My uncle Bob died. He leaves a wife, three sons and a twenty-year mortgage.
wanted to be certain that we believed to commit suicide. So we've found a sink in its digital terrestrial television.
Maybe so are unable to reach the customer.
Things were going well, then the economic crisis hit its business.
3000 employees summarily dismissed by the Director General on Fuorionda Videolina.
could not see so many unemployed people around the death of Moana.
Bob, at his age, knew he had no other chance. Especially after giving up on the Island of Fame.
E 'was just thinking about him, who took to the streets.
I wore my scarf and purple along with many other comrades, I went out looking for revenge on the first atalantino I had met.
found only ugly mugs in uniform. People to be there to take and Menara barrel, despite promises of Ministers, would not see a fucking dime. Another reason to
dargliele sodas, those bastards CasaPound.
His funeral was filled with gloomy faces. What, however, inevitable, whether on your wall on Facebook you wrote "For Sale Used Rene."
A gloomy atmosphere so that it seemed to be in a nursery in Pistoia.
on every face I could see the countdown of days that separated them from passive to c / c. The very same expression that Dell'Utri Spatuzza last deposition.
times are so dark where you would like at least Bersani shared with you the concern about this global scourge. Pecking H1N1.
And while all this destruction going on, rage on TV programs where the trash tronista on duty there propina his hallucinations about sex and religion.
As if he knew what the fuck talks: rottoinculo a Pope
back when you've experienced the whole range of emotions and perversions to which every human being is subjected every day.
And do not tell me you've already made an altar boy.
Cortez
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