Contrary to what I wrote the ' last time, I finally decided to go together to Ambrose for Argentina, from which I returned yesterday after four weeks of real relax. But it was a simple journey: I am not yet ready for self-imposed exile to which it is given, happy, our ex-butler. He seems reborn, changed look and appearance and will now look like the best Julio Iglesias. Is about to open an agency of emigration and immigration in Buenos Aires: Argentina that will help those at home are harassed by law for financial crimes too severe to move into the paradise of freedom creative budget, where the penalties for fraudulent bankruptcy are mild ( if ever you are serving ) and be under investigation or convicted of helping the social ladder to parliament (and vice versa). At the same time assist those Italians who were tired of youthful freedom, wanting to spend their years of retirement to protect a peaceful civic environment, structured by certain rules. "It's kind of import-export human," he said Ambrose-Julio, stroking the hair pomade. "These are the advantages of globalization: everyone chooses the country where you plan to travel to get better, according to its nature."
he already knows that in Italy will never return. As a citizen of course, because as a tourist will come back for sure: the country is still beautiful, and will remain for at least another five generations of illegal building speculators, the most beautiful in the world. Returning to his homeland along with Ambrose, who had to recover his last things left in Italy, the window of the State messoci kindly provided by popes (with prior permission the prosecutor of Rome), viewers admired the beauty of our shores, the blue flashes of our lakes, the supremacy of the Mediterranean that still gets to lick the villages, which are the backbone of the Apennines to the peninsula, the relief whitewashed the Alps, and all of the monuments seem dumb, stood by, or not to lose sight of one another, boiled nell'assordante noise country cat, not abandoned the hope of peace : how heroes turned into real estate witnessing a timeless feel, where "our" is no more, no longer vibrate the beautiful soul, and true and false apply to much damage respectively to eat.
to convince me to leave for South America had been the historic interview of Patrick D'Addario, where the beautiful lady told with meticulous wealth of details of an evening spent here in my house and my roommate. Faced with such a chronicle ethics, to be envied by most of our own reporters, I was authorized to temporarily close eye on my "house daddy", especially since the lady has proven to know a lot more of me on my partner, besides being able to claim a biblical knowledge that Oedipus is that I do not possess. finally understood the reason for those mysterious kidnapping which was the subject of repeated Sometimes, at night and suddenly, when the gorillas Braccioni turn put me in a cage with dark curtains, to deliver after hours of round trips in the hands of the custodian of one of the villas of the popes. Apparently they were the cakes forbidden to myself, because the two meetings was usually allowed. I suspect that the presence of a cat sphinx predisponesse not willing submission to the girls that could inspire "the poodle licking their feet" seen by D'Addario. Evidently it was too, like the ring, an impromptu piece of furniture, as apart from the stains of urine (which I have always charged to the camel in the hall) has never left his trace.
Al mio ritorno ho trovato il mio convivente più stanco che mai. Più che il G8 lo sta sfinendo la ferrea astinenza sessuale a cui lo hanno costretto i suoi tutori, Giulianone e sua eminenza pokerista Telesina . Sembra che le abbiano provate tutte per placare la fame satiriaca di papi. Ma le bambole gonfiabili supertecnologiche fatte arrivare dal Giappone non sono programmate per eccitarsi davanti ai filmini di Bush e non hanno in memoria la canzone "Meno male che Silvio c'è". La contorsionista trasportata a palazzo dentro una valigia non può fare docce ghiacciate se non si vuole che un'artrosi le irrigidisca le giunture quando sarà il momento di rimpacchettarla per l'uscita di scena. E poi sempre si tratterebbe di monotoni scambi a due. Papi ha fame di torte.
Anche la speranza che a breve il paese gattone torni ad appassionarsi un po' più delle mitiche amicizie sicule del mio convivente, concedendogli così più libertà di manovra sul versante festini, sembra vana, come ha dimostrato la scomparsa di uno scoop notevole da tutta l'informazione virtual-cartacea d'Italia. E così per il momento dovrà accontentarsi di riempire la casa di uomini d'onore , anziché di femmine disonorate.
0 comments:
Post a Comment