My little reader
If you too are contrefous new Nike Pegasus friend's ketch, when you see it you remember your long winter evenings spent watching, amorphous, the dilemma between Carrie Bradshaw a Louis Vuitton bag and another bag Prada, this message is for you.
Because while the other there, swoons over her new acquisition, my vie quant à elle ressemble toujours à un monticule de fiente de yack (mais surmonté d’une très belle fleur d’ibiscus quand même, parce malgré les déjections je sais rester radieuse).
Passons donc ma beauté étourdissante et venons-en au caca. Nous sommes donc le 9 juillet, et lorsque les autres étudiants se gaussent de passer leur été à bosser comme des chiens sous-payés dans des stations balnéaires minables, moi je me plains du fait que mon année scolaire ne soit toujours pas achevée. Tout ça à cause d’un misérable petit parasite qui a décidé de faire de mon existence un enfer en me forçant à lui rendre un dossier parfaitement tasteless but dense by July 13. Note that for the first time in my life I wished the death of a man.
Also, I spend my days being an unconditional patience, but conditioned by a miserable salary, with a little brat who deserves a kick in the ass and file in your bedroom. And faster than that. And in silence please.
My city has also been emptied of almost all things that were that life was worth living, my alcoholism and condoned by their notorious involvement. My free time is now devoted to research a library that would make me their humble little apprentice for a shockingly low pay, but that would make my day a sweet dream. Strangely they send me every ball. The crisis it seems. Add
over this episode of the little bastard, call the PS (well, as the Socialist Party) for the occasion, who dared me refourguer ** a book that causes a type that is unnecessary studies ( hey, a literature degree, it reminds me of someone ...), which suddenly makes a whole bunch of small gigs horrible, and whose life resembles a mound of dung yak. Except that he goes there in Alaska. I never would go to Alaska. And I wonder if this advice was not reading any account is a way to destroy me in me face my probable future. The upside is that I associate with people who have the deserves to be insightful. And as if the author, I show all (hey, it looks good party ...) I could always switch to the literature.
You tell me, so good, so what? We drink of you whining of Auntie Souen Sun, but we in history?
But that is not in vain my young flock. Because I know I'm not the only one to be persecuted, to be the target of a probably conspiracy orchestrated by the Chinese to have a newspaper that looks like an endless muddy swamps and flat, to get up every morning telling me "world of shit" (to plagiarize person) and you also you are concerned. So this is where the Poniclub intervenes.
When your desire for revenge becomes too intense, if your hatred of your fellow citizens radiates every cell of your little body, when your anger is destroying your only source of energy, when finally you say that bin Laden had perhaps reason to know that we're here for you.
But we are aware of the problem. Bin Laden had the means, claims, men of money and stuff. You, you live below the poverty line. Yet it is still time to strike. So I am pleased to announce the beginning of the month low cost of terrorism, during which we will give you all our tips and tricks to become public enemy No. 1, and not a penny for it.
First lesson: hostage-taking:
* The Lion King in
** Iain Levison, Tribulations of a precarious for those interested and who are not deterred by the titles easily and ugly. It's funny in real life as book eh.
If you too are contrefous new Nike Pegasus friend's ketch, when you see it you remember your long winter evenings spent watching, amorphous, the dilemma between Carrie Bradshaw a Louis Vuitton bag and another bag Prada, this message is for you.
Because while the other there, swoons over her new acquisition, my vie quant à elle ressemble toujours à un monticule de fiente de yack (mais surmonté d’une très belle fleur d’ibiscus quand même, parce malgré les déjections je sais rester radieuse).
Passons donc ma beauté étourdissante et venons-en au caca. Nous sommes donc le 9 juillet, et lorsque les autres étudiants se gaussent de passer leur été à bosser comme des chiens sous-payés dans des stations balnéaires minables, moi je me plains du fait que mon année scolaire ne soit toujours pas achevée. Tout ça à cause d’un misérable petit parasite qui a décidé de faire de mon existence un enfer en me forçant à lui rendre un dossier parfaitement tasteless but dense by July 13. Note that for the first time in my life I wished the death of a man.
Also, I spend my days being an unconditional patience, but conditioned by a miserable salary, with a little brat who deserves a kick in the ass and file in your bedroom. And faster than that. And in silence please.
My city has also been emptied of almost all things that were that life was worth living, my alcoholism and condoned by their notorious involvement. My free time is now devoted to research a library that would make me their humble little apprentice for a shockingly low pay, but that would make my day a sweet dream. Strangely they send me every ball. The crisis it seems. Add
over this episode of the little bastard, call the PS (well, as the Socialist Party) for the occasion, who dared me refourguer ** a book that causes a type that is unnecessary studies ( hey, a literature degree, it reminds me of someone ...), which suddenly makes a whole bunch of small gigs horrible, and whose life resembles a mound of dung yak. Except that he goes there in Alaska. I never would go to Alaska. And I wonder if this advice was not reading any account is a way to destroy me in me face my probable future. The upside is that I associate with people who have the deserves to be insightful. And as if the author, I show all (hey, it looks good party ...) I could always switch to the literature.
You tell me, so good, so what? We drink of you whining of Auntie Souen Sun, but we in history?
But that is not in vain my young flock. Because I know I'm not the only one to be persecuted, to be the target of a probably conspiracy orchestrated by the Chinese to have a newspaper that looks like an endless muddy swamps and flat, to get up every morning telling me "world of shit" (to plagiarize person) and you also you are concerned. So this is where the Poniclub intervenes.
When your desire for revenge becomes too intense, if your hatred of your fellow citizens radiates every cell of your little body, when your anger is destroying your only source of energy, when finally you say that bin Laden had perhaps reason to know that we're here for you.
But we are aware of the problem. Bin Laden had the means, claims, men of money and stuff. You, you live below the poverty line. Yet it is still time to strike. So I am pleased to announce the beginning of the month low cost of terrorism, during which we will give you all our tips and tricks to become public enemy No. 1, and not a penny for it.
First lesson: hostage-taking:
* The Lion King in
** Iain Levison, Tribulations of a precarious for those interested and who are not deterred by the titles easily and ugly. It's funny in real life as book eh.
0 comments:
Post a Comment