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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.

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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 ...

David Courtin 'I'm So Excited "Video
sent Musimouille . - Birthday, wedding, first steps on video.

Enjoy, take care of you <3

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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