Monday, November 30, 2009
Sunday, November 22, 2009
Batteries For Toy Hauler
you were wondering why a little 'time there has been no news of the invitation? A statement issued by the Quaestor to a local radio station is clear.
'... Yes, I confirm that we proceeded to order the confiscation of the website called the left in the closet ... In practice it was an unauthorized blog updated real time about the internal work activities of a company that, so that ... reported the irregularities to the authorities, who then would we be ... The site has suspended its activities ... and investigations are underway to determine any further prosecution's ...».
Saturday, November 21, 2009
Good Comebacks To Is That An Invitation
GIANDISSIMO
Today the alarm was sounded at 6.45, as every day at work morning. Usually it takes me an hour and a quarter to retrieve my, wash, make me that little pussy to deal head-on the world out there. Then at eight o'clock I'm going to go out and seize the train. Instead
Instinctively I turn off the alarm this morning and I continue to sleep and dream. I have to thank my dream when I arrived on time at work, because he had the good manners to finish at 7.50. With his mind clouded realize that I have 10 minutes to wash the face, armpits, ass and teeth and get back the clothes of yesterday. A neuron uses it to choose (in the dark, I wonder why ...) and clean underwear and socks to put another bag in the cosmetic bag of tricks, with the intention to restore the face by train in peace.
I leave home breathless with the coat and scarf in hand. I am in time for a quick coffee and a pastry at the bakery (very good) clear, I think, also very close to the station. I'm happy. As I put on my coat, I look down and come ababgliata by the color of socks, which have nothing to do with the clothes: for the fluorescent green and blue stripes of the latter is ill according to the rigor of my all-black clothes and even , a closer look, with gray-cleavage mouse port at the foot. Oh well, Sbat E CAZ, I say, and later in the bakery. While the bartender
I prepare the coffee, since I have 4 minutes left, biting voraciously and Ravano my dough in my bag-suitcase full of crap looking for the wallet to pay immediately breakfast. But alas not find it. The portfolio is in fact not in the bag, but red on the table at the entrance to my house. Last night I placed there for no apparent reason, and I said to myself: "Sarah, if you leave it there, then tomorrow it ends up that you forget." Here is a clear case of prophecy autoadempie. I could make the effort to put it back in stock, but I did not. So today I find myself in the bakery to say that I can not pay for the breakfast that I'm already consuming. The bartender, when I put the coffee in front, with little reassuring face that says there is no problem and that the coffee would have denied me. I say: "But I bring you the money this afternoon, because now I have to take the train and go to work." The girl, her face taut as a violin string, states that do not have to worry. I leave the bakery with him all looks moralizing old men of St. Peter there, and I go in a gallop toward the station.
Arrival at the track with the train, on which I get no more than one cc of saliva and the heartbeat acceleratissimo. Luck, however, my help and I am in a car enviable happen without people talking to their phone and how the dinner had already duly expelled, due to the positive influence of Activia and two kiwi diugiuno. I take three minutes to relax. Then take off my coat and scarf, I open my bag and I take my cosmetic bag of tricks. Before beginning the restoration, my eye falls down again, precisely on the lapel of my black wool cardiganino. I see there stands at mo ' badges, a dried-up drops of ketchup. Now, only now, the memory goes to yesterday evening, at dinner in a pizzeria squalid St. Peter's with my friend Pika, my greedy desire for chips and at the time when one of them is a waterfall on the gallons of Ketchup my sweater. Sure, I could clean it while it was cool last night. It would have been easier and certainly would not have struggled as I did this morning in the toilet of the train, with a giant tomato become one with the mixed viscose fiber of my mohair cardigan that yesterday was black, and perhaps never will be more .
Instinctively I turn off the alarm this morning and I continue to sleep and dream. I have to thank my dream when I arrived on time at work, because he had the good manners to finish at 7.50. With his mind clouded realize that I have 10 minutes to wash the face, armpits, ass and teeth and get back the clothes of yesterday. A neuron uses it to choose (in the dark, I wonder why ...) and clean underwear and socks to put another bag in the cosmetic bag of tricks, with the intention to restore the face by train in peace.
I leave home breathless with the coat and scarf in hand. I am in time for a quick coffee and a pastry at the bakery (very good) clear, I think, also very close to the station. I'm happy. As I put on my coat, I look down and come ababgliata by the color of socks, which have nothing to do with the clothes: for the fluorescent green and blue stripes of the latter is ill according to the rigor of my all-black clothes and even , a closer look, with gray-cleavage mouse port at the foot. Oh well, Sbat E CAZ, I say, and later in the bakery. While the bartender
I prepare the coffee, since I have 4 minutes left, biting voraciously and Ravano my dough in my bag-suitcase full of crap looking for the wallet to pay immediately breakfast. But alas not find it. The portfolio is in fact not in the bag, but red on the table at the entrance to my house. Last night I placed there for no apparent reason, and I said to myself: "Sarah, if you leave it there, then tomorrow it ends up that you forget." Here is a clear case of prophecy autoadempie. I could make the effort to put it back in stock, but I did not. So today I find myself in the bakery to say that I can not pay for the breakfast that I'm already consuming. The bartender, when I put the coffee in front, with little reassuring face that says there is no problem and that the coffee would have denied me. I say: "But I bring you the money this afternoon, because now I have to take the train and go to work." The girl, her face taut as a violin string, states that do not have to worry. I leave the bakery with him all looks moralizing old men of St. Peter there, and I go in a gallop toward the station.
Arrival at the track with the train, on which I get no more than one cc of saliva and the heartbeat acceleratissimo. Luck, however, my help and I am in a car enviable happen without people talking to their phone and how the dinner had already duly expelled, due to the positive influence of Activia and two kiwi diugiuno. I take three minutes to relax. Then take off my coat and scarf, I open my bag and I take my cosmetic bag of tricks. Before beginning the restoration, my eye falls down again, precisely on the lapel of my black wool cardiganino. I see there stands at mo ' badges, a dried-up drops of ketchup. Now, only now, the memory goes to yesterday evening, at dinner in a pizzeria squalid St. Peter's with my friend Pika, my greedy desire for chips and at the time when one of them is a waterfall on the gallons of Ketchup my sweater. Sure, I could clean it while it was cool last night. It would have been easier and certainly would not have struggled as I did this morning in the toilet of the train, with a giant tomato become one with the mixed viscose fiber of my mohair cardigan that yesterday was black, and perhaps never will be more .
Tuesday, November 3, 2009
Binny Silk Saree Stores In Chennai
POL ANCA (for facebookiani)
signal to all those loyal readers of Gianni joined Facebook, a group run by Tanya and Mark, my great friends.
This is POL ANCA (here's the link: http://www.facebook.com/people/Pol-Anca/100000375427351 ) a virtual bulletin board that receives contributions and thoughts very free and very politically incorrect.
alas I can not directly access the site because of my departure a few months ago from Facebook (due to overdose WORD CHALLENGE!), But I assure you that my presence will feel all right in Gianda POL ANCA !
E ' a closed group, you must ask to be admitted. I do not think there are problems with the registration, but if you ask to be admitted to the cry of W LA gendarmes! , every door will be opened (this in general, in life).
Hello hello
Polly
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