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.