Wednesday, December 10, 2008

Palying Keboard Through Computer Speakers

[Noemi]

Noemi 26 year old girl ... ... ... editorial graphics happy, cheerful and carefree .. especially Milan of birth and address. Um ... ok ... so? What I center? How is it that I found myself to be part of this project? Between Milan and ... Forlì Comacchio.
Well, it's simple ... I came across John ... I have known and discovering it has made me share in this story. Through his eyes I knew Chris and I found myself involved. ... Caught up to their ears from each other by the values, choices, actions ... courage. So, you find yourself reading, to inform you feel inside yourself a force that drags you ... makes you think to want to have your say ... want to keep alive the memory ... to enhance the "no" ... to want to know Christ.
Who would have thought ... well seen from the outside and could can be misunderstood everything ... but do not need words to explain it is something you feel inside is the power of the "no" that fuels our values.

Also I went to greet Christ ... together with John and Samuel. I got to shake hands with the mother of Chris and Nicola. And cabbage, what a thrill to realize where I was taking this story .... or rather, where I was leading a Christian. Without knowing him in person .... but to be there. Indescribable.

And then? ... ... I am committed to creating this blog ... to challenge me to create something for him ... for us ... for you. Do my best ... obstinate in being able to characterize the material put together .. ... process it ... and most importantly, put part of me in every little morsel. And then ... to put up with John, who stressed! hehe (joke) We really believe in this project!
Thank you in advance to anyone who will help us keep it alive!

The strength of a no ... .. starting a journey without end ...

Noemi

PS
Nicola ... thanks for the material you provided ... you have been a valuable source to be able to make this blog.

Monday, December 8, 2008

Raven Riley Straw Hat

[John]

WHO AM I? My name is John and I want to become a policeman, those with a capital.
I'm not a dreamer, but just a guy who believes that the presumption does not change the world, but want to try to improve it and fight for everything Christian is the beginning of my challenge.
In Christ gave me strength to my consistency, determination to have the decisions you make while being afraid. I'm going to fight to get to wear the uniform of the Force, to win honor.
In each of us there is a heart and a conscience and think it through waivers, the "no" that might sometimes lead to apparent defeat .. thanks to this we will achieve real victory.
Cristiano is our starting point. I say to all those boys and girls like me who have the same love to my nation, the Carabinieri, the same goal. Do not give up, do not panic, do not let stop a contest is not over ... I know it hurts ... but next time will be that good. And just when the discomfort may have the better of us .. that is where we must continue to believe and put love in everything we do. That's so we will not forget the sacrifice of Christ.
For me, the meaning of life is being able to find the courage, the strength not only to pursue its goal, but also know how to rise when you fall and continue until the end.
I now understand more of who I am, and I love more and more of my values \u200b\u200b.. maybe just through the "no" I say.
In all this I do not stop to smile and go forward. Sometimes, when I happen to be a bit ' demotivated I look at the pictures of Christ, (by my strong point) and come back stronger than before. Every time I call
also Nicholas's colleague Christian because he represents to me the real policeman.
You know, before you get to everything before creating this blog ... .. I fear that it could be misinterpreted ... Christian because I have not met in person ... I thought they would have thought that I had dual purposes ... but I just followed my heart and my values \u200b\u200b.... coming up to Vigonovo ... coming up to Chris to say THANK YOU. To shake hands with Nicola to thank Mrs. Loredana, the mother of Christian, who struggle every day and listened to me. When I
stop to think of Christ ... I think his greatness. I'm lucky to have so much faith in God and I think the gentleman has taken up the Christian right for its size.
Those who are familiar with the story of Christ can say: "It was a disgrace," others will think "it is the fault of the PM who gave the permission to award this criminal," others have no words ... but the answer does not exist . In my view, what matters is to understand the greatness of this guy in his years of service has been able to sow so much and that we reap the harvest is truly endless. The deputy sergeant is a guy who left his mark. Why? Because he loved his job because he was willing to sacrifice and this binds me to him ... to his values. Why was a person that everyone remembers with a smile ... because it did not give in to blackmail, to compromise. That is why Christ is my hero is my starting point and not the end! I
from the "no" fight every day because it is my duty not to fall nell'omertà and hypocrisy. In the "no" I find the strength to become a policeman, not to furnish them in defeat, because I love the Carabinieri I love my country ... and so do my values \u200b\u200bmore firmly, more strength to the sacrifices made for have the honor of wearing the same uniform of Christ, the same as Nicole takes commitment and dedication tuttto day with all the police. So please
linger and understand the courage of this young man for whom there will be no reward to pay his gesture.
If this blog comes to life today is because his "no" in front of a gun pointed at was not in vain!
Thanks to him I really realized that you just do not have values \u200b\u200band idealized ... you have to do is consolidate them into everyday life and never give it up ... here's what he taught me Christian. So I understand how important it is for me to be and then the policeman.
So all of you who find this blog, do not dwell only to know the ending but linger in the history of Christian action and its behavior during the service.
Dwell on what his friends, colleagues, family and friends say ... think about what he left us.
An example is the success of this blog came to life thanks to the friendship between me and Naomi was born ... a girl ... do you think of Milan, I am in Forlì ... but this distance has not prevented us to bring on this project and all these miles is not force that can have an impact on this friendship. The importance of values, believe in it despite the sacrifices and difficulties did not stop this project. And Chris is doing all the things we see? Many.
The strength of a no. We can send so much.

Now I would like to thank the Mother of Christ (whom I had the good fortune and honor to know to bring them my thanks and to let her know what Cristiano is meant and will mean to me), Nicola (who after all has always found time to answer my questions with great humility and sincerity, and that continues to keep alive the memory of Christ) , Veronica (the cousin of Christian who was always very kind and helpful to me).
Thanks to my family, my friends (Gabriel, Samuel, Naomi), to all those who support me in carrying out my choices, my values. Thanks to those who believe in me, in my way, those who did not know the story of Christ .... thanks to all those who understand what lies behind the "no".

I leave with two aphorisms used by Giovanni Falcone which I believe Cristiano has taken forward:
"The men go by, the ideas remain. their moral tensions remain and continue to walk on the legs of other men!"
"We need to totally fulfill their duty, whatever the sacrifice, to endure, whatever the cost because it is what is the essence of human dignity."

John

Saturday, December 6, 2008

Quiting Smoking Helps Joint Pain

[two shots to begin with ...]

How To Get Super Glue Out Ofstainless

[scant operation]



Ferrara, 2 years ago killed a policeman


of international drug traffickers broken up around Caserta
The police

Ferrara performed in different cities - in addition to the capital Este, Ravenna, Caserta, Casal di Principe and Aversa, Treviso, Perugia, Bologna, Varese, Bergamo and Siena - 29 arrest warrants issued by the investigating magistrate of the court of Ferrara started an investigation after the killing of corporal Scantamburlo Cristiano, 33, took place in Comacchio February 12, 2006.
The murder was committed by a semi-free but at the time escaped convict, Anthony Dorio, 36, killed itself while trying to escape in a shootout with fellow military patrol. In two years of investigation the police department's investigative and Pm Mariaemanuela War have uncovered a drug trafficking activities and illegal when it was finished just Dorio.
After the murder of corporal, the survey pointed it about people that the murderer was in touch. A first line investigation led to the release, on May 5 last year, a measure of housing (which had not been previously disclosed for investigative reasons) against three affected for abetting, extortion, usury, receiving and carrying of weapons illegal gun, flanked for the 'escaped during his fugitive.
The second branch has instead allowed the investigation to establish the existence of a drug, even for large quantities, out of 29 suspects, against whom the magistrate office of the Court of Ferrara issued as many precautionary measures. For three - has been anticipated - are expected house arrest, for two 's requirement of residence in the municipality of residence for an obligation of reporting to the police, while everyone else is expected to custody in prison. Those arrested are Italian, North African and Albanian. During the operation have already been arrested in flagrante delicto, and eight people were seized 11 kilograms of drugs.
until the afternoon orders were carried out 24 of the 29 required by the investigating judge of Ferrara. Four measures related to the murder after Scantamburlo, against the persons who helped Dorio to escape and get weapons, drugs and protectors: they are the Ferrara Benito Gagliardi Massimiliano Guiette, Augusto Andreolli and Mirko Catwalk (which only has the obligation to present), who are alleged offenses of facilitation, competition in usury, extortion, receiving stolen property and firearms. The other twenty recipients of the measures (of different types) are accused in various capacities of drug trafficking, and their positions will be withdrawn and sent to prosecutors and courts of jurisdiction.
investigation of police and prosecutors have emerged Ferrara disturbing background on Dorio, that in prison he met some of those arrested today, and that while he was on parole they had made through extortion and even murder, to Maximilian Thrower, a fisherman Taglio di Po (Rovigo) killed, for a settling of scores linked to the drugs, the night of 4 February 5, 2006 with the same gun cal. 38 which then killed Scantamburlo. Dorio had become - and have told investigators pm Mariaemanuela War - the 'military arm of a group of Ferrara. He, semi-prisoner in the jail Este, which came out once a month on leave award, had a kind of double life burnt cocaine.
and had become very dangerous in the winter of 2005 - 2006: as he was preparing, it was found at the conclusion of 'investigation, including an attack against a leader of the prison service, the project remained on paper and which formally does not appear even in the order of custody, but that was cited by the investigators to confirm the danger of unpredicted and 'model prisoner, was considered as Dorio. The group of Ferrara who favored consisted Gagliardi, known in jail and then probation social services, and Andreolli, Guiette and Passarella. According to the charges they were to 'protect the inaction of Dorio. Gagliardi earned him the gun, bullets and pinafores together 'use Dorio, bringing with them to get an appointment for two entrepreneurs Gualdo, in Ferrara, to pay a debt: Dorio, before the two craftsmen who had to pay a few thousand euro , did the drum roll of the gun saying <>. In '92 he was convicted Dorio killing the old conductress in the Bologna station during a robbery. In a work permit, had escaped.
In February two years ago, just days before the firefight, in semi-liberty had escaped again. That February 12, while driving a stolen car in Ferrara had fallen in the control of Scantamburlo. The policeman knew that the car was stolen and he together with his colleague blocked the run and stopping it. But during the journey on the 'gazelles Carabinieri Dorio had pulled a gun, striking the corporal to death. Then he ran away, but he died while fleeing, wounded by the fire of a colleague of corporal.
These recipients of the other measures: the Moroccan Youssef Chebbi 31 years old, arrested in Ravenna; Jillali Kamal, 36, Cento (Ferrara), Marouane Abdessamad, 25, of Ravenna (at home); Mountasir Ali, 68, of Marina Romea, Saad Abdelaziz, 43, of Ciserano Bergamo, Ilir Sharka, 26, of Hundred, Marouane El Mostafa, 31, and Mustafa Taraf, 25, of Ravenna; Tammaro Tablet, 30 years of Casal di Principe (Caserta), James Simon, 31, and Esterina Spada, 28, of St. Marcellina di Caserta (the latter two have an obligation to stay), Giancarlo Guerrero, 37, of Alford (Ravenna), Gian Piero Donati, 45, Lugo, and Ferrara Luca Ferroni, Massimo Ferroni, Nicholas Govoni, Biagio Grasso, Manuela Tress, Giuliano Guerrini and Renato Ricci Bitti.

Hygienist Persoanl Statement

[entries from the network]

Sunday, November 30, 2008

Sayings With The Word Golden In It

[ printing documents the reactions]

Does W/v Take Into Aaount Density

[print]





Sunday, November 16, 2008

Wedding Invite Wording Funny

[Facts]

by an envoy of Comacchio (Ferrara)
Corriere della Sera - February 13, 2006


"Captain we have done it? We've arrested? ". The last thought of Cristiano Scantamburlo, sergeant of 33 years, was at that unscrupulous bandit who wanted to get away, but who died after having shot during a flight over in a canal. "Of course, everything is fine. Now you have to do it, "he whispered the captain Fabio Dauber before it disappeared into the operating room of the hospital of Ferrara. But can not make it to the sergeant. The single bullet fired from Scamiciata Anthony Dorio - held in semi-freedom regime, wanted for not introducing himself to the police station while he was on leave - it is fatal in from the left arm and punch the right lung. It is the second police officer killed in the last ten days earlier during a bank robbery in Umberleigh, near Perugia, now near Ferrara. It is dawn yesterday when a mobile patrol to locate on the waterfront of Comacchio Lido Nations, close at the disco "La Rotonda" Alfa 156 station wagon that is stolen on Feb. 7. The sergeant and the constable Roberto Cristiano Scantamburlo Domains decide to lurk waiting for someone to approach. Half an hour later four men arrive. At the wheel sits Anthony Dorio, already convicted of murder. While the four coming into the patrol car arrives in reinforcing Este, which blocks the Alfa. The men are sent down, he began the routine of checking documents, but Dorio feels hunted. Fleeing on foot. Domains chases him and stops him. Is searched. Quickly, perhaps too much, because he found a small .38 caliber pistol in his pants or maybe hiding in his underwear. Someone comes out of the nightclub and apostrophes in malomodo the two soldiers. You must hurry when there are people guidelines suggest delaying too in-depth searches. Dorio is handcuffed with his hands behind his back. A precaution that seems sufficient. Not so. The Gazelle part. To guide the lance, the sergeant at his side. Behind c 'is stopped, separated by a wall of plexiglass military security. Travel 3-4 km to the barracks Comacchio Dorio when suddenly pulls a gun and threatening police. Difficult to understand how he succeeded. According to a first reconstruction of Manuela Guerra pm and investigators the gunman was able to take the weapon and then took her hands in front, passing them under the feet. Now under the pinned shot puts the car in neutral and pull the handbrake: the police will throw out shoots and hits the thug, but Cristiano Scantamburlo, unarmed, in the fall because he lost his gun. The lance is defended, there is a shootout. Anthony Dorio was hit several times, but clung to freedom, does not want to go back to prison. Still handcuffed jump on the gazelle and can drive for 4 km, then ends in a canal along the Romea, heading north, at the height of Pomposa. They found him dead, but it will be an autopsy to determine whether he died from wounds or accidents. Scantamburlo is taken to hospital. The doctors try to save him, but the wounds are more serious what seemed to 'start. He runs his girlfriend, Erika Marani, 27, owner of a deli in Comacchio: just had a mortgage to buy the house where they lived. Here come the parents, uncles, parents. And the commanding general of the 'Arma, Luciano Gottardo. "Work always Christian - remind colleagues -. He was tireless. He's been dead policeman: even at the end wanted to know if that bandit was arrested. " Dorio, the bandit, not kill more. But it is now suspected of another crime: that of a fisherman killed by a blow to the head earlier this month in Cuttack, the province of Rovigo. The same type of bullets and the days of permit award of the prisoner. The police are there working on: "But it is early to draw conclusions." Cristina Brown the victim and family members agree to donate organs Brigadier Scantamburlo Cristiano, 33, a native of Venice, was in service in Ferrara in 1997. He dreamed of marrying Erica, his girlfriend whom he had met in Emilia Romagna. The family authorized the removal of organs. Tomorrow will be celebrated in the cathedral of Ferrara solemn funeral.

Wednesday, October 8, 2008

What Is The Punishment For Using Fake Vouchers

The Wall Ovens

The Wall

Andrea Andrea has sixty years.
Just today.

A warm sun decides to celebrate and then comes out on top of a cloud of microscopic confetti of light flooding the road. Pat the face of Andrew, first the forehead, cheeks round, but dug by the plow passes age. A ray
warmer touches his eyes still closed.
Annoyance forces Andrea to open them, repeatedly slamming his eyelids still impregnated with vague dreams, without rhyme or reason.

Shoes. For over thirty years
the first thing he sees when he wakes Andrea are the shoes.
Dozens, hundreds of shoes that go up and down the sidewalk.
There are shoes in a hurry, almost running. Other lazy crawl, others proceed in steps, discarding the shoes that are broken down and meet them at a quick pace. Some
recognizes, Andrea. Those shiny
lawyer with the firm on the street corner, those with thin heels secretary owl always ironed shirt and skirt, those courts, and crossed by cracks of old black dirt, the boy's record store.

Luckily it has not rained last night.
Andrea hates having to wake up suddenly, quickly drag and the fury that has cardboard as a mattress and the carpet worn using as a blanket. He hates to run away, slip into the underground subways, or worse, in the lobby of the station.
It 'full of fools and pieces of shit, there. Shits and criminals. People
Which takes her pants, if you have a heavy sleep.

Andrea launches a full-mouth yawn, focus better, look at the digital clock is on top of the billboard advertising, which marks either the time, date and temperature.
must own that you raise, it's almost nine.
Andrea does not love lounging in the morning.
stood up grunting with the effort.
The baggy pants and the pockets lateral tear. The coarse and heavy flannel shirt over chess. And a couple of amphibious purple feet, found at the Grand Emporium, the municipal landfill. All he
, Andrea wears it.

And do you know, Andrea, of course I know.
knows that is aging.
know what day it is.
Sa who is now sixty years.
But above all, knows that no one else knows. Andrea
officially does not exist. No longer exists.
to anyone.

not always gone well, Andrea.
His life has not always been so similar to that of a dog shit left to dry on the pavement.
Andrea threw out the first tears the dawn of the three forty-seven of May. A knowing, perhaps, those tears would be kept for other occasions. It would need more later.
In theory, born two years after the war ended, with the frame of a city of smoldering rubble and broken lives, is not what defines a great shot of her ass.
In theory, yes. But not to Andrea.
Life Andrea has always been a little pier in theory.

Andrea's father was rich, very rich.
rich before the war, full and rich during the war after the war.
usually works this way, for the rich. They always are.
And Andrea's father was so rich that he had been sent to the front, like everyone else, but he soon found a way to turn the most horrible of human experiences in a kind of tourism at high risk.
in those days - and even after, it seems - the most effective way to not be included among the thousands of faceless names that should fire, crawling on the ground, divided spongy and tasteless cakes, die, holding his guts coming out of the belly, in short, the best way to be a soldier without being a soldier, was to pay, pay very good officers.
as large sheets of notes and the father of Andrea had to have several.
had been in Greece before, then in Yugoslavia.
But always in the back, with ridiculous tasks of the office, pat touched by accomplices of lieutenants. Or, at worst, a Pelara potatoes in the kitchen tent.
an ambush, in fact.
Then, when things were made too bad, too bad for an ambush, the notes had been left him still enough to corrupt anyone who gets parasse front and managed to escape, making a circuitous tour through Austria, the ' Hungary, Czechoslovakia and Austria again, to arrive in Switzerland at the end. Bringing with them 'what would become the mother of Andrea, a beautiful girl from Budapest, high, blackberry, docile and lips of silk. Aesthetically
really disproportionate and stocky man with a double chin. Excessive, but certainly not insensitive to the strange Italian lisa in uniform and without two buttons that everyone, somehow, smiled and left the pitch.

After the war, the future parents of Andrea took to Italy.
The father was not a deserter to be shot and then returned to do what they could do better, grind money, it damn easy already having a lot 'by, and those with a stream of ideas, a way for unscrupulous business.
And above all, a very thin moral threshold.
The successful man in a perfect world refugee, filled with nothing but misery and despair.
The mother first became married.
Then she became pregnant and began the exciting career of his wife and, of course, the mother of Andrea. Already

: Andrea.
That boy's name for a plump and curly bimbotta. What
oddity. In Hungary it is normal
, always said the mother of Andrea.
will also be normal in Hungary, but here, at school, I take all the piss , would gladly have answered Andrea. But
challenge - and say ass - in the fifties of last century it was a verb forbidden to minors.
Especially good for families to minors.
So Andrea, Andrea, the girl, he gave his name as a boy without a word and took the piss of the offspring of the upper class. A barter
acceptable after all, in exchange for tons of toys every week invaded his daughter's room lucky.

Andrea's father was rarely at home.
was always busy, always working, always around the world. Morocco, Russia, Scotland, United States, wherever your company finding markets.
Every time she came back from his travels, Andrea was a doll and a new dress typical of those faraway places and full of magic for a little girl locked in her own world, filled to the brim by mom, school and parish. A protective
world.
A beautiful world, without anguish, without fear.
full of friends, the sunny afternoons and petulant, caresses and yawning.
a happy world.
Only a little 'tight.

From small to Andrea's unique problems of social interaction came to Carnival. That having a boy's name, a wealthy family, a life marked by the obligations of a certain part of upper class society, are things that do not prevent a child's wish for a normal dress like a princess, or fairy - as those of all other always said Andrea - Holiday on Thursday and Fat Tuesday, which filled with noisy kids villas in the hills people.
But no.
Andrea's parents believed the Carnival the best opportunity to show off their rank, to emphasize what the father was respectable and important to update the same caste on the new countries of the world colonized by the company.
Then, with deliberate cruelty, but relentless, just those imposed by Andrea folk dresses bought around the world: complete with kilts and bagpipes of Scotland, the kaftan - with lots of brown greasepaint smeared on her face - from the Morocco, the embarrassing cowboy outfit, complete with wide brimmed hat and spurs.
memorable was the celebration of Carnival of fifty-four: seeing her dressed in the fur, the jacket embellished by grommets and boots, peers spent the whole afternoon to make up songs Andrea, the little Cossack .
Those little shits.

However, the name and carnival celebrations aside, things went just fine for Andrea, in those years.
It certainly could be called his childhood happy.

Then the clothes stopped coming.
His father had decided that, ultimately, with the same arguments with which he deceived the mother of Andrea, he could afford a wagon compliant secretaries. And since the divorce in Italy was late in coming, simply and suddenly, he disappeared.
Someone said he went to live in Canada, but did not change the substance for Andrea.
Dad was gone.
And with him a lot 'of dolls, parties and security.

Andrea grew quickly. It grows quickly when you have to run.
He made beautiful, Andrea, filled in the right places.
And the smell of his youth for a while 'he was able to cover the smell of gin that was the room where the mother was closed more often.
Just for a while '.
Then when the empty bottles spilling over from under the bed, up out of the room, Andrew decided he'd had enough. And who cares of the house, the memories of those three pounds in the bank account still not drinking from the mother. He escaped at night
Andrea, and ran with Julius, a porter and off like a closet with a beautiful voice heavy smoker.

three years were wonderful.
with empty pockets, but with a heart full of honey and butterflies.
Andrea and Julius.
A and G.
I wrote on a wall of the warehouse where he worked Giulio, surrounding the two initials with a huge heart and from the perimeter uncertain.
Only initials.
they do not think that we are two gay , said Julius.
Well ', he had just said gay , Giulio.

Here, at last.
There he thought he was looking for, here it is.
The best memory of his whole life.

Andrea now knows what to do.
knows how to celebrate. He knows how to exist.
For some, Andrea has been important. And now it will be again.
least for herself.
enough to go back to the wall, then faded heart, those two initials prisoners and happy.
Just to shout to the world to be alive. To be passed here.

Andrea takes cardboard, folded it into the carpet. The
against the wall, near the bins. The scavengers are well aware that his stuff is, which is the bed of the tramp who smells of alcohol, do not ever take away.
You walk down the avenue. The bottle is wrapped in a paper bag of bread, Andrea keeps it in his hand as if it contained all the gold in the world.
In the mouth, a paste that smells of rancid garbage.
But today it does not matter. Today the air that inflates the gown brought her a gift. That memory, his birthday cake.

No matter where on earth is over Julius.
No matter smeno have a whole life away camping on the street.
now in the mind of Andrea has covered all the excitement of impalpable glaze and intoxicating.
Now the wall will tell you that there's more.
not seen him since the end of the story with Giulio. But the hour of revenge has come. A sixty-one years that the wall will return the piece of his presence.

As he walks slightly bent to one side, Andrea plunged back into his life.
But it's worth looking back at last. No more fighting back nothing.
The path that is making walking and memory travel hand in hand. One supports the other, every step of Andrew, today, it's worth two. The
hitchhiking to England. Another step, or rather two. The barrel
taken by the police as he tried to climb over the fence to the concert of Patty Smith. Another step, or rather two.
The cold of that night spent naked with a thousand other people at the pond that the City had set up with the companions of LSD. Another step, or rather two.
Katmandu view over the back of a pickup truck stopped on the way out of pity. Another step, or rather two.
Sex and the era, without ever and ever without feeling any emotion, another step, or rather two.
Then the darkest years, where those who had lived only utopia was no longer a human being, but a sin to be expiated, to be shut in the closet of the horrors of history.
But no matter, really does not matter now.
The memory walking bent to one side, puffing hard work and shit that gallops in the veins, which enters and exits the pump to feel tired Andrea somersaults in the middle of the chest.
Okay, so berissimo.
's all bloody, bloody and beautiful. In a few minutes
Andrea will return.
that was enough.

The wall is on the other side of town.
no longer had to see it, it should no longer remember. It was another banana peel to throw away. And Andrea was only boxes that used to sleep.
Better then use the distance as a closet.
Just think back to Andrea today that air has a very good taste, even when soaked in wine on the taste goes bad.
Only now trudging down the street sense.
Only now, Andrea, have a place to go. Tira
slimy that you print a gob of spit on the ground with a snap liquid.
Turn the corner.

The climb to the piazza of the store does not weigh more. Every step it is really two. Andrea
in gasoline happiness. The best fuel the world. Inexhaustible.
A smile stretches the corners of the mouth. He feels open cracks in the edges of the lips. How long have you not smile?

Skip the square, slips into a dark alley. The boys perched on the parked scooter look like a circus animal.
Go fuck .
Another step that is worth two.

Two other avenues of trees.
The race at breakneck speed with the local supermarket clerk who follows her and cries son of a bitch, another step, or rather two.
The thought that the salesman was right after all, not even really know it, another step, or rather two


Turn right, two more blocks.
discs of the Sex Pistols and the Clash hidden under his sweatshirt when the anti-theft devices do not yet exist. Another step, or rather two.
The entrance to the disco by the back door of the two paid mouthpieces of the gorilla slimy that garrisoned the back door. Another step, or rather two.

Some hundred meters.
The toilet bowl that is filled with splashes of acid slurry, the contractions of the stomach where it can not send more than down, and then hunt up all of a sudden. Another step, or rather two.
The blister of pills bought at the park in exchange for a Toxic dose. Another step, or rather two.

Twenty meters.
only twenty meters. Of breath, regurgitation sent down the esophagus. Veins that throb at the temples. Andrea sweats.
If you only remember that this is called emotion. Here
the corner, the last place to turn, a basket overflowing with paper marks the finish line. Andrea Giulio
think. For him, it existed. Only for him.
And now there will, again and again.
Another step. Last. Andrea
around the corner.

A mall as colorful Harlequin fills the eyes.
The store is gone. The wall is gone.
A and G are gone. There is no longer the heart is drawn.
There is a fast-food yellow as piss, there on the ground floor.
Julius is gone. There is nothing. There are more steps.
The sun makes a great light, today.

Strange, he thinks that the pimply boy standing behind the counter of the fast-food restaurants.
could have sworn I saw a homeless person on the street corner. A matter of seconds, maybe less.
Instead there is only a heap of rags, a heavy sweater, a pair of tattered pants, a flannel shirt. And two amphibious purple absurd.
People throw away all .
Fellow of the boy's pimply ago Oh, you spellbound? Have you seen a ghost?
The boy shakes his head as if to release the hallucination.
other side of the city's street sweepers thrown in a trash compactor truck cardboard and old carpet.
The ghosts do not exist, he thinks the boy spotty.
Then beat the ticket for two and a cheese-coche burgher.

Monday, September 22, 2008

Are Oatmeal Squares Good For You

Andrea Cannon CANNONAU

striker or front foot here is a noble

Board

you can not drink tap water

if you want the goal to eat better.

As well as the wine man

his clothing is elegant enough

the beak of a quarter to play intoxicating

prefer a good Brunello

to a dull white and dull and

you'll see that it will be nice with the red

be expelled

Away If you go to Verona

mistakes and some conclusions

sends everyone in mona

in your day more Amarone

If you're strong but you're not just nano

and a large detachment

drunk. How strange if the divine

corked.

If you preserve the public

panchinaro whistles

only if it is to be subject

then a great whiskey

on, do not get confused.

What is beer, wine or grappa

If you can not with the ball wins with

balloon.

Monday, August 11, 2008

Find Replacement Locks For Truck Toolbox

It's getting difficult

Some problems have emerged and are also added to my carelessness, such as a snail that attaches to the float of the automatic refill and flooded my house, never mind the flooding, but the rush of salinity causes me (I think at least) the death pseudocheilinus and the shrimp. Most experts turn up their nose, but I did not think that the snail would do so quickly to do damage, I proceeded to build a sort of protective bell for a few weeks and everything is smooth yarn. Among other things the Seriatopora histrix seems to be bleached coem title, here the going gets tough.
takes the increasingly popular idea of \u200b\u200bmoving to a bigger tank.

Sunday, August 3, 2008

Generac Contact Number

Ciano and other problems

I had promised myself to update the blog with much more frequency, but given the conditions of the bath I had to give up and devote more attention to the tank. First I had an invasion of cyan, at first I thought it was something light and I did not care that much, I just suspended the water changes and reduced power following the advice of many, but it did not do nothing and now I have a tub full of cyan. Another problem is due to my inexperience that caused the installation of automatic refill, I had calculated that a snail was placed on the float and empty the tank of the reservoir with consequent flooding of the room, but never mind the fact is that I do not know if facts are related or not (but I think of it) is dead shrimp and Seriatopora went to bleaching.
For coral I hoped until a few days ago that he recovered, but now I see what has become an ornament, patience, as I say it happens every now and then. This time no pictures unfortunately there is little to see.

Thursday, July 31, 2008

Pokemon Crystal For Vba

GUESTS

If you have taken to put


only because my cousin recommended

Come mai
non hanno assunto
alla nettezza urbana
tua sorella
che non c'è spazzino
che non l'abbia già scopata?

Tuesday, July 29, 2008

Programma Per Scheda Pinnacle 150e/55e

Meeting 07/29/2008

Dopo la taffiata siamo rimasti a parlare di calciomercato e...

Il Tavolo di Wolf vs Umarel!


Sunday, June 15, 2008

I Want Sniff Moms Feet

Lysmata amboinensis

As the title implies, in mid-March a new guest arrives in my tub, a beautiful shrimp, that given the small size of the tank, there is always at every little movement. Very nice now is close to my hand as if to want me to do a manicure, this shows me that there is now at ease and that is set right, the proof is the fact that in 4 months has already affettuato 5 mute. Now with this I added that insertions in the tank will be completed the next hosts for a bath and change it when I can make it bigger, for now I enjoy those that are there and the growth of my corals.

Thursday, June 12, 2008

What Is Cervical Lordosis

Seriatopora Caliendrum




coral Finally comes the first "serious", a colony of polyps with Seriatopora caliendrum green, beautiful, alone fills me with half a tank, but only the fact that we can try fills me with pride, until a few months ago I did not know what a coral and now I try to make him grow in the tank, hopefully good. What you say is changing the pan?

Community Service Reccommendation Letter

Meeting with other aquarists

arrive in mid-January, evidence of meeting other hobbyists, place of Mickael miniraduno Uri's house, we start from Cagliari, Roberto and I Jianco, two-hour drive to get there and see the tank that had hitherto only virtual. Here is one of the best sides of this hobby, meet people, meet and why not eat and drink in the company, which is not to bad. On top of that I go away from home Mickael nice load of guests, actinodiscus, zoanthus, Acropora nobilis, and other corals that I can not remember anymore.












What to say thanks for the new guests .... . the tank is filled and more and more colors.

Friday, June 6, 2008

Is Bulk Barn Whey Protein Powder Good

Tridacna maxima

arrived in December, Christmas time, I decide to reward myself, an animal which did not even know the existence until some time ago, but the tank makes her look good: Tridacna maxima beautiful, beautiful and in great health, I like to see how reacts to the change of light at the instant they close and then reopen soon. The bad thing is that I'm aware that as a photographer rendnedo not have a girlfriend, you will also learn patience to do that sooner or later.




Being now almost 4 months since we decided to test the tank with Roberto to see what happens with Acropora, nothing exceptional millepora a frag of pink and two pieces of what turned out to be ( maybe) acropra hirsute, three small pieces small, just to see the effect it does, (I think Robert knew something).




These are my first corals, entered around December 20, 2007, by and with curiosity to see the joy in my tank start to fill and color, I know nothing comparable to certain colonies you see around, but the tank is different, and above all I am just starting out, if they are roses bloom, even if they are corals, spoliperanno.

Glory Holes In Jax Florida

We talk about the bathtub

two lines to describe the technical side of the tank, as it is a written tenerife 67, with the lid off on a Lumenarc III with a 250W lamp, pool size 65 * 35 * 45 (from memory) a pump movement Marea 2400, and again inserted in the filter tank, strictly empty, which only uses the pump to add a bit of movement in the tank. That's it for now no sump, no skimmer, no reactors, rather than a bath I call aquatic gym. I have always said that the aquarium is a hobby that requires lots of patience and I did not hurry to do things. Floor plan will be also a technical part, in the meantime I try to learn as much as I can and if until now the thing I'm not quite tired, it means that it's okay. A lot of people have hair stood on his head, "but as no sump?, But it's complicated, you have to stay there far behind, you have to do many water changes and maybe I subconsciously or perhaps because led by capable people went straight to my way, to arrive at the conclusion, however, with the tub running very well, at least it takes the skimmer ......
Well at least I understand why my skin and what to put in it for me.

Thursday, June 5, 2008

On The Bus Scene Grope

The blog of my teachers (2) The Blog of my teachers


And today is the turn of the blog of the person who introduced me to this world, who got me excited about and who guided me step by step in setting my tank if Mickael Roberto is my teacher is my mentor.

E 'mainly because of its patience if I am passionate about this way that the least I can do is present his post, hoping I also one day be able to have its results. Thanks Roberto.


http://sardegna-acquari.blogspot.com/

Wednesday, June 4, 2008

Pates Playground Hardcor



interrupt the history of my tank to introduce the blog of a friend who follows me and helps me from day one, the great ( in name and fact) Mickael Legrand, a blog from which exudes love for the hobby and a huge passion for everything that is related to the world of aquariums. Follow it because it's really worth.
http://lavitadiunavasca.blogspot.com/

Tuesday, June 3, 2008

Help I Think I Have Macromastia

That light at the end of the tunnel

QUELLA LUCE IN FONDO AL TUNNEL

C’è una camera, all’ultimo piano dell’Ospedale Bellaria di S.Lazzaro, a due passi da Bologna. E’ una camera poco illuminata, quasi buia, proprio down the hall.
Inside the room there is a boy, lying on a bed with the covers pulled up to his chest. It seems that sleep, that guy. It has a beautiful face, peaceful, relaxed.
Too bad for those two tubes that come out of the nostrils and connected to the ventilator.

E 'morning, morning.
Outside, along the corridor, you hear footsteps. Steps are slow, tired, exhausted.
They stop right outside the door of the room with the boy inside.
The door opens. On the threshold appears, imposing dark figure of a man.
A man with a newspaper under his arm.
You will hear a short noise. It comes from the man, the noise.
A sigh, maybe. A sob, maybe.
The man runs his hand over his face, maybe it dries a tear.
not be seen, there is too little light.

seems to be asleep, she thinks the man standing in the doorway.
steps over, this time is rapid, decisive. He goes straight into the boy's bed, he stops again. Fumbles a bit 'in his jacket pocket and then takes out a scarf. The man hangs up his scarf at the head of the bed. The scarf is red and blue, and above it says Ultras Bologna. Now swing over the boy's face.
The man observes the face of that guy who seems to sleep.
shakes his head. Even the sound short, maybe another sigh.
The man sits in the chair in faux leather that is between the bed and the window. Directs more light dell'abat lamp, opens the newspaper, folded it right, so you can take with one hand, and the other holds the boy's hand, that no needles, no tubes, no IV.
The man begins to read. Out loud.
not read for himself.
Law for the boy lying in the shadows of the room at Bellaria.
three years, every day.
Read the article on Bologna.
Only today, the article has a great title, very big. And speaking of promotion, Bologna, Pisa and back with wins in Serie A, the party last night in Piazza Maggiore.

the opposite corner of the room there is a strange machine with a screen bright green path lines, graphs and numbers.
Every now emits a buzz.
The boy's world is all there, in the machine that keeps him alive.
What keeps him in a world of red and blue. What keeps him in a nightmare, though.

I can not wake up, Judas pig.
How long am I sleeping?
From time be too much, I do not know.
I know I was coming from Parma. I was happy, very happy.
were four of us, we were with the car of the Faith.
The Bologna won 1 to 0, in Parma. The first leg of the playoff
salvation. It was almost done. Almost done.
remember that we are still afraid, though. You never know in football.
Then, darkness.
sleep. Dream.
But when morning comes?
When he arrives on June 18?
I have to go to the stadium, I must go and see the tie with Parma. The return.
I can not wait.
this dream I like mica. In fact, I do just suck, fuck.

I dreamed that we lost the tie with Parma for 2 to 0, you think.
Whether we lost because we were two goals to rebound, a jinx absurd.
I dreamed the Parma fans who celebrated in St. Luke, we took the piss, that butt of consumer jokes, and their players on the athletics track of the air that hopped and singing. And while I was dreaming all this, I felt like crying, but I could not mica to cry, I knew it was a dream that was not true.
I dreamed that the Messina and Reggina were all cheated, who had not paid taxes and personal income tax and that this should have to go to Serie B for us.
Be ', of course. In addition to Parma, Parma cursed, with our money that had secured the Serie A, home loans, the Garden, and so on.
But I dreamed that we would go anyway, in B. As usual horned and clubs. And ignored by those in power in Italy, the beautiful game in the world.
I dreamed that buying Vignaroli Bologna - stuff you would not believe, Vignaroli - and that gave him the number ten jersey, that of Baggio, that of Lords. I dreamed that came along with a series of blowjobs Vignaroli horrendous, people who in reality could never walk on the lawn of our stadium. One of those unworthy
broccacci Antonazzo called that absurd name.
A rhyming, I even thought of. I dreamed of coming back
Ulivieri, that things were going badly with Ulivieri, and then came around a hedgehog, as it was called ... well, ah, yes, Mandorlini.
But things went bad the same. Then come back Ulivieri, again, and with him his delusions.
but remains in B
Of course the mind makes strange jokes eh? How do they dream of all 'these things impossible?

But it's over. I dreamed that
going on a casino, in football, it was discovered that all what we imagine, what is said in any bar in Bologna, or that the system is rotten and controlled by criminals as Moggi, Galliani, Della Valle. Who stole and steal joy and success to those who fight fairly.
I also dreamed that this scandal had called Calciopoli.
I thought I had more imagination, at least in dreams.
I dreamed that, as usual, at the beginning of the scandal were promised severe penalties, demotions, penalties irrecoverable.
But in the end, in my dream, the penalties were ridiculous, and for us to Bologna, insult was added to years of humiliation,
We were even Juve in Serie B.
Only in series B.
Just right for us to break my balls. Crazy.
the end of this Calciopoli was fished out of the A Messina.
too, come on, even for a dream. Meanwhile
also was still in Parma A.

I dreamed that we pissed off then, we in turn, people on the street, we felt once again taken for a ride, it was time to make us feel.
So did a wonderful event for the B division match against Juventus. I dreamed that we decided to stay out of the curve for a quarter of an hour.
to protest against a football sick, dying, crushed by corruption, crime clearly established its leadership.
I dreamed that the event was coming fine.
And that while we did this wonderful event and very successful, Juventus won, 1 to 0. Stealing more and worse than other times.
I have a really sick and evil mind, I will.
Dreaming 'these things ... bah.
I dreamed that Juve are back in, we returned to Genoa, Napoli. All
protected by referees complacent silence and information from a party. Meanwhile, the
Bologna, Bologna, my, remained at B. Again. With Ulivieri, then assistant coach, Cecconi.
I still had that great desire to cry, but could not.

Then I dreamed that the league started again. The Bologna win, win, won.
Fair? Yes
But always won the other, Judas pig.
Chievo, Lecce, Pisa. All, oh. Albinoleffe
always won, too, so to speak.
And then I thought, now I wake up, I am exhausted. Fuck.
But I could not. That stuff.

Then I dreamed that reached the last game. If the Bologna was being won in Serie A.
A sort of playoff. Like three years ago, as with Parma.
I felt the air move slightly, like when my scarf waving in the stadium. I swear, I feel the same, identical, beautiful.

What is this bright light?
Uh, is to see that morning has arrived. Finally
.

The boy opens his eyes, looks around. The first thing you see is a scarf. A red and blue scarf hanging from the headboard of the bed.
But it is her room, this room.
Why is her room?
And that voice? Where does this voice?
something must have happened. But what?

The man does not realize it, the paper prevents him from seeing that the boy has opened his eyes. Continue reading the article.
The boy turns his face to the voice that is speaking.
An intense itching in the nose makes him a grimace of annoyance.
What are those pipes that have nostrils? The boy
focus. What he sees, what he feels.
begins to understand. To understand something. And above all
recognizes that voice. And
'his father.
E 'without doubt the voice of his father.
His father shakes his hand and did not read anything for at least twenty years.
Yes, it must be something just happened.

The guy is concentrated in the newspaper that his father holds. On that page folded and hanging over his bed.
He still sleepy, so sleepy. And the light is low, very little. But
turn his head slightly and is able to read something.
There are two tables in the bottom of the page. On the first it says the new Series A, Series B on the second The boy
the law as quickly as possible.
Then he smiles.
Bologna is the first. The Parma in the second, a confirmation.
-Oh, Dad, we did it, did you see? - Murmurs.

The man stops reading.
still holds the paper up between him and his son.
But he feels again the noise, the noise about, more, more, more.

You can cry a lot, of joy.

Monday, June 2, 2008

Fibroids And Aching Legs

1 Zebrasoma flavescens



After the first fish, I start to fill the tank with other fish, according to many exaggerated, but for me an aquarium without fish is an aquarium, so heedless of the advice of many, and trusting those who disagreed with me, I put in a tub Zebrasoma flavescens, a Pseudo Cheilinus Hexantenia and Amphiprion ocellaris. Unfortunately, the ocellaris environment and you do not die after a few days, they tell me it can happen and do not alarm me much. In the meantime I'm enjoying the new guests, those 5 bonded windows start to get interesting in the meantime and maturation continues, waiting to make the plunge. coming in late October: change pitch and two neon lighting from 15 watts to a Lumenarc III with a 250 watt metal halide lamp. Totally different music, the tank to live comedians seriously, diatoms appear first on the glass and values \u200b\u200bbegin to stabilize . I look forward to the explosion of algae but does not come, maybe some rocks in part already purged earlier, perhaps the fact that for two months the pool is left with very little light, the fact is that everything seems to go for the best.


In mid-November I add some components to patrol scavengers another two turbo snails and hermit crab. In the meantime, I note with much pleasure that it was hidden in the rocks a snail that not only grows but after some time to find mates, probably was not alone in hiding. Taken from the hustle insert also the first coral Pachyclavularia viridis a beautiful green carpet on the floor of the pool that finally beginning to color.




Monday, May 19, 2008

Kasneb Syllabus Part2 Section Three

Antonello Venditti - The things of life - 1973

Antonello Venditti The 70s has little to do with what we hear today. Here he lived in still other souls in a balance so precarious hold on just long enough for a few albums before breaking dramatically: a political ideology tempered by a certain Anglo-Saxon style of pop that drags him away from the shoals of militant song, a sentimental streak that could not be fully expressed in a period of exclusive attention to the "social", but it is precisely because this is not likely ever to fall in the cloying, a 'poetic intuition of a certain thickness and then "he would pass" as they pass childhood diseases ... The records of the first half of this decade have all these components and what emerges is the best songwriter of the vast production of Roman episodes more honest, less polluted by the search for a successful ranking at that time, was clearly not a priority. In particular, then this album of '73 can be considered in fact the first real album completely Venditti. In it, recorded in two days and two nights, the musician finally freed itself from association with De Gregori, can categorically renounce pompous and never appreciated the arrangements of "The Brown Bear", imposed by the record company that wanted to run it as the ' Elton John de Trastevere: Antonello here can do only what he wants. And so here is a disc contained in the intimate, spare capacity in the musical, direct and essential. Almost only voice and piano are sufficient for the rebellion at times to merciless "My father has a hole in his throat," the social commentary at times naïve "The train of seven" or "Rome burns", the subtle poetry as naive at times of "bridges And I know 'just' or 'Your hands on me," that true artistic manifesto that is "The things of life." A poster in part betrayed only a few years later looking for a stadium that was no consensus in terms of these promising beginnings. But you know how are things in life ... ... Last curiosity: had to be included in the album the song "Steal" at that time was also recorded by Mia Martini and never published until this year in an album of rarities the singer. However, the two test versions of the song during the recording sessions were excluded from the disc track list at the last minute. The reason probably has to do with the censorship imposed by many rays at that time. The song alludes to the indefatigable "bloody Sunday "Irish and uses a strong expression and ears rod era, provocative:" If the gun you'll be looking for, love him, you will see it lower. "

What Are The Mac Controls For Pokemon Leaf Green

The New Adventures of Uncle Savoldi

(here's the final version)

Paolo Alberti and Gianluca Morozzi

"How do you think this story here, of Verona?"

"Boh. challenging. But it is worth trying, right?"

" Indeed. So I promised that we will be both. "

" Bravo. What time step to get you? "

" At three o'clock. "

'Saturday at three. All right. "

They both hang up.

Thinking Saturday at three o'clock, the sun will go supernova.

is mid-June two thousand and six.

The two protagonists of this dialogue are exciting Gianluca Morozzi, and Moroz, as he calls the other, and Paolo Alberti, or Bebe, as he calls the first.

Moroz is a writer, travel agent Bebe. In this moment of their lives have thirty-five, and twenty-nine of these thirty-five years know. From first grade, in practice.

At one point in this knowledge-river, wrote a book together. A book on their passions football. It's called The Adventures of Uncle Savoldi.

In the six months following the exit of the book, the author said it had a bit el'esordiente 'everywhere. In Modena, in Rome, Bergamo, Padova. In libraries and crowded in front of four people, at ten in the morning or ten o'clock at night, in cellars and literary festivals Unit, anywhere, in the most varied circumstances.

They also presented in Verona. In April.

the circle Malacarne.

What does?

factor.

Saturday, June 17 arrives, then, with an air bubble African places his wet ass on the lower valley. A moist and murderous hood who tattooed the clothes on your body and makes wide-mouth panting.

And under this bubble of hot air, in this sun-and-white button is right to introduce a note, a side note, purely descriptive: Bebe has a car in dark blue. Almost black.

Under the sun of two and three quarters of this Saturday in the bubble African Bebe enters the passenger compartment of that car blue, dark blue, almost black, and suddenly understands how it feels when a pizza is stuffed into a oven.

Starts the air conditioning by turning the knob to the maximum, while breathing heavily a odoraccio Plastic cooked and Arbre Magique vanilla spray in the cockpit. And while the oven is slowly dying, as a guide if you play the castanets, pinching the flying red-hot.

On Saturday afternoon in June, Bologna is a ghost town. No one around, during the hottest hours. Moroz is already in the street with a bag over your shoulder. It can be seen in the distance walking around gasping up and down the sidewalk, it seems to float on the shimmering reflection of the heat wave.

"Caldino, eh?" Said Moroz. Plunges quickly to the seat, closes it out as if there was the devil arm.

"Caldino, yes."

leave.

The day's program is what has defined difficult Bebe. The club has moved its business Malacarne summer outdoors in a park under the walls of Verona. And in this park, the diligent Malacarne club decided to organize a series of initiatives in play, literary, musical and sporting events.

type presentation of several books.

Type an area equipped for catering. Type

a game of football. Type

viewing on the big screen playing the World Cup Italy-United States.

In all this, the tireless circle Malacarne invited Moroz and Bebe in order:

- attend the football between the Italians and the National Writers Writers

Africans - make the book The Adventures of Uncle Savoldi

- publicly read excerpts of the concerts on stage

- make a commentary of national game of ironic. Gialappa's style.

Now, this is the program that got Moroz, more or less, distracted by his busy schedule.

His list of commitments of the day was not so simple granite.

It was more like:

(Bebe) "Are you sure that we play with the Italian National Writers National Writers against Africans? Did they tell you so? "

(Moroz) 'Well, yes, I understand that ... but you know me call me three times a day to arrange presentations, appearances, debates, lectures, not that I'm listening to precisely every detail of everything they say, maybe I'm doing at that moment other important things, like my ex-spy's blog, responding to readers' mail, schedule a tour of Afterhours, so I just mark the place and time the date, January 20th Pordenone six o'clock, type, and it's not that I'm listening to everything I say after, listen briefly, say Ah-ah in assent, and meanwhile continue to respond to any email of adoring fans. "

(Bebe) "But you have said against Italian National Writers National Writers Africans or not?"

(Moroz), "Something like that. I understand that. "

With this unshakable certainty in your pocket instead of into the sea as it would be fair and healthy, this dark, almost black blue car is pointing in the opposite direction.

At the junction for the Brenner, Bebe is touched by a doubt.

"Have you any spare copies of the book, Moroz? So to speak. "

"No. And you? "

" Absolutely not. I have finished my andarmele to buy and I am ashamed. "

"Do evil to shame. Oh well, they have organized all the kids up. The program of the day they did not have the at least one copy for reading. "

Bebe does not object. The writer is Moroz. The dynamics of the presentations and cultural events he knows. Why bother?

And then, at the height of Reggiolo, the two authors bring to dream experience that awaits them.

Except on the commentary. On that tend to skirt the issue. Not if they say so, but it is unusual and difficult. Bebe and prefer Moroz only when they are inevitably frightened into the problem. Not before. Before I did not need.

Staring in front of them, in addition to the windshield, over the road unfolds under the wheels to display the upcoming practice match between the national soccer writers.

"For me, De Carlo is very strong," said Moroz.

"Shit, you think? Mark on an assist by Baricco, triangular with Lucas ... "Bebe adds dreamily.

"And Camilleri coach, eh? What do you say? "

" If I sign my ingroppo the win. "

I do not think you play. She is a woman. "

"Maybe he is the godmother."

Be ', that mean? Time passes quickly when you philosophizes on the Two Chief World Systems.

In an instant the two are in Verona, in a moment arrived at the park. Also like to leave the city of Verona, on Saturday when there are forty degrees.

opening the door, it's like a buffalo with a fever breathe on Verona. A hot gust that removes a layer of skin immediately, so, by sublimation.

The park is cozy: the walls are left, right, a wooded hill with the stand of the restaurant and a large lawn that slopes gently toward the area where there is a huge stage and screen. Area bars and chemical processes delimit borders north and south.

"How beautiful!" Says Moroz.

"They have done really great things ..."

"Yes, fine, but where the hell is the soccer field?"

At that moment, one of the guys willing Malacarne reaches of the two authors sweaty with a beaming smile.

'Oh, here! Finally! Follow me, and that soon you start to play. "

Bebe Moroz and running, taking a complicated route that provides for the avoidance of power generators for the stage, microphones, lights and a big screen, the circumnavigation of buses and trucks of the bodybuilders of the event, an endless series of short hops to climb cables with a diameter of an anaconda, about a mile running pace in the sun along the L forming the Scaliger walls, and finally a jump with a ditch to cross the Olympic run-up foul-smelling and treacherous.

"Here we are," says their leader, out of breath but still smiling.

Bebe and Moroz, now soaked and exhausted already, raise his eyes.

To the left are the high ramparts Scala. Right degassed an embankment on which the only car left in the city.

In between, a sand a hundred feet long.

the background, two of those prefabricated booth that builders generally use as storage. With terror and wit by investigator, Our notice two things. The first is that both sides of the sandbox, are mounted two doors from crumbling football. The second, which is written on the booth of a mason to pen the locker room.

A second member of the bearded and Malacarne approaches with open arms, like the pope.

smiles too.

"Uh, how nice ... you have arrived," he exclaims. Then she whispers to his colleague, his voice almost inaudible 'Well, at least they came from ... "

Bebe Moroz and pretend indifference. Is coming to the locker rooms across the sandbox. Inside the prefabricated metal, which accounted for twelve hours uninterrupted sunshine, the temperature is that of Manila in a particularly humid day.

When they leave as shavings, a T-shirt, shoes, shorts, ready to play, Bebe and Moroz are faced with this bizarre composition of the teams. On the one hand to complete the Circle Malacarne: four skinny guys who tripped on the legs and make subtle inflections Filini type.

the other three completely anonymous faces who speak with strong Roman accent and a black boy long and thin as a reed.

"As we were saying," says one of the Malacarne "We had some last-minute defection ... there must arrange it a bit '..."

Di scrittori africani, in sintesi, se n’è visto uno solo. Quello lungo e magro.

E per quanto riguarda gli italiani, be’, mettiamola così.

Tra defezioni e improbabili impegni dell’ultima ora, il più celebre degli scrittori in campo è di gran lunga Moroz. E la cosa andrebbe pure bene.

Quel che sorprende è che il secondo, in ordine di notorietà, è senza dubbio alcuno Bebe.

La partita è un penoso turbinare di polpacci e tibie in un denso nuvolone di polvere e sudore. Il ragazzo nero, agile ed elegante nella corsa come un colibrì, una volta a contatto con la palla perde any possibility of coordination terrifying shooting blows everywhere except in goal. The sauna in which athletes are at the end of the shower and pathetically trying to get dressed cause unexpected effects. For example, to start to sweat like pigs in a pot at the same time you play.

With the air of the survivors of the Russian campaign, Bebe and Moroz went to the dining area tracing back the terrible obstacles that running around the walls.

'Well, one is gone "says Moroz.

"Yeah. Good game. Strong National Association of African writers. "

"True, eh?"

the foot of the hill with the restaurant booth, clouded by the effort, the two unfortunate ignore the signs that warn two meters by two, to guard the receipt of cash - to four inches from each other - and climb up the hill panting. So that they must make the ascent of the hill and have to queue twice. Forty degrees, after a football in the sand and a shower in his own sweat.

In the end, fortunately, able to take possession of food typical summer.

A robina digestible, such as polenta and sausage.

the third sausage, before the eyes of Bebe - a victim of a mirage - a beautiful woman appears and naked. It is actually a hairy waiter announces that for the coffee, well, 'there must arranged. Text.

Bebe Moroz and trudging to the whole neighborhood under the blazing sun, until, just two kilometers from the park, unable to find the only bar in Verona. Back to the park, the two authors to pieces start to submit the book to a more and more people.

Ten meters from the stage, the bearded Malacarne approaches them with a smile pulled.

"Um ... guys, obviously you have at least one copy of the book to make two or three readings, right? What we have not taken ... "

Bebe says nothing. He began to grin hysterically.

The program suffers yet another downsizing of the day. The stories are read on the stage of Roman authors which Bebe and Moroz met to discuss soccer. While the two unfortunates, the useless and destroyed by the heat of the day, listen to them lying on the hill.

Then, finally there's eight and a half. The United States-Italy game is close now.

appear on the screen the shadows of the players who are warming. Only the shadows. The sun has not yet fallen, and the light cover of the blinding white towel on which the film is projected the game. Meanwhile, seemingly from nowhere appeared two thousand really angry ultra crowded on the hill. Beginning to rumble. But the plan. Just to point out that we see little, evil and does not feel absolutely shit.

Bebe Moroz and approach the location where sound will comment on the game. "Public hot, eh?" Said Moroz.

"Yeah," says Bebe, very serious, and with a curious feeling of suction that pulsates from the intestine to the asshole.

Roman writers are a little smile of encouragement, they sit down and say

'Good luck'.

crepe meets Bebe trembling, his voice fades into the throat.

The shadows on the screen line up, side by side, hand in hand. From years of football experience, even without audio, you can guess that it is time the national anthems. Bebe I guess, I guess Moroz. But most of all, I sensed the two thousand fierce Verona's hill.

that before starting to heat up softly. Then hiss like steam. Finally, include a Rossini crescendo of curses and imprecations.

the twelfth agonizing scream patriotic "We want to hear innooooooo," one of the Malacarne reaches Bebe and Moroz. Now flattened next to the Viet Cong as a mixer, to try to escape the rough justice of the hill. The

Malacarne took the microphone and very slowly says, "Perhaps you've noticed that there is no sound ..."

'Fuck' is heard distinctly from the center of the mound.

"Here, in fact. The audio is not there tonight because the game will be developed by the writers here, Gianluca Morozzi 'pause' and Paolo Alberti. " Another pause. "Commented ironic ..."

The cry that comes from the hill is an avalanche which causes a displacement type air explosion of a nuke. Two thousand people make it clear that, even to feel true commentary of Italy-USA are ready for anything. Also in place to eliminate the two writers and their fucking ironic of 'fuck is.

Bebe Moroz and warn him about the syndrome of cake comes out of the dancer in a barracks of legionaries in the middle of the desert.

Moroz quietly draws the Malacarne, petrified with terror, the glassy eye of someone who has buffered a car, gave an asshole to get buffered and saw Mike Tyson.

"Look for us is the same, eh ..." stutters Moroz, "we can not do it, the ironic commentary ..."

As an addict in front of a pear, Malacarne suddenly revives. Thanks obsequious. Takes up the microphone and announced triumphantly:

"Tranquilli ... joking ... Well, now forgive the audio commentary with the cro-te-le-ve na-ca-ra!"

"Aaaaaaahhh," sighs the hill.

"And anyway, fuck 'a voice udibilissima gloss.

The game is ugly almost stellar. Fallosissima, chopped, Italy played badly, with the U.S. dominating. Fortunately, you can hardly see. Two thousand people are trying to decipher vague images on a lenzuolone white heat wave in the afternoon. Imagine you would see very well in their homes with their TV, air-conditioning.

Bebe and Moroz, at least, are happy to have avoided the stoning. At this point, the main problem are the Roman writers. Starting with an inexhaustible litany about the merits of the Romans who play in blue, and Totti and Perrotta and De Rossi, et cetera. At one point, the shadows on the screen will shake all together. It comes out one moving forward, then runs to the flag and pretend to play a violin.

Nobody says anything.

The commentator says that goal. Gilardino scored.

The volcano hill promotes itself and explodes in a furious roar.

Bebe, Moroz and Roman revelers embrace. Nobody saw anything, but Italy's winning, it please. Gone are the festivities, everyone returns to poke the eyes in the sheet. The Romans begin their delirium giallorosso, But how fforte Perrotta, 'nvedi De Rossi, things like that, and Totti is inevitable er mejo, Bebe is proud and sure beats:

"But Zaccardo was Bologna, is the today, we have grown us, "

Silence.

"And his first goal he scored at Lazio," he adds subtle and smart Moroz. The Romans believed

nod, then return to watch the game.

"Fuck," he says from a hill.

The sun sets and finally, at least a little, 'you see the game now. But it goes boring. Until, on a ball thrown in the middle of the Italian area, jump on a safe blue defender ready to push it away. A defender of the features known to Moroz and Bebe. A defender who, alone, in the middle of the area, without any pressure on that ball that raindrops slow and easy, missing the ball. What's slams on the supporting leg and pulls very precise and unstoppable nell'angolino port Buffon. The most comical own goal in football history.

And while a volley of curses thundering echoes in the still of Verona, a question lingers in the minds of all.

"Who is that idiot who did own goal? "

An overlay seems to glow around the screen and answers the question.

Zaccardo.

The Romans turn to Bebe and Moroz. They do not say anything, he just smiled with an expression that could have the sisters of an institution for the mentally ill.

"Bolognese of shit" is heard separately from the hill.

Only when the game ends when the boys Malacarne greet them apologizing for the minor setbacks, but still smiling when the park under the walls Scala is a distant green dot in the rearview mirrors, and Bebe Moroz resume to speak.

And draw a first summary budget.

'Well,' Bebe starts "we came here to play in a sandbox the worst game of football in our lives."

"take a shower in a tin box red hot."

"Do not present the book."

"Do not do the commentary."

"See, rather, guess, the worst part of Italy."

"Zaccardo, goes to hell 'is the latest thinking related to the evening.

Meanwhile, the flashing message announcing the motorway queues for work.

Saturday. In June. At night. And one of

workers on the site at night - Bebe is ready to swear - the passage of the car dark blue, almost black, distinctly says' Fuck you. "