- Feeling hungry? Want something to eat?
- Yes Yes .. Yes, if you can!
Oleander runs uncertain until camp. Log into the kitchen. In the dim light of the moon looks around. Opens pots. Toh, a soup: the tube is small, and a soup is ideal. Fill a bowl of soup and returns to the tube.
- Boys, here. E 'soup. Get ready, which now poured into the tube.
Miners excited approach using a helmet by way of a bowl.
goes down the soup. The first in line, Alvaro Corrantes, the drink still hot from his helmet. It 'very good, gives him the chills. Shivering ceases. Alvaro jumps.
- stop! Do not drink it. Throw on the ground.
Colleagues, terrified, upset the soup to the ground immediately.
- What's Alvaro? E 'poison?
Alvaro hesitates. Then admits
- Guys, John Wayne is a bean. In view of the blow up of the room is too dangerous!
In the darkness of the shelter is receiving a surge of indignation. Alvaro is heavily insulted by all his colleagues. The insults are driven by two causes.
The first is hunger. Fearing for his life, the miners poured the soup on the floor of beaten earth, and now you can not pick it up.
The second is the grudge against Alvaro Corrantes. He ate. He has tasted the fagiolata after 17 days of cold tasteless food. He . Alvaro Corrantes, said El Pinatubo, the miner known for memorable farts.
Alvaro is a simple guy. Good. He tries to play down the situation as best he can ...
- Come on guys, do not disperiamoci. Soon more will arrive! About get this ...
Falling ice, evidenced by weak and tremulous sound of a fart. Alvaro
is justified: Guys, how many stories, better out than in!
Alvaro is a simple boy, but knows when it's time to keep a laugh.
The screams of my colleagues become indignant disapproval, pushing, blows. Alvaro
apologize. Is justified:
- Please: it is stronger than me. I will do my best to avoid, however, spare me!
colleagues accepted a compromise: If Alvaro able to hold farts, his life be spared.
pass the hours. Alvaro is the opposite of beads of sweat. The pressure in the stomach is unbearable now. Desperate calls for a truce.
- I beg you. Do not take it anymore. Mercy!
He was granted a release, but with a loud voice mode is set: in the tube. Alvaro
hard to believe. It 's the end of a nightmare. Contract from the pain comes close to the tube, turns around and puts on his toes to stick perfectly to the hose ass. It 's done. El Pinatubo may finally erupt.
The long tube distorts the sound, making it heavy and unnatural. Strange. Decomposed. It is not just a fart. It 'a fart noises mixed with liquid and human voices. Voices shouting.
Food is coming. Here comes the food: Prepare a container.
Alvaro is pushed away from the tube and the miners are preparing for the helmet.
soup. The only thing that passes easily from the tube. Soup slightly effervescent flavored shit.
After the meal, the group thanked the rescuers and reassures them: los trentados are all well.

Bottomless Gilrs Party From Harold & Kumar

White Collar

Behind every great man there is always a great woman.

We'll see. Meanwhile, waiting to become a great man, the shirts me the board alone. Only
shirts. The rest use it wrinkled, so that I'm really denied ironing. Sometimes I do tenderness alone. I look in the mirror and I look like a bum clean. A homeless man wearing a clean shirt with very deep creases. Yes
That's one of my specialties in the ironing: so indelibly fix the creasing. It seems embroidered. Branded. In fact, when
board, for me are two possible cases.
The first is the aforementioned folds in a fire. Beyond me. I spread the shirt carefully on the board. He stroked her gently to straighten it. The step above the iron, and magically blooms in its wake a permanent crease. It 'an incredible and inexplicable phenomenon for me. The first few times I watched amazed at the plate of the iron to search for what generated the folds. Now I have resigned: awaiting the day when a fashion designer is launching the wrinkles etched into focus. I'll look great! I'll be the best.
The second possible case is the ironing time. In practice, the shirt is perfect and smooth. But the effect lasts a quarter of an hour. Then the fabric takes the original creasing. I think I should give a bit 'of my shirts to researchers as part of shape memory materials.
What shape memory material do you want? Let me look, I give him a shot of iron and voila!
Improving the ironing for me is impossible, despite my efforts, and the many attempts, not better. Sometimes those fascinated
fixed stretch. I try to learn their secrets. Boh. Not working. With me the same things just do not work.
At first I thought it was a problem of quality iron. Then I suspect the axis. Now beginning to seriously suspect the world of fashion designers. What are they waiting to launch shirts with folds in a fire?!

Chrissie Nadine Jansen

Adieu

Unlocked School Games

Gerontology


this morning reading the paper I came across the word jewelry.
Jewelry
What a fucking word.
Try saying it out loud. How do you play?
my opinion deserves a decent oblivion. He has done his time. Now no longer needed. It seems demeaning to all exhumed.
to think of it, I believe that jewelry is not an isolated case.
Another case? Arzillo . The word
brisk is dead, perhaps a century ago. The fate of the remains, however, is connected to the old word . Old man is dragged behind the gruesome corpse of the word spry, which is now meaningless. How would you feel if you got dell'arizillo? If someone told me
arizillo , I piss like a puma.
Arzillo is the old man. And only the old man. Or
esteemed . The esteemed word is dead and mummified was on the front page of a letter. On an envelope.
You know what I say? You really are esteemed. A
you sound like a statement like that?
These terms, old and tired, not if feel more exiting. To appear in public. Yet some idiot, for one reason or the latro, continues to evoke, and not allow him to go out in peace, as they deserve. That fate.
It 's the fate of gerontology. Terms old trapped in the limbo of phrases of Italian.
words that sound more like live. I would like to make a national appeal: respect the gerontology and let them go out alone.

This morning I awoke spry. Perky. I long to reach the door and breathe in the crackling morning air. Greeting the beautiful country, grateful for the amazing phenomenon of gerontology. The jewel that is bringing our beloved romance language. I take off the headgear before such linguistic phenomena, and I wonder if you believe deserve respect.
If you are agree, let the gerontology go out and rest in peace, as they deserve. At last, gives them a well-deserved rest.

Converting W/v To W/w

On Blackberry, or telephone the anti-personnel


an emerald green meadow in northern Cambodia.
colored spots fragrant flowers on a grassy area.
A little girl dressed in humble running happy.
A glow in the grass.
The child, curious, approaching the glow. Loosely in the grass lies a black telephone, sinuous, almost sensual. The soft shapes. The color screen. The curious child approaches the object and picks it up.
ZOT
The lawn is transformed into an expanse of asphalt. The girl is old, worn, with matted hair and looked hysterical. Around her rings, horns and noise.
Zoom on arthritic and calloused hand holding up the phone. The screen lights, flashing lights, warning in red. The trembling hand
opens in an extreme effort to get rid of the phone.
While the phone is dropped, the noise stops and the environment back to clear. The unit lies limply on the grass again, and the old woman turns to ash which is carried by the wind. The sound of the wind conceals a subtle sigh of relief. A rice liberating. The screen goes black. RIM Blackberry brand and logo.

If I were an eccentric millionaire, I would pay personally for this campaign.
Unfortunately my financial situation will not let me, so I'll post a less figurative and more concrete: The backberry sucks.
The function of integration with the job is a prison. Slavery.
The book contains only and exclusively the Outlook contacts. And my friends?!? I
Outlook has always been crap: I lost my old phone book and found in its place rubrichino little lazy and I had carelessly compiled on Outlook in the past.
Emails are (mis) handled like SMS.
Toh ... SMS ... how nice: let's see who is looking for me. Fuck: the usual spam Herbal Viagra
Navigating the menus is eternal. Want to read a message? Click on the sachet. Thousands of messages. All old. Where is the new? Shakes. There. Boh.
Woe to delete old: among them there are also emails. Delete them from your computer also means losing the email in work ...
Okay, let's search for the unread. Here it is. It was before?!? Well ... leggiamolo. Ok, the usual Herbal Viagra. Well. But if I buy it to him, after a storm to stop messages?
When the function messages, the signal continues to be activated for new messages. Well ... another?
Re-entering the application, the signal of new messages is disabled. That shit! But is it possible that I scancherare like a jerk for 2 hours to do stuff with a cell phone as a poor black and white I would have done faster and better?!?!
The only positive note is the design. The technical department has given up on the form. According to me it was a selfish impulse: they wanted a rounded shape without sharp edges or corners, they were afraid sooner or later to meet a customer who would stuck my dick up their nice phone for a few sphincter. For
the rest is useless. Is making me regret the heading of paper. As for SMS, I have already solved them write on a sheet of paper, then folded and rolled them on the Blackberry. Then he threw the phone in the direction of the window of the person to whom they are addressed. I meet all faster than usual: 'I'm fucking phone just does not want anyone !

Prom House In The Pocnos

Women 2.0 Striking the wheel


Hello Madam Balottelli Pagani Boffa, his car has arrived. And 'here in the dealership. We look forward to this afternoon for delivery.
Oh, thank goodness. The waiting anxiously! You know, covering nearly two thousand miles a year, here in town and I really need a car safer. I understand it?
Sure, he's right. In the city the average cruising speed is very low, but if one day the traffic will magically dissolve, she would be ready. Congratulations on your foresight.
Thank you thank you ... speaking of vision, said that I was right to take diesel? Sincerely
along 2000 kilometers a year, could also take it to Don Perignon 1967. However, the diesel was a good choice. I understand that you are careful in purchasing a woman when I asked the 5000cc twin-turbo 400 horsepower engine, absolutely necessary to bring the child to school, but diesel. She loves the savings. Brava. I would also like a wife I so wisely.
will be powerful enough?
I think it's perfect for your needs! I distinctly remember the test drive we did together. I will never forget that I had never seen flies in highway crash on the glass, get up and fly away stunned. One thing the can do with this machine, do not worry.
Thanks for the reassurance and advice, I come to collect it immediately. See you later.
you later.
Shortly after the square of the dealership parking a big SUV, with wheels and bolts to air missiles on the roof. From the half down two women. Uncoupled from the child seat, pull the hood two strollers and move towards the entrance.
Seller warmly welcomes the
Lady Balottelli Pagani Boffa, good afternoon. That speed.
Good afternoon. Yes, with the help of my friend, Pucci, we did infrettissima. We're just two crazy hahahah we
Here the machine. If you have a minute I'll explain the various functions
... Well ... if you got me? What creeps? I can drive!
I wanted to just briefly describe the automatic
Well ... will work automatically! With what I paid ...
Sure, it's very intuitive. He's right. Mine was an excess of zeal. Take a seat on board and enjoy the ride.
She clings sull'altissimo seat of his new and powerful way.
closes the door and see the dashboard with the bewildered look of a person who discovers he has an asshole in front.
pretends indifference and find a friend for the ignition command. A big start button that flashes like a good clue. Presses. It works.
Now comes the hard part. Shift lever is, 'sti few pedals in,' ste palette on the steering wheel ... it is just automatically accelerate.

Accelerate ... more ...

Deeper

around the car ... gather men in white shirts and ties, with big rimmed glasses bakelite.
An amplified voice scratchy start a test go / no go.
Start automatic ground launch sequencer
GO
Retract orbiter access arm
GO
Start auxiliary power units
Arm solid rocket booster
GO GO

Start orbiter aerosurface profile test
GO
Retract gaseous oxygen vent arm
GO
Crew members close and lock
GO
Orbiter transfers from ground to internal power
GO GO
Main engine start
Part
a countdown while some workers devise as soon as possible the launch pad. The car is
shrouded in smoke. In the fog, the seller acted in vain screaming hand brake.
Suddenly a roar. The hood is opened. From
bonnet trembling leaves the engine. His face is furious. Someone has to pay. They get the various pipes and cables that connect the car and crosses the body.
A heavy footsteps approaching the door.
knocks on the glass. Mrs.
, vaguely frightened only opens a small window of opportunity.
With bloodshot eyes, but calm voice, the engine speaks to her. Want to remove
fucking slow down, please?
Mrs. timidly raises his foot.
Get out.
The lady is hesitant. He looks around looking for support. Aid. And then resign. Open the door.
Looking down from the car.
Give me the keys. Give me the keys and go home, you and all those like you, you broke my dick. Stop it.

Does Leimo Really Work

When the child was a child,
he went with his arms hanging,
wanted the brook was a river,
the river a torrent
and this puddle, the sea.

When the child was a child,
did not know was a child, for him

everyone has a soul and all souls were one.

When the child was a child, had nothing on
review, had not
habits,
often sat cross-legged,
and suddenly slipped away,
had a whirlwind in my hair and did
faces as a photographer.

Peter Handke

Milena Velba In Sweater

tired?


Feb 24 my visa expires for Iran. With a timing
powerful invocation of curses, Lufthansa pilots have called a strike and canceled my return flight to Italy.
Who knows what the law provides for local immigrants belonging to a country that calls Israel's entry in Europe ...
Boh, I do not know, that's why my task now is solve the problem. Note the resolve: here is not about search or try .
As one of the greatest thinkers of all time (past and future)

No! Try not! Do. Or do not. There is no try!
(Yoda, Star Wars)

For now the most likely solution is a flight IranAir on Rome. Let me explain? Iran on Rome: practice at check-in that will directly throw the bag into the garbage.
I say that is the most likely solution in Iran because there exists an inescapable vagueness. In this case:
Lufthansa Europe has a re-booking my active (mean in a few words that give me a ticket routing), but they can not implement because it is contrary to their procedures. E 'was inserted by Lufthansa Iran. The only solution is for me to talk directly with Iran Lufthansa. Lufthansa Europe not talk directly with Iran Lufthansa. It 's just the same company, right the fuck can I expect?! Lufthansa
Calling Iran, but no one answers. Since it is not very far from my office, I decided to go in person to them.
there is a sign on the door: close at 16. Well: it is 15:05.
later the usher told me that no longer accept customers: they are closed. At 15:05
?!?! But everybody assholes? Call the person most foreigners working here, I want to talk!
As if nothing had allows me to get the usher. Now that I'm a bit 'pissed off they are open again. Strange life. The employee
I issue a ticket, strictly on paper, with my re-booking: flight with Iran and with Alitalia. The re-routing involves the use of airlines in the Lufthansa Group, and neither IranAir Alitalia nor in the group. This explains why Europe could not give me the new tickets. Here, however they can. Better: If you can not do, though.
The employee should contact me tomorrow Iran to re-confirm my presence. They have already done so, but given that in Iran the overbooking is wild, remember over and over again that we are serious about flying.
Now I'm here with my paper ticket in hand, and with a note written on paper with the number of telephone offices Irani.
I do not know if I should just be pissed. I think I should at least be tense. Actually I do not give a shit. I adapt the inevitable vagueness of Iran. What the fuck do I care? In one way or another things will adjust.
For me the problem is solved.
When all the roads end, you can stop, or you can start moving off-road and found that in this so you can reach more places than any road.
I see the maximum of Yoda in a different light. The inevitable vagueness
Iran has forged me. In the end I am happy.

Radiculopathy Disability

giants on child


Last night I saw in a TV contest. A British stuff where you win one of those giant checks. The winner was delighted with his assegnone in hand.
I thought to myself: Lucky him! I would be in his shoes!
But then I imagined it to be truly in place.
I figured out the study in which all applauded me and find me in the street, with my giant check in hand.
We hope that no criminal I known.
Like hell! Go down the street with such a check is like being a fish fart: you can not miss!
All staring at you, and you set them, like an asshole, you make your way with your wing paper in hand. permit. Sorry. Permission. Pardon.
But if you fold it, 'I will check still valid? Boh. Do not risk ...
Taxi. Taxi ...
Taxis do not stop: you laugh, you discard and continue beyond. Bastards!
Meanwhile, people look at you, I suggest you give the elbow. What torture.
long walk home. And when I say way home, I mean back home in the widest sense of the word: the check does not enter the elevator. I could hardly enter the front door.
While the check is safely in the home, around the city looking for a portfolio of 6 square meters. All traders look at me like I'm an asshole. Shit, if I try a wallet so there will be even a reason, right?
What if they all go to hell: after three days I can finally leave the house with my giant wallet in his pocket, a leather craftsman I had packed a tailor. It cost me a little less than the nominal value of the check, but certainly it was worth the effort!
The portfolio comes out a little 'pocket. To be honest well over my head. E 'attached to the back with two shoulder straps, like a backpack. To make it a bit 'more likely to have a cell phone combined with 3 meters high. Dunno, it seems to me that the trick works fairly.
reach the bank without any problems. E 'was easier than I thought.
I open the wallet and lean your check.
Shit: does not pass from the slot of the door. The cashier looked at me astonished. I plays down pretending to send a text message from my mobile phone giant. Madonna how much it weighs. It 's impossible to do casual. Collapse and confess: it is a giant check, and I would cash it.
The cashier smiles and points to the last stop: Debt giant
I go up in disbelief. Felice. I could hardly hold back the emotion. Greeting
the cashier check and extend the giant through the appropriate slot.
The cashier uses to receive, record and finally, prepare the cash.
giant opens a drawer.
Ommerda
giant pulls out banknotes and coins as big as the wheels of buses.
nasty damn that bitch, ma 'sti checks giant fucking need?