flag of the first month, the march towards a healthy approach to racism goes smoothly.
racism not only intercontinental, but simply cross-border, as well as the frustrated housewife syndrome.
diagnosis is due to the rituals of everyday moments rizollamento, rizollamento is called the time of the break from work, usually around Aetto the evening, when our physical craving a cold beer, preferably sitting on the terrace.
is a brief moment that preccede shower and processing the evening dinner table.
rizollamento another moment of bitter would be the first to go to bed, but this covers already more than alcoholism.
still the problem of racism across borders (which also flows into gender segregation) was signed in the attitude of the board more or less every day in preparing an edible dinner that would give a semblance of humanity to the events of the Caribbean daily work.
so it's critical the choice of ingredients and cooking methods of the same (usually acts to constitute the mysterious dishes with exotic names: amatriciana, carbonara, pollocoipeperoni ....).
it happens that one of expatriates living in the house is a batracide female and French nationality who plays the pompous serving as a director (ignore the fact that what a journal is a lateral thinking that only interpret as malicious incompetence).
svolgerre addition to this function, there is a complete lack of physical coordination, which leads inevitably to affect the balance of static objects placed on flat surfaces, as well as to disturb the surface tension of liquids in containers, whether water, oil or coffee.
but above
CALA COLD WATER DOUGH
here, this would not have happened.
now constitutes much as an enemy to be killed, not to look like a condisccendenza from its ability to drink coffee without a run on the walls.
these episodes are the ones that put in jeopardy the sanity of the writer, especially if the writer is forced to sweat seven shirts to explain that to make the pizza is not enough water and flour, but it would also need the yeast (and Now the damned French can also take their baguette, hide it under his armpit and go and take a ride).
alongside these other episodes do occur.
we went walking around the car, when suddenly a light was lit, a bright light, as red as the lips of his beloved, rossacome the fire of passion, but the smoke was not the fire of passion burned but the head that caused leakage of oil, brought the car to be unwitting guardian of a work of postmodern art consisted of a uniform block of metal, plastic and wires that were once an engine, a gearbox, a differential.
then we went from having a mere means of transport to keep a valuable sculpture (contained in what he called the impure body).
but as our love of art close to zero, we have shamefully decided to tow the car to the workshop for a room resuscitation attempt that ended with premature destruction.
to relax the mind and then I started to the lovely village of smurfs where, finally, with a cold beer in hand, I participated in an initiation rite (a meeting of elected officials) on the murky issue of logistics, that's funny little men in blue logcluster call (which seems a brand of laxative)
in this banquet of elected devoted mostly to self-view of the difficulty to work with blacks in the Caribbean, became the most optimistic that an announcement greeted with a "golly" the more pissed off with a "pig / a. ... (insert the name of a deity of your choice)."
for the next two weeks, the far-sighted government haitese foresaw a difficulty with the procurement of fuels, since, raising in excess of the customs duties, no more shit discharged to the ground, especially in the bunkers.
here and begs the ontological question before eschatological
"but without the mica comb the dolls?"
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