Monday, June 22, 2009

Kamenstein Bronze Spice Rack

Kim Jong-Il confides

The Poniclub has now the honor to propose an account exclusively confided equally exclusive of the holy father of the country, but not ours unfortunately, we went specifically for you are in North Korea for a single service with one that we celebrate throughout the month of June, and here is the faithful transcription.


Poniclub: Let's start this interview by our sincere thanks for the honor that we made your Serene receive us in his humble abode.
Kim Jong-Il :Je vous remercie également d’avoir fait le déplacement. Les hommes et les femmes de votre trempe sont rares de nos jours ; avoir le courage de diffusion de ses opinions –enfin, des miennes- me semblait jusqu’à votre rencontre aussi désespéré que de voir un jour Eric Zemmour enfin nommé (et ce pour le bien de la conservation de la pensée hexagonale ) à l’Académie française.

PC (rougissant, mais reprenant rapidement ses esprits): Passons donc les mondanités et venons en donc aux faits. Vous êtes l’illustre dirigeant de la Corée du nord depuis 1994 : parlez nous un peu de ce qui fait de vous le meneur que chaque peuple envie, your domestic politics.
KJI - Oh, you know, I'm just reproducing the teaching of my father guiding my country as his legacy. He himself had learned all the old ones. Genghis Khan was one of his models. We, the great leaders have the humility not entirely appropriate and we get to know what Kim is Kim. Although this pale copyist Ahmadinejad is trying to convince the world that has a monopoly on nuclear illegal when I was first on the spot. But you know, as we say in France who steals a moped steal an idea.


PC: And yet, despite external pressures you stand in your line of policy without fail. How do you respond to those you describe as "last man left '?
KJI: I could not agree on their meaning. We can only lament the prominence assumed by individualism and selfishness in your capitalist societies of low-floor. The man is unable to find his place. Add to it the grain of salt from the mother and you get Dolto student demonstrations proudly packets dead hair on their heads screaming filthy slogans libertarians. In my country where everything has its place (my portrait over the fireplace, my speech in schools, my thoughts on the books), you will never find this kind of intolerable deviance. I was talking with Jean-Marie Messier, a man of great value, and we agreed on one thing: France no longer looks like nothing but a foul hippie community. A true revolutionary should above all be filled with the love of his neighbor, and therefore his nation. If I am the only one to always give all of myself to my country is precisely that it is the only one who can still bear this name.

PC: As a final allegory of true patriotism, how do you see the future?
KJI: I must tell you that I think now leave my shining star next to the sun * laughs *

PC: A star? Tell us a little about this beautiful metaphor that suits you so well.
KJI: This is an image of myself that simply reflects the part of some divine m'octroient under my reign copy. But basically I'm just a man. Perfect indeed. But I remain a man. And like everyone else, I can not stop time to do his work. I think what came time to retire. I think Albania. His daughters have very good reputation, you know, especially as their pimps chipotent much less than the French on the work of minors.














(ps: you know, PoniClub is always the first on the information. But with the audit committee of the true diffusion information from our friend Kim Jong-il, a replay by the competent authorities is required, and thus slowed the UP. + shift)

Sunday, June 14, 2009

Allusians To Roman Mythology

Kim Jong-Il has a heart . Introduction

Today Poniclub decided to reveal Kim Jong Il a different, for behind the master of us all, there is a man, a man who likes simple pleasures of life, like giving sentences to death while smoking a Cuban. Kim knows how to appreciate good things, it is a curious man who has everything and the taste of France, true. He knows how to be moved by the beauty of the national repertoire, I mean the real music, not this bunch of bottom of testicle * yelling that he wants to go out tonight, only whine and leaves a waste of humanity, his wife ordered.
So let up in the selection of French musical guest of June who knows, I doubt not, you feel in your love of country or do you whine like virgins nostalgic for the heyday of the nation.







* Benabar for the less perceptive of you.

Thursday, June 11, 2009

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public
Dear, dear friends, as you know the Poniclub is one of these blogs very lazy not relevant does not care to own editorial line and ignores even the existence of this word. But after the electoral upheaval just happened (remember the joy of our party President has received 30% of the votes, but you did not know, you do not even vote and you're right the right to vote is a con trick) we now need to reason from the France today, the new France and all blue, the France we love and who gets up early in the morning to the sweet sound of chirping of Cauet. The

Poniclub must therefore bounce on the news and hear the cry of France taking over the reins of his sleigh drawn by two beautiful horses whose beauty was rarely seen similar on the surface of our beautiful planet decrepit . Let So up to a dear friend to the nation, whose visibility is too rare in our media only highlights the bad taste of leftist journalism that invaded the country.

Dear readers, your insight unnamed thee so well stated that we would devote a whole month, our neighbor from afar, our precious Kim Jong Il. Eat your happiness dear reader, because it is rare in these times of environmentalist propaganda without the ass to see a man of the content of this divine being.

Tuesday, June 9, 2009

Can A Enlarged Liver Go To Normal

letter! second service.

these days I find myself full of new passions. I would like to speak for hours, but a great dictator said: "silence is golden, three ellipses are sometimes more eloquent than words."
So here, I'm tired of tennis, I work, I draw, I play, I play a lot, and I watch this video, the more I tell myself I'll take my card deer silver Rambouillet ...



Enjoy, take care of you <3

Wednesday, June 3, 2009

Where To Buy Fake Moustache Toronto

Illuminations and other affectations.

Dear reader, readers should I even say the views of your number that swells as fast * as the face of Regina, have you ever had an epiphany? Not
course, you're not Bernadette Soubirous. I figure you either. I do not like things that appear as the obvious, it inspires me that mistrust. I tend to doubt my claim of partisan, that great enemy that opens many doors yet. It too is wary of the doubt and less obvious. That's why policies are what they are ... but it does not matter.

At ten o'clock in the morning, the first book I sold was called Henry and its author was neither more nor less than Francois Bayrou. It's pretty crazy to imagine that this great Dadet a questionable aerodynamics wrote in his youth history books, even crazier to imagine that someone purchases a day. That day has come. Later I did "beep" with the barcode from a bunch of books to return them to their dealers, I played the cashier at the same time I discovered the names of authors until then unknown titles improbable, blankets cheesy. Later still, because yes it is a fatality, le temps passe, j’ai rangé tout le rayon BD, reclassé tout ce bordel par ordre alphabétique parce que c’était un vrai bronx. Ca piquait les yeux, parce que les BD ne sont jamais du même format, jamais de la même couleur, jamais la tranche imprimée dans le même sens, parfois le nom de l’auteur caché dans un recoin obscur à cause d’un maquettiste fou. J’y ai trouvé des trésors, comme une édition américaine de Tank Girl que même LA librairie spécialisée en bandes-dessinées de Lyon avait été incapable de me dégotter, ou une autre qui s’appelle Jésus la terreur des zombies, et rien que pour ça j’ai eu un vieux silly smile to the face veneer throughout the day. And when I was doing shit, I strolled up watching all these slices of trees torn from their native Amazonia, ground into pulp, and spread to the pages. I felt both as a tiny dung ignarde, and at the same time the power was within my reach.

That the evidence of the day. For once in my life, I project myself in a professional future other than Cut nougat to Never Land, trainer of the Wild in Patagonia or seller of lubricant in Sodom.
I will let you enjoy my fun with François Bayrou, and wish you a future as casse-gueule que le mien.

* non je mens en vérité