Ingredients In Oragel

The year was 2010.

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, ary_true and el_defe ? Because I liked you a lot and not just because of Magone happy that I left the bet is that you are objectively beautiful. Thanks. (And thanks, of course, to those who have spent the night with me on Twitter, with us, with those guys, especially, the nice thing about tonight was the idea that they were there for us, but also We were here for them, which I fear is something far less silly and trite as it may seem.) I, for my part I am in distress. It was the year I'm guardicchiando , are telling the story of Football and the argument is a bit 'too well for being random. That Italy - and I do not have to say Italy, it seems that all the troubles of the world we've got them and us there is not even a needle in a positive entire nation, but oh, I is this country that I have experience here, so peaceful, Italy - looks like a place full of people busy doing other things. E 'train to the phone and talk without interruption, and if you do not talk messages, and if no message is given the enamel, cursing the results of the championship, it takes away the lint from sweater again - maybe in the meantime the aliens landed outside the window and they are so so busy doing other things to not notice, not volersene realize it, because they prefer to be busy doing other things - little things, stupid things, things, always the same - rather than deal with that stracazzo of Martian who wants to steal the ground from under his ass. Why is hard, eh. It 'hard to come take her eyes swollen with tears in force in front of two and a half hours of the program more true, compelling, emotional and just great that the TV listings to give us a lot' of years now. It 'much easier to watch Big Brother, spending time sharing jokes and dick on Facebook Roberto Saviano tells of the Fathers of the country and I do not even want to think about what we would say, Mazzini and Pisacane, to name two of this Italy. Of quest'Italietta, come on, why call Italy seems to offend, curse of
what - if we do not want to go either too far back in time - the resistance has defended with blood. To call Italy, the jumble of private interests, scandals, ignorance, blindness and voluntarily set rubbish in which we live, beautiful and good is an insult to that country which should make you think of Dante, Pertini, Saviano.
Italy at then. Italy at the people involved to do anything else, with the blinders of titanium and no desire, no decency, no brain, nothing. Italy at worst, Italy at which I am ashamed, Italy at that much good is personified by the clown we have chosen as Premier - Italy at that stifles that Italy, which, however, eccotela: you are presented in the evening on RaiTre, in a program that leaves with a sweetness and bitterness to me, forgive the flight of fancy, only De André Foscolo and were able to give so fully. Come away with me so inevitably leaves you: undone by tears, emotion, with a great desire to do. With a great desire to say that Fazio, who Benigni, who Nichi Vendola, which Finocchiaro, which Saviano - who Saviano Above all that Saviano, who Saviano, who Saviano. With a great desire to say, well, that Giorgio Gaber. What Falcone. What Falcone. What Falcone. Mazzini, who Pisacane, Sandro Pertini. That Enzo Biagi. Dante Alighieri. What the hell do we end? that Salvatore Di Giacomo (author of the text), that Roberto Murolo.

And that accent of shit, Benigni, but I love you anyway.