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.
0 comments:
Post a Comment