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imperfect crimes (3) sage


"Un post molto volgare, non per sua colpa, però"

1 (teste di pesce)

e no, i chiodi di garofano, no, cazzo, non nei pomodori col riso. Una volta qualcuno mi ha raccontato che ai polli da allevamento tengono la luce accesa per obbligarli a mangiare. Mangiano fino a che gli scoppia il fegato mamma e finscono on some table, maybe for Christmas. You know those lovely dinner tables, red cloth, decorated perhaps, some ricamino, like yours. It 'nice that you get busy, the quips and jests, curtains, even obscene mat that you put in the bathroom. Twelve-course mom, fuck. As the chicken farm. You know because they have the eyes of chickens mother side? To look at life in profile, like you and me. Even the fish have eyes on the side mommy dear, fish heads, they fucking heads fish that I have to swallow every Christmas. They make me throw up the fish heads and cloves as well, remind me of the dentist. We also swept the dentist mother, "I paid as your hearing, my darling? But look at that beautiful straight teeth you have now "The light is on, then there is the blinking of the tree, swallow, swallow, swallow it all. swallow the gondola on your TV, the sugar paper for that shit to the crib snow in cotton wool, the ashes on your shawl, and even the tinkling pee in your soup spoon star, continues. There is a divine justice in the herringbone pattern that gets stuck in the middle of the uvula your lyric, you feel flushed and Cimarosa your drowning in saliva.'m singing lessons, your cries as you sow purposes by the director of the choir behind the closed door, that's all in your goiter mezzo soprano and showers her eyes back in a gasp operetta. Now open your gift se vuoi, mentre caschi con la faccia nel piatto di fango e lische, visibilmente morta , come scriveranno nel tuo referto, mamma. Le teste di pesce mi guardano, scarto.

2 (piccola farò di te una stella)

‘Spetta bimba, ferma ferma, come sarebbe a dire che è finita? E l'amore, e tutto il resto? No dico, dove ti credi di andare? Cristo santo bimba non puoi farmi questo ora, quest’anno avevo in mente un numero pazzesco con un nano e tu vestita da babbo natale con il culo di fuori e una renna di pelouche. Roba forte bimba, da spellarsi le mani, non puoi farlo, ti ho inventato io te lo ricordi o no? Io ti ho scoperta bar at that shit, I leave you twenty-dollar tip for a cup of coffee made with mule piss and pumpkin seeds. I saw something in you baby, in you and in your breasts when no one was willing to give you a penny, get it? Iio. 'It girl, brakes, and everything we have created together? The nipple Halambra Rotary Club, here, you remember that? He came down the theater when you were spinning the breasts in opposite directions, and who invented that number, eh? You? You? Like hell. Sure baby, rockin 'the producers of Broadway half was a hard thing, I understand, but I think for me it was easy? Expect all those nights on your feet? But I swallowed it all, for us, for the nost future. And all those Evenings at the Mogambo who the fuck did you do, eh? Tell me? And producers who presented them to you? All those dreams and our projects where the fuck are they? Of course I understand that mate with a python in front of 30 people is not the best, but I think for me it was easy to steal reptile Marshall Street? I gave you a beautiful future, then you fuck with me now say that it's over. And do not look at me with those eyes now, you do not have the mica spoiled child. With the nano was worse, get him to shoot himself, you know ... but still appear a suicide. The dwarf and the Showgirl, a classic. Now the problem will take off this fucking blood from clothes.

3 (the letter)

Cao Born Babo, eg, a born voei fidansata and the custom of spais Renger, and then a vore vore pistoi SPAA pè a tuti tuti i cannot and those like me who robs gigeto meenda tuti the regions in squola me says that we are, flaws we are? veamente gigeto ameenda not hanging over me. Pope to pistoi de ce lavevo satchel in gigeto cao, if not me I do not canson you spaavo, veo gigeto? Peo vojo a pistoi suit my, yes. PEO, dear babo born sopatuto Voei did not go in rent.

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Norman Wyatt Jr.

my Cupid good balsamic vinegar, the tip of the lips, without a moment of scallions, full of common sense and you're all waiting for thee marinated tuna to mix my love, breast parannanza, sole of Mediterranean fish, lemon love, the heart of Tabasco, sex, chocolate, drained, Licking, insugata soul, the memory of bread, our complicity do a shoe, wonder bread crumbs, tomato laughter, I adore you smell, I lick my fingers and wait for anchovies, you're beautiful by endive do so, the devil, open your mascarpone, guinea fowl thighs, buttocks nutella're beautiful ass pan, pluck a ball oh cream, hand shakes, margarine field, no legs, I have no way out, my Alice, harlot, fryer, I want to watch, bread roll, yelling and brown, it's raining stracchino are your rosemary, rose wine, soul favorite, meatball, nose to nose, scaled signs, your surplus fat fat young man, belly Colonnade. Off wheels and digging my grave in the pecorino, a herring moved, and you, states in a knee sage omelette for my soul, in this coffin of baguette, for they have crepes.

" once a month, Camilla, defrost the fridge, and invites me to dinner. What is a sin to throw the leftovers, is okay, but I got to do that? "

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soul of little poetry, and other men who trained


Jan Saudek

you're in love with me because it looked like your father, so to speak. There is no pass stolen, returned, however, that I took thee. In stumbling hesitation. The sand under the heel sounded like the salt of certain words between his teeth, love, remember? In the words then, I have always done what the fuck I wanted, I learned to spit lying as you know. Saliva, it is better to free running, as some cyclists climbing. But as I said, I was resting, always in the afternoon, just before they did the voices of metal, a foot wrong, as befits a pig in search of rhyme. But little grunting inside his jacket, with waist slow puzzled air is not love, it is rather the fear that you will seize the sunrise in the middle of the parking lot with shopping bags in the back seat and the bird in your hands, and you never find a kleenex after. Then there is the story of steam on the glass that has the same smell of our dinner yesterday, but it was not what I wanted to talk to you, not now anyway. I left because it looked like your father. Too bad, if you only you had that mustache cut.

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the red


Jan Saudek

Alessandra c'aveva le tette Rome's largest. When he passed on to the balcony, it was like a dance underwater, I felt that with her dancing all the rest. Her boobs were white as milk, heavy and light, Dick. Every time I met smiled at me, his freckles and I stole my breath, then ran her hand through her hair and told me "if marry me, I'll wait ... "and it was swaying her ass as a swing. Alessandra c'aveva red hair and crazy, people turned to look at the street. My uncle Aurelio Ardea just destroyed a spear out of the factory to look at that miracle panting. It is said to have remained there, in the midst of the steam with a telephone pole planted in the radiator, in her dress khaki and with a happy smile, forever. Alessandra was a whore, I never understood what it meant, at least up to fifteen years, because when I asked the mother looked down and my father said "you must not ask questions , shut up and listen .

Mr Malagò Instead, he spoke while fucking, like all fascists. Alessandra instead listened, as all women. He had killed his brother at the Fosse Ardeatine partisan and held in the portfolio in which a photo, posing with big game, resting it on the head of a black boot booty covered with quicklime. Mr Malago, thanking god once was, like all Democrats, and one afternoon di aprile gli lasciò in eredità il nome di tre sottosegretari all'edilizia corrotti e una sfilza di nomi di morti mischiati al cemento nelle fondamenta di un albergo a 100 piani nella provincia di Bari. Questo, insieme ad un infarto nel bel mezzo di un pompino, lo tolse dalla vita politica, e lo costrinse a farsi imboccare per il resto dei suoi giorni. E allora capii cosa intendeva mio padre quando una sera mi disse, con gli occhi sui larghi fianchi di mia madre, che la vendetta è un piatto che va servito a letto.

Mio padre a puttane ci andava, e si vestiva come se dovesse andare alla festa del santo patrono “ Ninè , c'ho la briscola stasera ” sorrideva immerso in una nuvola di acqua di colonia e mia madre rispondeva sottovoce “ e io c'ho 'no stronzo 'n casa... ” Mio padre era un tipo strano, ha passato metà della vita sotto un cappello, diceva sempre che un uomo senza un cappello non è un uomo. Secondo me, un uomo senza un cappello non sa dove nascondersi, ma questo, non glielo ho mai detto. Lui voleva fare il sindacalista delle mignotte, anche se “operatrici del piacere” gli pareva più dignitoso. Forse più per lui che per loro. Quando tornava dalla “briscola” lo sentivo fischiettare per le scale, mia madre lo aspettava in piedi, e gli diceva “ vatti a lavare ” poi, come ogni volta, si rimetteva a pregare, bestemmiando. Una mattina of February, my father puts a hat on his head, forcing me to brush my teeth and I am swimming in a colony, then I say " today, come with me to trump . It was my fifteenth birthday, and that day, it smells like lavender and baby powder.

Mr Malagò drooling on one side and did not move more than an arm, but he had many powerful friends and a lot of memory, like all mafia. He came to take the sergeant Lapisarda, the one with the face of a baker and two appointments with the red stripes on his trousers. My mother with a head full of curlers asked him shivering on the balcony " What did he do? " Marshal Lapisarda that there was going to hell, but the wife smashed barrel because the family is sacred, said, "Bitch steps, but no Communist whore and . Today I

forty years, and I never married. Every time I see a girl with red hair, I will stop out of breath, and wait.

propose again this thing a few years ago, after reading Codest beautiful piece of flounder , you can (and you) go and read here ...

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s'ingoia

Divertissement balsamic vinegar, Prologue:

as every Wednesday while I devote myself more fully, culinary experimentation for the twelfth consecutive time trying to convince a quail garnished with a real one with the help of hypnosis ( The "I" of Quail - ed. The guinea € 24) I called the drafting of the Gambero Rosso, asking me to go to Turin and write a piece on the eighth International Salone del Gusto. As in the quail as she began to stammer something self-determination of wattles, I packed his suitcase and childbirth.

The day starts at Hall No. 5, where there are Taste Workshops to exchange experiences and tastes, today the topic of the day concerns the soup cappuccino in others, then we are divided in two groups of 15 persons of which half is the cappuccino and the other with the soft croissant. Chase as a restaurateur with his Macedonian cup of cappuccino for twenty-five minutes, give up only at the booth of the Finnish kitchen, where you act in an interesting demonstration on the effectiveness of the chefs frozen dinners in the last minute (they can be reused up to ed eight times). In section Theatre of Taste - Taste of the theater was prepared an amphitheater of marzipan sixty places, where the chefs explain their techniques live. The Japanese kendo Oira shows back a wild boar without hurting his pride, while the Russian Ivan Kudiakov with the help of the Red plug a sperm whale in foil only with the help of the feet and a toothpick ash. But forget about the Chinese Kwena Loong who carried out the kung fu moves very useful (it seems) to convince the horse Tibetans to give away their own threads without fuss. He also learned how to insulate a ceiling with the bacon in place of the pillared tar, and how to use a pound of pecorino di Fossa counterpart in a kidnapping. But the highlight is the use of Sardinian and fontina cheese with worms as biological weapons. Tired but happy, I refreshed the stand chef Greenland Lapku Ukko , greedily sucking an icicle monk seal and putting the curlers flavored with cardamom to a musk ox. I close my tour of the delicious flavors of the world stand in Tibet, where a Yeti crazy water forces me to belch white hairs until dawn. I look astonished the section where the American fast food Gennaro Auricchio Smith prepares his Cheesburger inflatable (without cucumber ed. ). From Mozzarella World, you can taste the delicious mozzarella di bufala campana phosphors produced in the soils of landfills confiscated from the mafia. A bit stronger flavor, but very useful if you stay in the dark on the ring road and you have laundry. In the debates, we see a very interesting symposium on sexual problems of clementines after the process of self-determination of pink grapefruit, and then ask the gods how to cook the best Padugno "Von Ribbentrop" without me jumping in the air oven, The Boolean and especially of the Mongivedro "Buscetta" without having to set up. I follow a celestial music until the 'Concerts Area, where a string quartet and harpsichord playing works by Bach, Pergolesi, and Arcangelo Corelli with Hungarian salami instead of bows and sheet music (original) on sheets of culatello 700. A fine evening with a dark booth Valsodda the 1998 wines, and since a bottle costs as a Maserati I am convinced (I) that there are echoes in the scent of cinnamon, Echo Valley Brembana, grape Venuglia and oil for diesel engines , not to mention the aftertaste of plum val Gomera, vanilla lizards, and toes of Monte Rubbiaglio Crusaglie smoked Soverato, Sienna and Dado Knorr, but also a voice from the back of the bottle says she loves me, wants to get married and that never fake an orgasm. In the evening, I find far invested € 300 spent on "Petit Patat" to gorge themselves with plates of Jean Loius Flou, French chef known for the generosity of its portions, which serves directly on a microscope slide. Digest and greet friends stand coordinated by the Indian chef Baamshi Bado, which won the critics' award, thanks to very cheap fast food chain " From Gandhi empty plates Takeaway .

Epilogue:
quail on my return has not yet been trimmed, and in return I thank you for having made him regain some self-esteem and a new awareness of himself and tells me about the divided self and second topic. I shall refer to the wattles, which renounces because now it is accepted as to is, then, greeting, flying north, where it will join a flock of mallards frozen.

" we are not what we believe to be, but what we eat, or how we prepared for the worst"

Roy Hobbs, 1994.

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The Unbearable inconsistency Tonino. Standing for re 'who has reached the two terms?

In September 2007 the President of the Italia dei Valori announced with perceived glitz of their supposed moral superiority, the submission of a bill of only three items according to which: no Italian citizen could run for Parliament in if convicted definitively, no Italian citizen could be elected to Parliament for more than two terms of Parliament and candidates should be elected by the citizens with preference diretta.

Idee interessanti anche se, in parte, discutibili. Si trattava di proposte di legge elaborate dal movimento di Beppe Grillo lanciate in Rete e sbarcate nelle piazze con il primo V-Day.

Antonio Di Pietro, quindi, sembrava volesse sposare interamente le tesi del comico genovese.

Si trattava di un matrimonio sincero o soltanto di un tentativo (in parte riuscito) di cavalcare la protesta sollevata dal movimento dei grillini?

In quei giorni, il leader del partito dei valori affermava, enfaticamente, che la politica non doveva “diventare una professione, una occasione per pensare alla propria sistemazione” e quindi “gli incarichi elettivi” should "be temporary, not more than two terms" to favor a "turn-over, a spare part, a positive competition and not the old Republic of caryatids" and arrived to complain that after presenting the Bill "everyone tells me good, good but not put on the agenda to vote for him."

Tonino was serious or bluffing?

knew that those proposals would noni never been approved by the Italian Parliament and playing the part of the revolutionary only to broaden its electoral base?

He was only playing on the ideas and trying to attract the votes of People of Cricket?

The facts may strengthen or refute this thesis. Just see the methods that use the IDV for the composition of the next electoral register.

Parliamentarians will continue to be appointed by the master of the party in absolute freedom, or devise ways of selecting the Democratic?

The selection criteria will once again fidelity to the line of management?

Among the candidates there will be convicted criminals?

But the real test will be whether the good Tonino respect to the second point of the bill announced with much fanfare.

will know the President of Italy Values \u200b\u200bto retire (from politics) who have already completed two IDV in parliamentary mandates?

Himself included?

browsing through the list of parliamentary DiPietro find that 16 out of 36 MPs have already reached or exceeded the two legislatures. In the case of newly elected Hon. The Evangelists should be about the sixth term, the On.li Di Pietro, Donadio, Cambursano, Formisano and Orlando into the fourth term and On.li Borghesi, Cimadoro, Mura, Palomba, rockets, Belisario, Giambrone, Caforio, Di Nardo and Pedica to the third term.

Antonio Di Pietro in fact what he professes respect for the words? Or

says want a generational change in politics and in the concrete instead creates new "caryatids" and transforms himself into politics with a professional chair with a lifetime guarantee?

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lost is the principle of things


Jack Vettriano

summer of 1970 I dressed in white linen. The guy in the shop said "clothes are fresh and feel" of I nodded as I taking measures with open arms and I was like a poor man. It was not what I bought them, but to blend in with houses, small splash of white mortar, just above the harbor. Also taken to wearing a hat. White, too. The publisher kept saying that was a few chapters, some fixing. The other side of the phone continued to croak that yellow writing, that I was Emile Zola. The book I had not even comedy, to write a detective story that is a motive, how to kill someone.

The bar was just below the Hotel Galba. I took a drink pretending to read the newspaper almost until noon. Then I looked at the small crowd that came from mass. A whiff of cologne, bows and greetings of the grease Linetti. Cantalamessa's lawyer entered the bakery to buy cassatine and cannoli. His wife, however, sat with a Campari in the tent of the bar "Il Gelso". I looked at his wife, not the bartender, the bartender looked at me. The bartender was queer.

The red dress on the wall of the church looked like a gunshot, and was to cross your legs after my two tables. Suffer the little grooves on the edge of the lips of his wine. He had a silver cigarette case and a pair of glasses to hold on dark hair white. I nodded a greeting in the hat, then, I ordered a second campari. That was hot.

The woman with the red dress closed the door behind him, the room was cool and had wisteria paintings on the walls. He got up her skirt and looked down, as if to indicate the road. From the window you could see the Gulf of Capistrano and the line of tourists to the island ferries. While pushing with your hips I was breathing on words that I never understood. The fan blade creaked in time. A fly against the glass. A drop of sweat from my chin to his forehead. The tears around his eyes without question. The language in a vacuum. It 'started well, with his hands around his neck. To kill someone, do not need a motive.

Before you take the boat to Capistrano, I called the publisher of the bar of the harbor. " The book is ready, see you Wednesday . The coffee was lousy. Then I saw her in the clink of cups behind a puff of acacia. The fog of a cappuccino had not covered the red dress. To kill someone you do not need a motive, and even to write a detective story.

"The girl with the red dress took him by the hand and led behind the dunes of the establishment Calypso. Paul said that if he wanted to watch his sister could do it for $ 500. She said something in the middle of the cicadas, then got up the strip of cloth to below the chin and looked down, as if to indicate the road. The boy had approached the mouth of the little cunt and pulled out his tongue. They went out of the bushes, the larger one had the costume down, others were holding him still with his mouth in the sand. The girl with the red dress she laughed, in the midst of the broom. The laughter was a swarm of cicadas. "

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lagoon blues (hobbs in venice)



Tests without subtitles from the 67th Mostra del cinema di Venezia .

"Journey to Baddarshii" of Vijaii Baambati
extraordinary Burmese in black and white film, 23 hours in a fixed panel tells the story of Rhamal, an untouchable who can not be scratching his back during the outbreak of chicken pox in 1939 and died trying to rub a little elephant with the sacred balance . Harsh criticism of the practice of infibulation on grains of basmati rice. With a heartbreaking finale in which a chamois cloth on the glass of a car recalls his childhood, war, Shere Khan, Baloo the bear and leprosy.

"Film Amaranth" by Ingo Kewralsky
eight workers in a factory to keep pallottolieri studies in paleontology and Agriculture. He discovers that his mother, forced to eat plastic balls go in the pan was ammalata di Tisi, e che lui stesso ha sei mesi di vita a causa di una rara malattia che lo costringe a camminare al contrario. Il protagonista crolla però quando scopre che la compagna lo tradisce con uno scacchista tetraplegico ma superdotato, e soprattutto che non si chiama Klara ma Hugo. Parte verso nord con una skoda senza sportelli e va cercare il senso della vita in una bocciofila abbandonata vicino Chernobyl dove vive un filosofo non vedente ma con sei braccia, che prima lo umilia al gioco delle tre carte, e poi, divenutone amico, gli svela il segreto della felicità raccontandogli quella del “sarchiapone” senza i sottotitoli, e chiedendogli poi nel toccante finale: "dov'è il boccino?"

"Il senso frost " (A stranger in the Intercom)
Yellow parapsychological in brilliant colors, where a woman was raped as a child by a Pedophile Botanical, reliving the trauma during a visit to dall'otorino a plug of earwax, it becomes a Seril ruthless killer and takes revenge on men by requiring them to read Erica Yong with the slip of twelve sizes too tight. anthology from the shower scene, where the murderer suffocates his victim with a vibrator in the nose, after having molested his calves with a poodle. scary.


"The folding of origami" Hiroshi Yamamoto
's the story of Sayaka, a young hood who spends gheisha its a busy day preparing the tea and making origami or platypus of pronghorn antelope to the evil Hishiku. But his characters with passion and ¨ make pubic hair brush on the body of her lover Tetsuya. They love each other in secret and he teaches you how to achieve an orgasm utiilizzando a penis instead of bamboo, and the location of the "shoot puzzled." But they soon discovered by the nefarious Hishiku because she paints on the face of the young man his preferred position and how to do it without six fractured vertebrae. Tetsuya commits suicide in shame with a dagger, Hishiku commits suicide by swallowing a bonsai for the dishonor of his stomach and throwing up a potato peeler, Sayaka goes mad with grief and looking at all greasy prints di Utamaro mentre fa seppuku con una mezzaluna per lo scalogno, il cuoco Hiroku si suicida aspirando mezzo chilo di wasabi con le narici perché non si trova più una lama in cucina. La sequenza finale è di struggente bellezza e mostra i tre corpi esanimi tra i mandorli in fiore mentre un origami a forma di cigno diventa un cappello da muratore. Poetico.

"Lussami L'anima" di Ken Bloch
Delizioso musical che narra la storia di una famiglia di minatori. Bob figlio di Sam, vorrebbe fare il ballerino o il pugile, ma il padre lo vorrebbe con se in miniera e possibilmente senza sospensorio. Mentre gli amici lo deridono e il padre lo gonfia come una cornamusa Bob non demorde e pur scendendo in miniera, convince all miners, including his father to work at the pace of tap dance. In the climax scene Bob and Sam are reconciled after finding a nugget as big as a basketball, singing "It's Raining Men! Hallelujah!" but the mine collapses and they all die like rats. Wonderful fresco of an era and the background, the struggle for Irish independence and a guy with a red beard. Epic.

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extraordinary performance

Jack Vettriano

The breath spent to get to the fifth floor of the board of Via Veroli, had choked in his throat shortly after the door, beyond the beaded curtain made of plastic, with air saturated with incense to cover groped the breath of others. De Simone, on the landing, he had his way. Were abbracciatai. One face to face, with eyes in his eyes forever. In the middle of the sheet, the three-pointed red flower changes shape with each passing minute, getting bigger and darker. " Commission, they shot no more than six hours ago, probably in his sleep, poor things. The strange thing is that, in short, this one is a prostitute. The owner of the board says that living here for three years, and he came every Wednesday from at least six months, and paid to stay overnight. But still, you watch them, it looks like a customer "" So what? De Simone you mean? "" So you know that if someone stops to sleep after that? People usually run away from pure nun quannno pays figuramose after ... "

They were beautiful, a beauty that would have been hard explain. Tozzi brought along to embrace the whole day, even while talking with Alcide Rosati, owner of board Aurora. " Mr Commissioner, that want me to say, it was not a customer like many others, always arrived with fresh flowers, and well dressed, and said good morning too ..". Rosaria Mancuso in art " Tamara" talking stubby looking in the mirror, adjusting her lipstick with the tip of a finger "Mary said she was crazy, clean, and that left the great tips, but most did not tell me. Sometimes, they fall in love us whores. I, I have seen many. When someone I knew wanted sposarni, and ended up shooting in a landfill Fregene poor. Someone pays just to talk, others do not speak at all. And they are the best ones.

Her name was Maria Scaglia, had come to Rome at the end of the sixties from Sicily and had tried to become a model. The rest you can well imagine. In the room there were a few things. Tozzi found an 'agenda with some phone number, a wardrobe with some nasty pictures on the doors and some clothes. A nun, a nurse, another red leather. Then some feather boas. Inside the table there were condoms and vibrators of various sizes, money, a leather whip. Then, inside a red box in the middle of some photos with the edges eaten by posing diva, a wax pencil portrait framed. The dedication, just above the sign said " All the time that I have no past to draw, it was a waste of time. Andrea "

Andrea Tebay

drawing comics. He begins to twenty years illustrating pornographic stuff, like everyone else. Then, until the day before his death, he edited a series called western "Minnesota Ranger." Nelle Tasche della giacca aveva trovato un portafogli di pelle nera con quaranatamila lire dentro, una carta di identità sgualcita. Aveva 38 anni. Era sposato. Nella tasca interna una piccola agendina rossa, scritta a matita con una calligrafia sghemba, un diario. L'ultima pagina segnava la data del 12.11.1977. Sei mesi prima. Tozzi la lesse in silenzio, poi la richiuse e con la stessa cura con cui avrebbe potuto maneggiare un papavero, la aggiunse ai reperti in una piccola busta di plastica trasparente. E uscì. A Tozzi, non piacevano i fumetti.

Ms. Tebaldi was sitting with the bag resting on the legs, Tozzi had mentioned to De Simone to close the door and the balls to get up, get off at the bar Airoldi and return with two short blacks. Paola Tebaldi had rattled the coffee cup against the saucer. Then he took a breath and then said

"The package that I found in my wallet saying" Pension Aurora, Via Veroli 69, Room 23 "I I husband loved it. He spent his time between those funny characters, big noses, big ears, big boobs. I was jealous of this too. Of his distraction. Every so often, came smiling with a sheet in his hand and told me "This Zippo, or Benny, or this is Marla. Then, laughing, made their voices mimicked their movements with the pencil resting on the ear, such as butchers. to my husband I loved him commissioner. But I spent half my life to give back. Sometimes, you love habit. When I found the portrait of Mary among those of Benny and Zippo, I did not see big tits, big noses or big ears. I saw her eyes rimmed, irregular teeth, and I knew that Marla was not, or Wanda. I realized that I had the picture, I do not ever done. I realized that the turn of the publishing house Wednesday was a song. I understand when I saw him come in with the bunch of flowers in hand, well dressed. And I felt die in that car, the street corner. I wanted to tell him that I loved him, with windscreens broken, the windows steamed up and the gun in his pocket. When I entered the room 23, they were there, embraced in his sleep. I was watching them in silence. They were so beautiful in the twilight of that squalid room, they seemed so in love facing each other. We were not as beautiful as ever been. Why in the bed, I slept giving it back to life. Then I pulled out the gun, that he had secretly bought his best to draw cowboys. I hate them with cartoons, sir. "

De Simone took her out of the room, for the record. Tozzi had set the photo on his desk. Camilla had a flowered dress and bowed in the middle of the copper hair, forever. He lifted the phone and dialed the number, then he hung up. He read again the last page of the diary of Tebaldi, put on his coat and left the office. He got out of the newspaper via Prassede, and bought the last issue of Minnesota Ranger.

12.11.1977

The fact is, that is the first time. I've never done. Never with someone who has fake eyelashes, however, nor in a pink room. I do not know that you face behind that red mouth, under the dust of a butterfly. You, you could be anyone, I could imagine this, anyone six, a memory, a memory with a red boa around her neck marked, the breathing of tobacco and the dark shadows of her nipples behind a silk opera. Here, you're a memory with the nail lacquer and a voice of saliva. I'm still standing, a light from the first act, with the coat of arms to look at the bed. The bed of others, the ones before me, after those, you'll get their breath, their flavor. How many names you have called, how many did you steal the item, mimed gestures. I take off my coat, and I get a voice in lending and the money accounts "do you like?". You stop your hands on the buttons "do not pay to have sex, they pretend to be, for that, just my wife," then, why? ". It 's the first time, I never did, never with someone who held the light on and a rubber dick on the table. I've never done a thing. "I pay you to pretend to love me."

Babe Ruth Laminated Bat

Civil Society Agrigento indifferent to the news of the capture of Falsetto. A province perched at a medieval mentality.

Fernando Asaro, deputy prosecutor of the DDA in Palermo was clear in an interview with the Giornale di Sicilia "Nell'agrigentino there is a culture Medieval so it will not bloom the buds of legality "," the occasion of the arrest of Falsone is too important not to denounce the indifference of civil society Agrigento to the news of the capture of mafia boss province of the dome. Twenty people fermatesi casually under the police are certainly not a symbol of reaction and a changed consciousness. Agrigento remains entrenched in medieval mentality. In contrast, only a few months ago, a sporting victory was dedicated to a mafia Palmese recently arrested and sentenced to five years in prison. I believe that Agrigento there are those shoots that instead of law begin to emerge elsewhere. "

Is Ross Kemp Gay Is Ross Kemp Gay.......?

who has the time do not wait for a perfect handbook Tenco


Franco Matticchio

I could throw her arms around his neck of the bottle and dancing in white stamping, spy hole in the pants to know swore at the hips tomorrow to hear your curses even lipstick. I could watch you give away what I had to come first, if only to know that price is the rest in the palm. I could feel his tongue black under the nails, the wood dark past time to scratch your door, to piss of contentment on your doormat, dog retriever. I could look at me or steal away with the back up of those who are not in a hurry, to support your vision as a test, low and dirty like your lips on my chest. I could spit in the dish where you eat, to see you grateful for my infidelity, and to hear you talk to them and say do not love him, but keeps her company. I could tell you you'll see, and bite to the neck while you were the love with your ass up, and being French. I could, yeah, I could. But I'm in love with me, because I had nothing to give.