& nbspAl twenty-fifth day of the year again ...
Tracky - disposing of the hangover capodannesca - focuses on land issues: the customers. A platoon who begs, fourteen-hour-on-twenty-four, sugar and drugs legalized. A crowd with cocktail sauce and stuff handfuls of grain.
& nbspLui, impassive, serving coffee and dispenses smiles over the counter. There, people of every race and age, posing as doses of discontent and pills of wisdom. Tracky is so impervious to become commonplace.
& nbspA end of the day hanging her coat on a nail and is dedicated to his favorite passion: alcohol orgasms. Obtained by mixing one part vodka, a piece of lemon and a part of Laura (or Frank, or Ross, or ...)
Oiro points to yet another promotion. According to our calculations in 2015 will be at the top. Can you imagine God with the dancers?
Pat , as every year, is detoxifying from Lex and all those who beg for attention and advice. He retired at his monastery for a week and practice the preferred silence. He says that the mind is empty, the soul becomes light and hearing is refined. He argues that you can hear the flowers bloom.
& NbspChissà that noise will the balls that crumble.
Radicequadra enjoys his single week. When not at the club's Sudoku is dedicated to his dream. He is writing a novel mathematical entitled "The real story of an irrational number." Subtitle: not this be an algebraic number, yes it is a problem.
& nbspSe the remains a few minutes deepens his knowledge of html. Must have parcel, free and the myriad of seconds what is slipping away: talking to tag and provides links to thoughts. It seems that Google is trying to index.
Patatinanina loves Patatinonino and vice versa. Since the beginning of the year if you have already called 34 000 times. Satan is torn off to Sugar, the cat nearby, prevailed on the mailman (who shouted twice) and has sought to transform the plumber in a white voice. A lump in her favorite cover reminds her that has a score to settle with the enemy bastard: Xyz.
Zot works day and night, and her lips stutter in one word: sca-den-ze. Deadlines are unpredictable enemies: they seem far away, a lot. So you end up losing sight, deconcentrated you just a moment and they will not care. Worse than a secret society, the deadlines are moving in the shadows. And while you stay there a daze staring at the monitor or hanging around on the phone with a friend, they are plotting. And then one day, along with a flurry of bad luck, landing on your doormat in the mailbox or creep like a virus in your mail. And you're dead.
& nbspZot has counted the minutes. Try not to miss a second and swallowed gallons of coffee to stay awake and incinerates tons of tobacco.
& nbspLa nicotine is eroding the plaster of the office.
& NbspI customers come from his studio with ashes on his clothes.
Zot is concerned, does not see his secretary for about a week. She is somewhere between the desk and meeting room. Lost in the fog.
& nbspL'infelicità of Lex is reaching peaks surprising. You do not scrape off the bottom, the auger.
& nbspIl his work has turned into a blob that ingurgita touches. A blob unmistakable consistency: shit. Instead of a love life has the dry branch of a still life. And then you feel abandoned, the divine Pat is unattainable. This condition causes the anxiety, the anxiety drowns ingrippa neurons and the brain. Lex loses the power to create strings of letters make sense. He opens his mouth and the words make a crash test.
"Yesterday I got a wake up call ... I was completely gummed. I dropped the chain, I need a Spakka evaporates ... sfrantegamento that! "
& nbspCose so. Things to Lex (NATO).
0 comments:
Post a Comment