How Far Ahead To Order Cake

Quit by pipes

was nine o'clock last night. At this time this time of year and the night is dark but still nothing is not deep. Much less should be so in the city, full of lamps, interestingly renovated just a year ago after removing others that were barely two years. But hey, for that rabble Zetamierdoso and steal our money to the ever more miserable people to live like Maharajas fucking sons of bitches and then give some pennies to municipalities for plans of shit that only employ four blacks and five pseudo-battered foxes. Change the streetlights made three days ago, we do two or three step aceritas and remove a few parking spaces in order to fine Ratatat plan. To continue fucking and teasing the city and we as asshole deep to follow like sheep watching football while the country plunges fully into the biggest debacle in its history. There are so useless these nazisociatas as they seem, well, just for some things, because they brainwash and convert a whole nation in a plague of zombies idiots, that they have done wonderfully well.

Anyway, as I have no money for dinner, had a fucking hole in the stomach at nine o'clock at night and it occurred to me down to the street to buy a bag of sunflower seeds, peanuts or anything that was worth about one euro (I'm a dreamer) to fill the gut. Under the stairs, I reach the street and the show begins. To begin with, and nothing else close the door behind me, a Romanian gypsy approached me rudely and twisted look as I ask for money to eat. A good tree it comes closer, although not think it is to eat so you need the dough, and I feel that if I give it will suddenly a navajero somewhere and take my pants up. I ignored it and squeeze advantage over the traffic light is green. Across three blacks expect me sitting on a patio smoking a joint. Look at me face-threatening but they pass. Watch my appearance sometimes commands respect, without going any further when I lived in midtown Manhattan, but here in my city, my country, there are already so loose offender I am the basted. I just run it.

I get to the nearest supermarket just before closing, I have just under a euro, I would like pipes, but even this simple item costs more than I can afford. Fuck your fucking picture nazisociatas bastards in the UK with a pound you can buy to eat all day, here or pipes. Suddenly the police entered the store, it seems that there is a drunk sudaka anger is mounting, the security officer and has a black eye, can not with him. I'm out without buying anything is not going to be that since I'm white, English and heterosexual, I entaleguen me. Back home looks more sinister, I have to stare at the ground to prevent others from edges out when not directly a firearm. I arrived safely but narrowly, another suicide mission completed, go out to by pipes, and I could not buy the fucking pipes, dammit. This is the Spain of "progress" that said the White Tweety, unemployed, broke, starving and over the life jugándome whenever the street floor. Nazisociatas, psoístas, liberal, pseudo-izmierdosos, are all sons of bitches, suicidaos of a fucking time and let us live in peace, in peace.

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Ritual Presentation Ernesto García López

Presentation RITUAL of Ernesto García López next April 28 (Thursday) at 19:30 at the Central MNCARS. Bookstore (Building Nouvel) Ronda de Atocha, 2. Madrid.
assistance, in addition to the author, Luis Luna, Oscar Curieses and myself, accompanied by the poet in the presentation of his highly recommended book of poems.

Just as in England in the seventeen Diggers grew vacant land without consent of the nobles, some shouting parterre invade the poem today.

E. García López, Ritual.

Need For Speed Run From Mounted Image

Possible successors

Due to the interesting question we ask on the left side of the blog, go around in my mind a host of horrific thoughts are about the future of the armchair idiots in this country that has become Spain. Some time ago I thought it was impossible to find a subpresidente worse than Zetaparo bastard, but this idea has already passed into history, taking into account who may be the successors of shit, since it has already announced its refusal to continue giving ass to those suffered by English citizens. And in this country of deep asshole I have very clear that PutaSOE will win the elections because we give more because we will analyze the potential horrors (candidates) to succeed the crazy light that has ravaged the country from all sides.

course, the first candidate to be tested, given that we are dealing with a compulsive liar, is going to be the very Zetaparo. We have been deceived so without falling face the shame or the least, it should surprise anyone that where I say I say diego and its most disgusting guy gets cocky and re-submit. As above is a dangerous lunatic and is believed to be the best politician in the whole world interplanetary pull for more continuity to the quirks, poverty and living under a bridge. And the sheep keep laughing palm thank this bastard mentally disturbed.

Rugalcabrón the asesinopresidente in office for about mesecitos because the other fucking coward and dare not to come forward. I personally do not think a guy who already has more than sixty years and the Virula prostate is a guarantee for the future, but as the nazisociatas are morons never know. It makes me rather than what they will use to hold club until the end of term and then we will have some other abomination. C'mon, it's what I think, because after a mobster murderer motherfucker collaborator end terrorist holding the reins of the country makes me real panic. Of course, as to the progress españolitos going, it would not be at all unreasonable.

The fox looking after the chicken, the independence-war and anti-English military in charge of English (there are inconsistencies in the asshole nazisociatismo misgoverns us), the whore Chacón, in short, now that really scares me. My personal opinion is that the choice will be the son of a bitch, and have this person in the chair is what we can spend peorcito. I still remember the hugs that you gave the Aido phase when the law was passed giving free drinks to murder children. Killing children is to embrace, given kisses and be so happy? I really moral turpitude and misery of this gang legged stool is regrettable and shameful. And this bitch nasty is going to play stand in the lawlessness of a country that does not even have him. It is total madness, is the Spain of the idiots, the Spain of the PSOE.

tiptoe on the eternal candidate, the toupee Bono, who always wants to go but just never do it. Already got a review Zetaparo at the time, and look how that goal you a review like that is an anchor to retire to meditate in the mountains of useless you are. But the case is Strikes that Uncle Pepe, chorizo \u200b\u200bmanchego, because look what sleeve and illegally enriched this scoundrel. Enumerate the same swift way to two others that seem to postulate and represent the vulgarity, lack of education and culture and the futility in its maximum within the whorehouse that is the PSOE. White spoke of Tweety and the Travel Pajín. Imagine those disgusting beings living in Moncloa is really a nightmare. And certainly, seeing the escalation of power so that two monsters had very low skilled, nothing should surprise us. But no, by God, I want to take away the thought of the head. Vade retro! It also

the possibility, or anything far fetched, that some new monster comes to the fore. In much progreta zetaparil PutaSOE disgusting, bitter or upset radical feminazi lunatic who can make the grade as the main human scum of the country. Come on, many potential talents, lots motherfucker let loose abnormal those to which the English people like to give our vote. So, waiting to see what new "value" out of the quarry nazisociata disgusting, almost that I'm going to be pulling for today, starting to be late. I'm going to get a drink and think that my immediate emigration. Thanks for getting me out of my country, nazisociatas, they give up the ass, motherfucker.

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hands. The voice

The child in the manger, contemplates with fascination their own hands, studied its complex architecture, their movements as something alien. The joy on hearing the sounds coming out of his lips, which plays like a musical instrument just discovered. Perhaps the artist keeps some of that wonder, perplexity that exists before the work and the work keeps it a secret that should not be disclosed. Who admires an artwork participates so, unknowingly, that surprise. Who are those hands? Is that voice?

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2 Edition Awards Viking Helmet

More or less a year are delivered from this blog the first Viking Helmet Awards to three posts chosen by the undersigned for their fight and tenacity against the misrule of miserable fucks us every day and ultimately be free to say what they please and get away from the constant manipulation and bullshit that reigns supreme in this silly nazisociata Spain. As is known to alter blood spring, and to give continuity to the prizes that in its first edition had a very good host, it is my duty to report that here is the second edition Viking Helmet Award. And here are the winners of this year 2011:

Gold Viking Helmet: THE MAVERICK. firm and forceful in defending his country and city. Critical to the gills with corruption, shamelessness and the pathetic politicians around us. No colors or flags rather than the pursuit of decency and honesty. And in recent times in open something that I sincerely love, harsh language when necessary, avoiding the stupid political correctness and calling things by their name. Maverick friend, here's your prize.

Silver Viking Helmet: BATTLE SERK. Little by little I fucking reading this blog. Not that I was captivated at first sight, but his great writing every day I have been attracting more and more. Undeniably his defense of traditional values \u200b\u200bof Spain in a lifetime. Progretas and memory scourge "hysterical." Recalling the story as it was and not as we have few interested and forgetful bastards. Also, what the heck, some time ago gave me an award. Well, now give it back friend, here's your helmet.

bronze Viking Helmet: KNIGHT ZP. A historical and reference blog as they come, think the first I started to frequent. Always report to denounce the disinformation and manipulation, censorship and blindness of the mainstream media's dictatorship regime nazisociata zetaparista. One of my main influences at the time of my way in this business blogger and personal reasons but lately has dropped its rate of publication, throughout his career to date has well deserved this helmet. Here's your prize, man.

As I always say, many bloggers deserve the same prize, but three years trying to restrain my desire to congratulate all those who fight against criminal and shameless zetaparismo that leads so many years destroying lives. Has much merit, friends, stay where we are in the gap and to denounce all this bunch of bastards embitter us day after day. In short, more next year. Until then, I'll see if I open a bottle of Ribeiro and toast to the winners. Congratulations to all.

Used Optimist California

The big oaf and jerk

I was just a few days wandering around a small town in Asturias, is beer, cider comes, beans here, pot there. Entertainment typical of the area, come on. In a junk shop I met a lady who had moved his business from the neighboring province of León. As I can not shut up and every time I see the misery that has brought us this misrule nazisociata inept to see a beggar who wandered, probably once a quiet worker in any defunct company from ZP and his followers bundle for me to insult our dear friend the aforementioned lunatic monclovita son of a bitch. It is apparent that the lady of the junk shop had been a neighbor of the family of this monstrosity when it was still very bastard offspring. And among the various stories which had, none at all favorable to such a heinous character, I was left with the phrase her husband I diffuse and launched when the shit came to the armchair that fateful day in March 2004: "But how can be there José Luis, if it has always been the most mud in the neighborhood?"

I think this phrase sums up the country in which we live. A nation of dullards that put more mud to control their destinies, and no more. English people are IDIOTS. Not that this crap was the most mud in the neighborhood, is that the school was of disadvantaged students, is already becoming a teenager was a typical stupid that every god teased because of their little lights, is that and this is no longer tells the woman at the store but is in the public domain, Zetaparo is an individual who has never worked for anything and only lived the story. But in a country where more than 30% of the workforce is unemployed, over half of the total population is starving and almost half is completely shit with neck, nobody says mu, all as lambs to the slaughter when they keep applauding an evil misrule to the bars that laughs over the populace with some superb skills typical of most inhuman tyrants. Spain can not be helped, and the English less.

That same day, after meeting the woman at the store, I went through several bars of a bar, I guess for not having to think about Zetamierdas and his mob. In one of the bars in question, a rather portly gentleman came in with more balls than sobriety, right arm with palm of hand down belt out "face the sun with his shirt nueeeva that marchóooo Zapatero." Soon the man reminded him that yes, Zetahijodeputa said to be all right, but we have to see who's coming back, because being in the hands of child murderer feminazismo the anti-English Chacón do not think that this man not funny . Come to me or pinch. Not to think of a murderer shown as Rubalcabrón or some other type character Tweety Late or Travel Pajín White, living in the country we live in deep asshole, certainly not only won an election, but to sweep and stay in power for life. I said, the paradise of the socks.

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beers Boimorto

Was I a few days ago walking along a road rather than secondary Boimorto direction. This is in the province of La Coruña, not far from Santiago. Yes, I know I will still around some abnormal nazisociata like old times to be calling Galician facade like the Leader, but as I always say, go and go tell that to Anxo Quintana same or any of these proterroristas children BNG poor mother, who certainly like to hear that kind of thinking engendered by schizoid brain. Anyway, back to topic, as I begin to engage with Zetacabrón and his henchmen, I shot another mesecitos without writing a single article of disgust that makes me have to open my blog and see a photo on the front page of the Travel Pajín. What arcades, by God.

As I was saying, I walk under the gray sky around Galician Boimorto. I do not know why, but when she walked down a road I began to come to mind all the whores restrictions imposed by this dictatorial misrule and intolerant to the drivers suffered, unfortunately, still have to drive your vehicle for this unfortunate country. At times even feared to pass along to me a police patrol restrictive regime trying to endorse some financial penalty for going just walking. We must collect, and do not care if a guy that is changing the radio station in the car, to a carrier that takes a look at the address written on a paper that has to carry their merchandise or first bud walk quietly, because as they are the law and the law dictates a fascist bastard that nests in Moncloa, for nothing, my boy, to jail for walking and not having the card nazisociata militant.

I'm wandering again, that disgust zetavotantes, damn, your fucking fault that we have to endure what we have to put up with me and I will head to the fucking vital that we are imposing a daily basis. The fact is that while all this bunch of crap came to my mind, I kept walking. Galician roads are usually not too dirty, usually there is little habit of throwing trash out the windows of the vehicles, but that suddenly looks you in the gutter I am a milk carton. Man, it's always better to see a bottle of whiskey, which would not be surprising, taking into account the fact that we like the pimple on Northwest Native English. But look, almost until I was happy that someone was so sanote that while driving his vehicle was involved in getting shot of milk. Clear that the regime's police also fined sure why.

few steps above I find a can of beer without alcohol. Man, is not milk, but carallo, remains without alcohol, that after all is the rare in these parts. Well, look, another driver sanote, though perhaps trying to relive some old times when you are doing the same substance at the wheel but more Etilize. A few hundred yards walk and the landscape begins to adapt to the imaginable: two Mahou by the wayside. Well, you better recognize my countrymen, there, with two balls, or bottle or wafers, to liters. Of course when I move a little more and it appears to me proof that the Amish do not change for many zetamierdosos repressors that appear in the armchair. There are either beautiful, two boxes of bottles of Estrella Galicia lying, not in the gutter, but in the middle of the road. The emotion that seized me then was that I decided to, one month after re-write something on the blog. For that matter, in the coming days will continue to say things, mostly because Zetaparo and his mob are still as sons of bitches that ever.

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April (Hilde Domin)

APRIL


The world smells sweetly at yesterday.
flavors that last.

You open the window.

Every spring this fall.


Spring is more than green leaves.
kiss saves all kisses.


city always on the sky bright and smooth flowing
in the streets.

You know, winter
and pain are not
something lethal.


The air smells sweetly today to yesterday, "It smelled sweetly
today.

Hilde Domin (JLGT version)

APRIL
riecht süß
Die Welt
for yesterday.
fragrances are permanent.

You open the window. All
Springs
come with it.


spring of more than green leaves.
A kiss brings all the kisses.

flow always this smooth, glossy
sky above the city,
in the streets.

You know, the winter

and pain are nothing, what kills you.

The air smells sweet
today for yesterday - the
smelled sweet after today.