The next meeting, Saturday, March 5, 2011, is provided from 14.30 to 15.30 or so. From 15.30 am available for questions, information and requests. I wait.
Loretta
Monday, February 28, 2011
Wet 2 Straight® 2 Straightener
The next meeting, Saturday, March 5, 2011, is provided from 14.30 to 15.30 or so. From 15.30 am available for questions, information and requests. I wait.
Loretta
Sunday, February 27, 2011
tu 25 Wimax usb adapter Driver
UNDER THREE NOVAK DJOKOVIC Sailing in
Among the glitz and tacky futuristic buildings, the new city of sport and petro-dollars, the final most anticipated and obvious, the absence of Nadal, has resulted in little more one hour of tennis in its terrifying ugliness. To the point where someone turns up immediately -Wozniacki Zvonareva , enjoying (if not tennis) of the courageous Russian loser. Vera from swollen eyes the color of a sky battle with the clouds breaking up the defensive wall of the sleeve from the Nordic a number that seems to exit out of the advertisement of the mill white version of that Scandinavian and wins in Doha.
Some other crazy, watching the atrocious deeds of articulated robot sparapalle Serbian sull'inerme Swiss in a day when even stick in the imagination, goes so far as to strive for a rapid return of the devil of Manacor. If the now tragic barbarism technical, you do not want to combine the lack of real rivalries (panacea of \u200b\u200ball evil sport that transcends the technical act, according to some), the Iberian remains the only way forward. Dionysian and the dying art of the former dominating tennis succumbs Swiss clearly the emerging face of Serbian Apollonian frantic-eyed partridge. Nothing to do for Roger Federer, shut up and almost choked in his own invincibility and shrine of memories, good against Novak Djokovic . Good, and nothing more. The Serb for the occasion sports a full black-eyed pirate, attached colored bandage to the knee. To camouflage the shiny armor as bacherozzo the night of the emirs and to frighten the opponent. This is not enough that scary face painting macabre horror. Nole continues in the wake of recent successes. Davis from the Australian Open. Start well focused, delivered with impeccable service without giving way to the opponent to enter the match. Chin chin and mouth open by foster-brother of "Igor" Marty Feldman which mimics the syncopated version of Munch's scream, he continues on his way. Reversal in the running, arms and legs from a side part, as a rigid jointed puppet loaded with Duracell.
Federer remains inside the bell of glass, mirror and remember it something poetically useless, while the other gasps his shots regularly. The damping action, the usual opening, Djokovic has to start the second set, the first occasion on which his service becomes more human. Just two old whipping suspended former monarch's head pops out of that casket alienated. Here he is, he thinks someone. The classic moment when the match turns. Too easy to understand even for a Tibetan goat disguised as a sports journalist worthy of a lombrosario. Djokovic always offers the occasion, and the sample record of the immortals can not take advantage. Nothing could be more misleading, because quell'abbrivio, once again, Federer threw it away. Peers from the window of opportunity, before closing his fingers in the door. In a clumsy, awkward, disarming. And 'the clear sign of a rivalry that has perhaps changed its inertia, moving from the Serbian side. That, as often happens all'elvetico, is turning into disease, Alzheimer without antidotes. Federer gives the feeling of frenetic slow suffocation, in spite of the oxymorons and who invented them. Here it is in fact return the service break with a game worthy of a Gasquet disguised as a normal day I learned. And with the negligence of a spiaggiante Bolelli loses five in a row to end the period 3-6. Never seen so ugly, impalpable, foul. An immodest seals smash performance by horror gallery of Switzerland, with a side of service jammed, some flickering and even ahead of trembling and easy to read even for Gimeno Traver. Definitely not the best and always late on the ball, physically and mentally. Problems that the winding tennis classical resigned Stakhovsky and acrobatic stabs a Gasquet just recovered a semblance of life, could not lay bare. Rejoice
Djokovic and has good reason. Has acquired the right belief, one that is halfway between the lack of humility of the early and the tragic reality that saw him inevitably succumb to the two stronger. Nothing to say, admirable consistency and constancy. But nothing miraculous or unreachable. A healthy Nadal, Federer and easily swept it away again. The Juan Martin Del Potro in 2009 in New York brutalized with a regular 6-2 and Nadal came of Federer in five sets battle. But with whether and with but does not go anywhere. Even the best Henin bags would make a mouthful of Wozniacki and Zvonareva. A Romina Oprandi in slippers beat Renata Voracova of momentum, Gasquet beating Gilles Simon of law would life to impress upon the stone of the twelve tables, rather than sensational surprise if all of the top one hundred run into a bad day or retire, I knew always wins, and so on. But with whether and with but does not go anywhere. A brief digression
deserves its Juan Martin Del Potro , more convincing in the U.S. touring and grabbed the last final in Delray Beach. The tournament is what it is, just think that on these shores has triumphed over the likes of Xavier Malisse and Ernests Gulbis, and even opponents are softer than those that will bite in 1000 Masters and Grand Slams. But that's something, compared to the dire predictions of a few months ago. And then
let's enjoy the ecstatic mood with dominant Djokovic has freed us from evil dictators of the sport. The submental worshipers horror aesthetic will be happy. Djokovic is without a doubt is the best in the first months of the season. The first objective. The spirit of hideous ecstasy then fills in keeping with his chest puffed up, the prominent chin and an expression of ferocity nell'alargire now relaxed the audience cheering the usual three-fingered salute. For the avoidance of doubt the good points: one two three. What will it mean? The Old-conspiracy began a bedlam of fanciful conjecture. The third victory of something? The Three Little Pigs? Will win a third Grand Slam at Wimbledon by beating Grannollers in the final? La Nina, the Pinta and the Santamaria? The three monkeys getting drunk? It 's a fan of Qui-Quo-Here? Maramaldeggia that beat the opponent with three fingers? The triad Giraudo, Moggi-shop? The wolf, the leopard and the lion? The fact that Serbia had taken three goals from Latvia (this at the suggestion of a sharp journalist rai)? And 'one of the veterans of the diaspora of the "third pole", resistant to the cattle market gears? All off-road. It 's a simple and naive greeting abused by para-fascist and ultranationalist Serbs to indicate anything other than God, country and emperor. Nothing so strange and reckless. Everyone salutes as he wishes, and the viewer into their own idea. In the limit may fear that a loosening in the future begin to greet with outstretched arm as in Germany the '30s. Wonder what that means in a sporting event (even national teams), a gesture that the militia inflicted to the body of their enemy (Muslim, Catholic, Croatian or Kosovar), sliced \u200b\u200bpinky and ring finger and leaving the other three fingers as a final farewell. Maybe, but I still believe that he meant "We were in three, three donkeys and three bandits on the road ... Girgenti. Clearly alluding to the challenge in three of him, Nadal and Federer.
Some other crazy, watching the atrocious deeds of articulated robot sparapalle Serbian sull'inerme Swiss in a day when even stick in the imagination, goes so far as to strive for a rapid return of the devil of Manacor. If the now tragic barbarism technical, you do not want to combine the lack of real rivalries (panacea of \u200b\u200ball evil sport that transcends the technical act, according to some), the Iberian remains the only way forward. Dionysian and the dying art of the former dominating tennis succumbs Swiss clearly the emerging face of Serbian Apollonian frantic-eyed partridge. Nothing to do for Roger Federer, shut up and almost choked in his own invincibility and shrine of memories, good against Novak Djokovic . Good, and nothing more. The Serb for the occasion sports a full black-eyed pirate, attached colored bandage to the knee. To camouflage the shiny armor as bacherozzo the night of the emirs and to frighten the opponent. This is not enough that scary face painting macabre horror. Nole continues in the wake of recent successes. Davis from the Australian Open. Start well focused, delivered with impeccable service without giving way to the opponent to enter the match. Chin chin and mouth open by foster-brother of "Igor" Marty Feldman which mimics the syncopated version of Munch's scream, he continues on his way. Reversal in the running, arms and legs from a side part, as a rigid jointed puppet loaded with Duracell.
Federer remains inside the bell of glass, mirror and remember it something poetically useless, while the other gasps his shots regularly. The damping action, the usual opening, Djokovic has to start the second set, the first occasion on which his service becomes more human. Just two old whipping suspended former monarch's head pops out of that casket alienated. Here he is, he thinks someone. The classic moment when the match turns. Too easy to understand even for a Tibetan goat disguised as a sports journalist worthy of a lombrosario. Djokovic always offers the occasion, and the sample record of the immortals can not take advantage. Nothing could be more misleading, because quell'abbrivio, once again, Federer threw it away. Peers from the window of opportunity, before closing his fingers in the door. In a clumsy, awkward, disarming. And 'the clear sign of a rivalry that has perhaps changed its inertia, moving from the Serbian side. That, as often happens all'elvetico, is turning into disease, Alzheimer without antidotes. Federer gives the feeling of frenetic slow suffocation, in spite of the oxymorons and who invented them. Here it is in fact return the service break with a game worthy of a Gasquet disguised as a normal day I learned. And with the negligence of a spiaggiante Bolelli loses five in a row to end the period 3-6. Never seen so ugly, impalpable, foul. An immodest seals smash performance by horror gallery of Switzerland, with a side of service jammed, some flickering and even ahead of trembling and easy to read even for Gimeno Traver. Definitely not the best and always late on the ball, physically and mentally. Problems that the winding tennis classical resigned Stakhovsky and acrobatic stabs a Gasquet just recovered a semblance of life, could not lay bare. Rejoice
Djokovic and has good reason. Has acquired the right belief, one that is halfway between the lack of humility of the early and the tragic reality that saw him inevitably succumb to the two stronger. Nothing to say, admirable consistency and constancy. But nothing miraculous or unreachable. A healthy Nadal, Federer and easily swept it away again. The Juan Martin Del Potro in 2009 in New York brutalized with a regular 6-2 and Nadal came of Federer in five sets battle. But with whether and with but does not go anywhere. Even the best Henin bags would make a mouthful of Wozniacki and Zvonareva. A Romina Oprandi in slippers beat Renata Voracova of momentum, Gasquet beating Gilles Simon of law would life to impress upon the stone of the twelve tables, rather than sensational surprise if all of the top one hundred run into a bad day or retire, I knew always wins, and so on. But with whether and with but does not go anywhere. A brief digression
deserves its Juan Martin Del Potro , more convincing in the U.S. touring and grabbed the last final in Delray Beach. The tournament is what it is, just think that on these shores has triumphed over the likes of Xavier Malisse and Ernests Gulbis, and even opponents are softer than those that will bite in 1000 Masters and Grand Slams. But that's something, compared to the dire predictions of a few months ago. And then
let's enjoy the ecstatic mood with dominant Djokovic has freed us from evil dictators of the sport. The submental worshipers horror aesthetic will be happy. Djokovic is without a doubt is the best in the first months of the season. The first objective. The spirit of hideous ecstasy then fills in keeping with his chest puffed up, the prominent chin and an expression of ferocity nell'alargire now relaxed the audience cheering the usual three-fingered salute. For the avoidance of doubt the good points: one two three. What will it mean? The Old-conspiracy began a bedlam of fanciful conjecture. The third victory of something? The Three Little Pigs? Will win a third Grand Slam at Wimbledon by beating Grannollers in the final? La Nina, the Pinta and the Santamaria? The three monkeys getting drunk? It 's a fan of Qui-Quo-Here? Maramaldeggia that beat the opponent with three fingers? The triad Giraudo, Moggi-shop? The wolf, the leopard and the lion? The fact that Serbia had taken three goals from Latvia (this at the suggestion of a sharp journalist rai)? And 'one of the veterans of the diaspora of the "third pole", resistant to the cattle market gears? All off-road. It 's a simple and naive greeting abused by para-fascist and ultranationalist Serbs to indicate anything other than God, country and emperor. Nothing so strange and reckless. Everyone salutes as he wishes, and the viewer into their own idea. In the limit may fear that a loosening in the future begin to greet with outstretched arm as in Germany the '30s. Wonder what that means in a sporting event (even national teams), a gesture that the militia inflicted to the body of their enemy (Muslim, Catholic, Croatian or Kosovar), sliced \u200b\u200bpinky and ring finger and leaving the other three fingers as a final farewell. Maybe, but I still believe that he meant "We were in three, three donkeys and three bandits on the road ... Girgenti. Clearly alluding to the challenge in three of him, Nadal and Federer.
2004 Synergy Slow Pitch Bat
ANNUNTIO VOBIS
announced new opening of my second blog dedicated solely to the art ...
http://estebangallery-bruant.blogspot.com/
if someone wants to spread the word I would be grateful. Stefano
announced new opening of my second blog dedicated solely to the art ...
http://estebangallery-bruant.blogspot.com/
if someone wants to spread the word I would be grateful. Stefano
Wednesday, February 23, 2011
Garmin Map Updates Free
The beatification of conscience
(photo Dailyblog)
morals and moralists
morals and moralists
What they have in common the two most common forms of life on earth but the peculiarity of being predatory?
The ability of the multiplication and dissemination is active in both, and both may occur with deleterious effects on the ecosystem on the planet. But in addition, in humans it also adds the perniciousness of the will of behavior. While in the most archaic forms of life, the behavior is natural and being written in the chains of DNA or RNA, is added in humans something that sets it apart and puts a box any higher than any living thing: the will. In other words, the man is to be more contagious and dangerous than living on this earth, and probably, in this remote corner of the universe.
The high hazard of being human is not so much on the spread of disease ; infections and closely related to being Homo Sapiens, but is given by a more dangerous: the dissemination of what we call Simplify the "conduct" more spicificatamente deteriorating "human behavior."
Man is the only living creature that is able to "explain" their behavior, and the grandeur of this capacity is one that is also its most negative feature: the ability to deceive himself.
We are beings that we can justify everything and its opposite with equal validity, and we can say with conviction, a belief firmly disconoscerlo then the next minute.
"Truly I tell you this very night, before the cock crow, thou shalt deny me thrice" (Matteo/26).
We are beings who are able to fight battles for issues principle, matters of high principle, but those same beings that we are able to kill just for the mere possession of base money.
We are the alpha and omega at the same time, and probably in essence this is the entire mystery of the human being.
We are at a time when everyone, one way or another, there ergiamo as defenders of what is ethics. Whether public or private does not matter, and the rest do not understand what it means private or public ethics, ethics is ethics point!.
We are fascinated by the discourse of comportomenti on volumes and volumes are spoken and written on this subject, and factions are facing immense with superhuman effort.
However, it remains the indisputable fact that the decline is still in place, and the abyss of human poverty, is before our eyes every day.
human infection spreads with unnatural speed, and the spread of behaviors increasingly devoid of "consciousness" is exalted as a model to follow, indeed, is the only model known.
course, in particular, the Italians today we might refer to specific issues of political scandal on the carpet. Wrong lot in this case, because on closer inspection, the ongoing decline is much more deep and is never alone on the other side, but I believe, dwells in us all, how exactly does a deadly virus infection grade 4 in what is called the host.
We always tend to think that the other is to have misconduct, and the other is bad, which is the other's at fault, a sort of impunity Parliamentary reserve to ourselves, even indignation when the others want to assume the same impunity.
We are strange, evil, murderous in our essence.
For the less attentive enough to think that at the forthcoming beatification of Pope, gentlemen businessmen, they thought, even with all the legal standing of the case, and the economic justification of the case, to raise up to 8-10 times the price of accommodation during the event.
Now jump over the chair before this news, and the same will raise eyebrows simply commenting "is the market" are the laws of supply and demand "is capitalism."
"It 's the market," the justification and explanation of the most common of these decades. The human being has found a scientific explanation for profanity and immodest behavior, and the solution at hand for everyone. The same
giving this explanation for this fact as an example, stand in the courts inflexible for other events.
This is our supreme being, behavior of "low value" may be justified or condemned to discretion, but forgetting to focus attention on the problem indicated by the "low value".
There outraged by the "low value" in itself, but there indignamo (lievemente!!) For the COPE which performs this behavior of "low value".
I think as a man, regardless of scope, the "low value" is always a negative behavior. The consciousness of the Proprietor turn of the politician or the party by night is no different, consciousness is the same, and this is not that one is better than the other.
This applies to the conscience of us all, just think, we all like the hoteliers or the beloved politicians, in our small area.
Peace to all.
Monday, February 21, 2011
Digivue Universal Driver
RODDICK HEART, FUTURE RAONIC
Soderling continues to make a clean sweep, Almagro reuccio South America. After Rotterdam, Robin Soderling he also takes the tournament in Marseille and continues to buy up smaller loot, despite being weakened by a nasty flu. To take all shots, very pleasant by the quail volleante Mahut Llodra and , until rediscovered "Robocop" Tursunov . In the final, Swedish is the psychotic leader of a complicated match against Marin Cilic , recovering after a long period of lethargy stop trembling. What Coach has made Goran Ivanisevic (the word can arouse laughter coach, but so is) to awaken "the bad sleep in the woods"? I imagine his eyes appallati of the best opportunities to bestow joyful racket in the kneecaps, as the good old days, when the shattered fields. The image is priceless. Note also responsible for Misha Youzhny, who fight in the French palace as a toothless old lion with Paturnie. Tsonga beats a growing but still minimal and then, in perfect harmony with the intent to dance a waltz locusts Tyrol in his skull, surrenders to Cilic. In Buenos Aires
second win in a row for "Ciccio ugly Almagro, a real lion cub indomitable touring in South America. Ugly as a hallucinogenic nightmare poisoned mushrooms and in a post scoppiattante, Nico emerges in the usual cloud of soil arrembanti. Including the elderly and old snake of clay Juan Ignatio Chela in the final, and the constant Tommy Robredo in the semifinals, where a Ligurian is still running after her best expression to slap immediate and shouts back "Hombre de mierda! Hombre de mierda. " And while that continues to make the results that he can only imagine in his dreams by champion. Also in Baires, another useless and sleepy appearance of David Nalbandian which seems to remain only Mundial Club and Davis. Disturbing return to the world of tennis ATP for Jose Acasuso , ultimately leading to Bucamarango only South American and other challengers for a prize of a sheep alive. Reached the quarter-finals (beating even Dolgopolov, among others), with that a bit 'so, that refers to the atmosphere worthy of Gabriel Garcia Marquez. Almost reluctantly called back to on a tennis court, sweaty and just returned from a sultry afternoon spent in a Colombian brothel, with the propellers of the ceiling fan running tired.
Wozniacki, the queen of non-slam . Returned to her habitat, Caroline Wozniacki also found a striking form. Extends all, or rather, leads to madness every opponent in the cross-rich tournament in Dubai. Dressed in white-orange as the granddaughter of Rene Van de Kerkhof, in the semifinals ridicules Jelena Jankovic (or at least more than the Serbian sgroppante it already is, when he plays his volleys in disgraceful and cowardly backdown clumsy) . Then in the final also sent to the asylum Svetlana Kuznetsova . "Caroline A new, more aggressive," the speaker rings. But of course, right. A series of furious race desperate and recoveries, with the ball placed near the bottom line. The ever charming and feminine Svetlana goes out of laps. Usually male behavior, frowning face and screams worthy of a savage wild boar near the male castration without anesthesia. One, two, three, four acceleration accompanied by trembling gasp, before pulling the fifth pigeon and curse in Denmark, the world, tennis, physical beauty ...
The proud flight Roddick broke the spell Raonic vehement. A Sunday like any other. To wait for the "Atomic sweep us away." That yet another mummy Eastern brushwork with squid ink is sent to hell. In the extreme by imagining a bunch of fascists sent whitewashed tombs where they deserve: All 'Island of the Famous (brutally final version), surrounded by tiger sharks and piranhas that sdegnino the foul meat, because there is a limit to everything.
But luckily there is tennis. I enjoy the final tournament in Memphis. Mica Flushing Meadows. Starring: the rampant Canadian born in Podgorica Milos Raonic and the old Andy Roddick still competitive at medium high. A little 'I had hoped that the final with the young Milos came Juan Martin Del Potro . But the gunman has surrendered to Tandil still in the semifinals, as in San Jose. Faint signs of revival, in the slow path back to the top. Hopefully. For the meantime, between old shot, aches and large breaks, the rediscovery of the positive t-shirt. Without the proverbial tank tops discover armpits prevents the chilling effect "Franchino" fantozziana of memory. The final
ignores expectations, without predictable ground air missiles and bombs. The old Andy, propelled influenazato and proud, We just do not think of leaving the field to the young phenomenon grew in the Ontario shore. Raonic is in his second consecutive final after winning in San Jose. There will be Masters of 1000, but the clear indication of a star about to explode in all its power. Only the blind and the "Nandi Verdasco (still dazed by the second Scoppola north of receipt), can not find in the Canadian boy the stigmata of the future sample. Speak, poor Nando, still in shock, "other sports". So clouded by Karlovic put in half, showing great dementia, in the field, but especially outside. He will play another sport, but tennis masters. Not only clusters of ace, but a hammering wise even bounce and a handful of tasty hand placed volleys. Dell'imberbe typical boy frowning face, still shocked by the sudden growth of adolescence, this scratching without muscles and narrow shoulders continues in his job even against Roddick. Services devastating forehand and halberds elusive, departing from his racket with impressive speed. Without much effort or need to be big jim musculature. Operate the arm and so virtuous. It should be the main dogma to distinguish the art tennis talent built (Chapter 1, first paragraph).
Almost inevitable the two exciting tie-break. A normal leisure youth Raonic gives the first American. In second is to climb into the chair, however, Milos, demonstrating another feature impressive character and mental strength uncommon for two decades. Even more surprising when you consider that playing against an entire building, and the beginning of the match that his opponent has staged work by hazing Tennis distasteful, influencing judges and referee. And his country, give it to him a helping hand willingly, with over rules and two rebounds embarrassing not seen under the nose of the umpire. But the Canadian cancels three match points, like a natural thing, taking the match in the third.
The guy seems to give up, just fifteen 1-5 in the deciding set, before the nth comeback that brings it on 5-5. Now the Yankees have experienced the shocked face of incredulity, mixed with frustration. It 'another clear signal. The old standard that gives a perfect sense of helplessness admired. Expression of dismay that I read in the features of the old dug nineteen SuperMAC against Sampras, unable to stem what seemed contrived tennis on the moon, it was so devastating. Here, divide the two characters per cent yesterday, put the cement in place of the Memphis, at the time still green, in Flushing Meadows, and you will have the same passing of the baton. E 'Roddick even more hectic, a lot of tics and quell'imbarazzante ravanare the family jewels, worthy of a major league hitter who just spit chewing tobacco. But we're not losing. Match point, the fifth or sixth, has lost count. Here is the other exploding yet another forehand Minella abnormal to go out, the AC and excellent volleys placed, Andy grabs desperately, almost turning it into cement and digging through winning dive in pike. The hit of the year, definitely. Complete with cap and tumble scarnificante flitting away from discovering the bald balding. On stage there premizione
of the clear picture of the match. The Andy flat, tired and bleeding, happy to have brought home the match against the new "feel" the tennis world and winning the thirtieth career title. The Canadian guy happy for the second consecutive final. Play on your top twenty. It will become the top ten. Amen.
But luckily there is tennis. I enjoy the final tournament in Memphis. Mica Flushing Meadows. Starring: the rampant Canadian born in Podgorica Milos Raonic and the old Andy Roddick still competitive at medium high. A little 'I had hoped that the final with the young Milos came Juan Martin Del Potro . But the gunman has surrendered to Tandil still in the semifinals, as in San Jose. Faint signs of revival, in the slow path back to the top. Hopefully. For the meantime, between old shot, aches and large breaks, the rediscovery of the positive t-shirt. Without the proverbial tank tops discover armpits prevents the chilling effect "Franchino" fantozziana of memory. The final
ignores expectations, without predictable ground air missiles and bombs. The old Andy, propelled influenazato and proud, We just do not think of leaving the field to the young phenomenon grew in the Ontario shore. Raonic is in his second consecutive final after winning in San Jose. There will be Masters of 1000, but the clear indication of a star about to explode in all its power. Only the blind and the "Nandi Verdasco (still dazed by the second Scoppola north of receipt), can not find in the Canadian boy the stigmata of the future sample. Speak, poor Nando, still in shock, "other sports". So clouded by Karlovic put in half, showing great dementia, in the field, but especially outside. He will play another sport, but tennis masters. Not only clusters of ace, but a hammering wise even bounce and a handful of tasty hand placed volleys. Dell'imberbe typical boy frowning face, still shocked by the sudden growth of adolescence, this scratching without muscles and narrow shoulders continues in his job even against Roddick. Services devastating forehand and halberds elusive, departing from his racket with impressive speed. Without much effort or need to be big jim musculature. Operate the arm and so virtuous. It should be the main dogma to distinguish the art tennis talent built (Chapter 1, first paragraph).
Almost inevitable the two exciting tie-break. A normal leisure youth Raonic gives the first American. In second is to climb into the chair, however, Milos, demonstrating another feature impressive character and mental strength uncommon for two decades. Even more surprising when you consider that playing against an entire building, and the beginning of the match that his opponent has staged work by hazing Tennis distasteful, influencing judges and referee. And his country, give it to him a helping hand willingly, with over rules and two rebounds embarrassing not seen under the nose of the umpire. But the Canadian cancels three match points, like a natural thing, taking the match in the third.
The guy seems to give up, just fifteen 1-5 in the deciding set, before the nth comeback that brings it on 5-5. Now the Yankees have experienced the shocked face of incredulity, mixed with frustration. It 'another clear signal. The old standard that gives a perfect sense of helplessness admired. Expression of dismay that I read in the features of the old dug nineteen SuperMAC against Sampras, unable to stem what seemed contrived tennis on the moon, it was so devastating. Here, divide the two characters per cent yesterday, put the cement in place of the Memphis, at the time still green, in Flushing Meadows, and you will have the same passing of the baton. E 'Roddick even more hectic, a lot of tics and quell'imbarazzante ravanare the family jewels, worthy of a major league hitter who just spit chewing tobacco. But we're not losing. Match point, the fifth or sixth, has lost count. Here is the other exploding yet another forehand Minella abnormal to go out, the AC and excellent volleys placed, Andy grabs desperately, almost turning it into cement and digging through winning dive in pike. The hit of the year, definitely. Complete with cap and tumble scarnificante flitting away from discovering the bald balding. On stage there premizione
of the clear picture of the match. The Andy flat, tired and bleeding, happy to have brought home the match against the new "feel" the tennis world and winning the thirtieth career title. The Canadian guy happy for the second consecutive final. Play on your top twenty. It will become the top ten. Amen.
Soderling continues to make a clean sweep, Almagro reuccio South America. After Rotterdam, Robin Soderling he also takes the tournament in Marseille and continues to buy up smaller loot, despite being weakened by a nasty flu. To take all shots, very pleasant by the quail volleante Mahut Llodra and , until rediscovered "Robocop" Tursunov . In the final, Swedish is the psychotic leader of a complicated match against Marin Cilic , recovering after a long period of lethargy stop trembling. What Coach has made Goran Ivanisevic (the word can arouse laughter coach, but so is) to awaken "the bad sleep in the woods"? I imagine his eyes appallati of the best opportunities to bestow joyful racket in the kneecaps, as the good old days, when the shattered fields. The image is priceless. Note also responsible for Misha Youzhny, who fight in the French palace as a toothless old lion with Paturnie. Tsonga beats a growing but still minimal and then, in perfect harmony with the intent to dance a waltz locusts Tyrol in his skull, surrenders to Cilic. In Buenos Aires
second win in a row for "Ciccio ugly Almagro, a real lion cub indomitable touring in South America. Ugly as a hallucinogenic nightmare poisoned mushrooms and in a post scoppiattante, Nico emerges in the usual cloud of soil arrembanti. Including the elderly and old snake of clay Juan Ignatio Chela in the final, and the constant Tommy Robredo in the semifinals, where a Ligurian is still running after her best expression to slap immediate and shouts back "Hombre de mierda! Hombre de mierda. " And while that continues to make the results that he can only imagine in his dreams by champion. Also in Baires, another useless and sleepy appearance of David Nalbandian which seems to remain only Mundial Club and Davis. Disturbing return to the world of tennis ATP for Jose Acasuso , ultimately leading to Bucamarango only South American and other challengers for a prize of a sheep alive. Reached the quarter-finals (beating even Dolgopolov, among others), with that a bit 'so, that refers to the atmosphere worthy of Gabriel Garcia Marquez. Almost reluctantly called back to on a tennis court, sweaty and just returned from a sultry afternoon spent in a Colombian brothel, with the propellers of the ceiling fan running tired.
Wozniacki, the queen of non-slam . Returned to her habitat, Caroline Wozniacki also found a striking form. Extends all, or rather, leads to madness every opponent in the cross-rich tournament in Dubai. Dressed in white-orange as the granddaughter of Rene Van de Kerkhof, in the semifinals ridicules Jelena Jankovic (or at least more than the Serbian sgroppante it already is, when he plays his volleys in disgraceful and cowardly backdown clumsy) . Then in the final also sent to the asylum Svetlana Kuznetsova . "Caroline A new, more aggressive," the speaker rings. But of course, right. A series of furious race desperate and recoveries, with the ball placed near the bottom line. The ever charming and feminine Svetlana goes out of laps. Usually male behavior, frowning face and screams worthy of a savage wild boar near the male castration without anesthesia. One, two, three, four acceleration accompanied by trembling gasp, before pulling the fifth pigeon and curse in Denmark, the world, tennis, physical beauty ...
to you the match of the century: Seppi -Petzshner . Some notes in the margin, perhaps more important than what happens in the hub. A Delray Beah will play an ATP tournament. Meanwhile, on those fields, as an aperitif, the nearly 52 year old John McEnroe does not want to stop and give joy coy embroidery graying. Jay Berger beat (the man who served passing his racket behind his back at the risk of decapitating each), and then check with the "young" Todd Martin 3-6 6-3 12-10 in the super tie-break. Now maybe play the final, maybe against the other immortal hero Pat Cash , he also authored an excellent scalp, to the detriment of the other "young" Mark Philippoussis (the one who wanted to return to the professional circuit, and 12 months ago, has also tried).
This hat I needed to strengthen themselves spiritually, before talking dell'atroce nothing. In Dubai, in fact, return to play loud ones (from Federer Djokovic). But among emirs, petro dollars, construction and camels spetazzanti fiction, here stands the first round to make his skin crawl. To the disgust that borders on horror. Petzschner-Seppi . A brilliant artist with no brain in constant short circuit against the hero caldarense the cowardly attitude of defeat. I great shots-designed from an unstable mind dead, as opposed to dying of a haggard fiatelle madioman coward. As I write and eat a stalk of celery (satisfying and substantial), I see the result. Dominates Seppi, 6-3 4-2. Then the other lights for five minutes, the brain, and ends up winning 3-6 7-6 6-2. The acrobatic talent top 150 dead, with rare peaks tennis from the first twenty (you'll need the usual 5 minutes, on average), can not prevail against the mediocre by normal top 60. Say some poor idiot caretaker-grandson of hierarchy, that sooner or later meet in person. And "do not spit because otherwise the perfume" (Quoting Cettolaqualunque).
This hat I needed to strengthen themselves spiritually, before talking dell'atroce nothing. In Dubai, in fact, return to play loud ones (from Federer Djokovic). But among emirs, petro dollars, construction and camels spetazzanti fiction, here stands the first round to make his skin crawl. To the disgust that borders on horror. Petzschner-Seppi . A brilliant artist with no brain in constant short circuit against the hero caldarense the cowardly attitude of defeat. I great shots-designed from an unstable mind dead, as opposed to dying of a haggard fiatelle madioman coward. As I write and eat a stalk of celery (satisfying and substantial), I see the result. Dominates Seppi, 6-3 4-2. Then the other lights for five minutes, the brain, and ends up winning 3-6 7-6 6-2. The acrobatic talent top 150 dead, with rare peaks tennis from the first twenty (you'll need the usual 5 minutes, on average), can not prevail against the mediocre by normal top 60. Say some poor idiot caretaker-grandson of hierarchy, that sooner or later meet in person. And "do not spit because otherwise the perfume" (Quoting Cettolaqualunque).
an ATP 02/21/2011 - Dubai - Andreas Seppi vs Philipp Petzschner (Vincent match) Philipp Petzschner 2:00
No Win Bet Win Total 30.00 60.00
No Win Bet Win Total 30.00 60.00
Sunday, February 20, 2011
Sock Hop Wording On Invitations
Report on first meeting - held as a session YdR - next appointment.
far exceeded expectations! Lots of participation, enthusiasm, great energy, especially if we consider that this was the first meeting and for many it was really primisssima time!
Thank you, thank you to everyone. Gradually discover the benefits of this practice. We mentioned in the introduction to something, but the best, as always, comes with time.
WHAT IS A SESSION OF LAUGHTER YOGA
First of all, no one else is the same as another session. It 's important not to get bored, so depending on the composition of the group, changing the exercises. The are many things to do and practice of Laughter Yoga can introduce a huge number of variants. In the sessions that he personally led the club, I tend to follow, however, a pattern. We begin seated in a circle, chatting a few minutes. This is the moment when we welcome new and exchange ideas and suggestions with the regulars. It 's also a time of transition from everyday life, where we tend to follow rules and are more controlled, a liberating moment in a protected environment, where you can dissolve for a while' the tensions, knowing that no one will judge us for this.
Soon after, inziamo with warm-up exercises (which may include some simple stretching exercises and deep breathing). So begins the session proper, where you perform the exercises that stimulate laughter, as a group. Are asked to maintain visual contact in order to exploit the emotional contagion. The exercises are interspersed with deep breaths.
Sometimes, especially if you are many, the Club are used to insert some aspects mediated by the theater, as simple non-competitive games or sessions of mimi "gibberish" (the language of non-sense) or "grounding dance" a special kind of dance (simple) which stabilizes the emotions. Throughout
During the session you should avoid conversations or verbalizations. The only permitted verbalizations are those that make use of gibberish (sounds meaningless). The purpose of the session is in fact to use as much as possible the right cerebral hemisphere, the seat of emotions and creativity. In the life of each and every day, striving to be rational, we tend to overload the left brain, to the detriment of the right. At the end of the session you should feel full of enrgia and a bit 'more free from inhibitions.
At this point we enter the final phase of the session, that of guided relaxation, after which, again, you are free to exchange ideas and comments as the beginning and we are preparing to return to "normal" world, perhaps with a little more light and ... some more friend!
The procedure takes about an hour. In the Club all have free access to an original practice, simple and fun, offering many benefits for body and mind (this is called Yoga).
next Saturday (February 26), DUE TO WORK IN MY COMMITMENT TO OVERRIDE THE NORMAL TIME, OCCASIONAL We'll meet from 18:30 to 19:30. Saturday, March 5 CONTINUE WITH THE STANDARD TIME FROM 14.30. COMPANIES AND INVITED TO PARTICIPATE. WAITING FOR YOU! 
far exceeded expectations! Lots of participation, enthusiasm, great energy, especially if we consider that this was the first meeting and for many it was really primisssima time!
Thank you, thank you to everyone. Gradually discover the benefits of this practice. We mentioned in the introduction to something, but the best, as always, comes with time.
WHAT IS A SESSION OF LAUGHTER YOGA
First of all, no one else is the same as another session. It 's important not to get bored, so depending on the composition of the group, changing the exercises. The are many things to do and practice of Laughter Yoga can introduce a huge number of variants. In the sessions that he personally led the club, I tend to follow, however, a pattern. We begin seated in a circle, chatting a few minutes. This is the moment when we welcome new and exchange ideas and suggestions with the regulars. It 's also a time of transition from everyday life, where we tend to follow rules and are more controlled, a liberating moment in a protected environment, where you can dissolve for a while' the tensions, knowing that no one will judge us for this.
Soon after, inziamo with warm-up exercises (which may include some simple stretching exercises and deep breathing). So begins the session proper, where you perform the exercises that stimulate laughter, as a group. Are asked to maintain visual contact in order to exploit the emotional contagion. The exercises are interspersed with deep breaths.
Sometimes, especially if you are many, the Club are used to insert some aspects mediated by the theater, as simple non-competitive games or sessions of mimi "gibberish" (the language of non-sense) or "grounding dance" a special kind of dance (simple) which stabilizes the emotions. Throughout
During the session you should avoid conversations or verbalizations. The only permitted verbalizations are those that make use of gibberish (sounds meaningless). The purpose of the session is in fact to use as much as possible the right cerebral hemisphere, the seat of emotions and creativity. In the life of each and every day, striving to be rational, we tend to overload the left brain, to the detriment of the right. At the end of the session you should feel full of enrgia and a bit 'more free from inhibitions.
At this point we enter the final phase of the session, that of guided relaxation, after which, again, you are free to exchange ideas and comments as the beginning and we are preparing to return to "normal" world, perhaps with a little more light and ... some more friend!
The procedure takes about an hour. In the Club all have free access to an original practice, simple and fun, offering many benefits for body and mind (this is called Yoga).
next Saturday (February 26), DUE TO WORK IN MY COMMITMENT TO OVERRIDE THE NORMAL TIME, OCCASIONAL We'll meet from 18:30 to 19:30. Saturday, March 5 CONTINUE WITH THE STANDARD TIME FROM 14.30. COMPANIES AND INVITED TO PARTICIPATE. WAITING FOR YOU!
Wednesday, February 16, 2011
Driving With A Expired License British Columbia
WATER NOT LAVA ...
just do not want. There.
He stared, sitting in the car. Expected. Every now and then looking at the sea. Then again her. Silence. She continued to keep an eye on the thread of smoke rising from the cigarette. He seemed not to expect anything. Nothing at all.
Out on the beach behind the glass, a man was running. And a dog.
were parked under tall pine trees along the promenade. The windows were beginning to fog. Nobody on the beach. Besides the man who already was gone, disappeared behind the side windows, behind the clump of oleanders.
It was still spring. At least. She seemed so.
- go down? We walk a bit '?
He had watched hour, straight into his eyes. Can melt the pain, or was it on again?
- I do not want to walk. I want to say that the remains. Now. What you say. The bottom
scrutinized, lit. How was the last time.
Basically every time he looked at her like that. Also the last time. But then not.
He was never the last time.
kept hell. Him with her thoughts and desire for her to burn inside. A dig like a hand with fingernails. A take away everything else. Let me naked. No future.
you think of that one, ever. Always. Like this but better.
The first drops.
- is absurd, listen. It hurts to see you so. I can not a.
heartfelt voice, as sad as a child. But it was a little girl. And perhaps it was not even sad. It was nothing. Now. Nothing more. He was not even there. The cigarette thrown. He thought of the man who ran before. I wonder where was she. With its festive dog. Tongue out. He thought that he would be home. To think about what he wanted. Lying in bed. As death. Without necessarily having to speak. Without explaining. Consular. Calm. There was nothing to console and there was peace. Impossible.
- you have to do anything. Alone remains.
He had taken her hands and squeezed, hard. Almost made her sick. It looked like a revenge for all the abyss where sank every time he had in his eyes. It looked like a prison. A trap. A trap can always look like a home. She thought. Or maybe not. Leave me alone, think again. But did not say.
The rain increased. Drummed on the roof of the car like a cry, a mangled reference to streams.
She looked out. The outside was not there more. It was all a downpour. A whole succession of drops oblique. What is exceeded. Merged. Slipped away. Forever.
The sea in front of them twitching restlessly, as in her the desire of the other, silent, yet still kept in close together. always together.
- ... So what? Ruins? I see you again? Say yes.
And she, the other in the soul, heart, skin and eyes, the other was not there, (there was never. Never. Never), the other, based wound, the other wind, fog and salt and breath
- Rest, yes, rest. Yes
Out now, it was time. Thunder and bursts of light. Strong wind. Havoc. The giant sea
a shady and restless shouted his anger.
Nobody around. Just water. That does not wash at all. It was not enough to wash anything. Nothing.
just do not want. There.
He stared, sitting in the car. Expected. Every now and then looking at the sea. Then again her. Silence. She continued to keep an eye on the thread of smoke rising from the cigarette. He seemed not to expect anything. Nothing at all.
Out on the beach behind the glass, a man was running. And a dog.
were parked under tall pine trees along the promenade. The windows were beginning to fog. Nobody on the beach. Besides the man who already was gone, disappeared behind the side windows, behind the clump of oleanders.
It was still spring. At least. She seemed so.
- go down? We walk a bit '?
He had watched hour, straight into his eyes. Can melt the pain, or was it on again?
- I do not want to walk. I want to say that the remains. Now. What you say. The bottom
scrutinized, lit. How was the last time.
Basically every time he looked at her like that. Also the last time. But then not.
He was never the last time.
kept hell. Him with her thoughts and desire for her to burn inside. A dig like a hand with fingernails. A take away everything else. Let me naked. No future.
you think of that one, ever. Always. Like this but better.
The first drops.
- is absurd, listen. It hurts to see you so. I can not a.
heartfelt voice, as sad as a child. But it was a little girl. And perhaps it was not even sad. It was nothing. Now. Nothing more. He was not even there. The cigarette thrown. He thought of the man who ran before. I wonder where was she. With its festive dog. Tongue out. He thought that he would be home. To think about what he wanted. Lying in bed. As death. Without necessarily having to speak. Without explaining. Consular. Calm. There was nothing to console and there was peace. Impossible.
- you have to do anything. Alone remains.
He had taken her hands and squeezed, hard. Almost made her sick. It looked like a revenge for all the abyss where sank every time he had in his eyes. It looked like a prison. A trap. A trap can always look like a home. She thought. Or maybe not. Leave me alone, think again. But did not say.
The rain increased. Drummed on the roof of the car like a cry, a mangled reference to streams.
She looked out. The outside was not there more. It was all a downpour. A whole succession of drops oblique. What is exceeded. Merged. Slipped away. Forever.
The sea in front of them twitching restlessly, as in her the desire of the other, silent, yet still kept in close together. always together.
- ... So what? Ruins? I see you again? Say yes.
And she, the other in the soul, heart, skin and eyes, the other was not there, (there was never. Never. Never), the other, based wound, the other wind, fog and salt and breath
- Rest, yes, rest. Yes
Out now, it was time. Thunder and bursts of light. Strong wind. Havoc. The giant sea
a shady and restless shouted his anger.
Nobody around. Just water. That does not wash at all. It was not enough to wash anything. Nothing.
Monday, February 14, 2011
Tramp Is Miniature Schnauzer
RAONIC, NEW PAIR AND THE WIND. AND THE USUAL TRAMONTANA SODERLING
Raonic and Almagro, sounding two blasts . God is my witness. And even some writing. Milos Raonic great revelation of 2011. Along with the pleasant "low crotch" Ricardas Berankis by magic hand, and for lovers of disasters spineless, even at that Benoit Paire above. Milos, a giant Canadian Slavic origin, with the beardless face and chubby schoolboy from a good family Harvard University, send all to the mat, winning his first ATP tournament in San Jose. Service works is that if stem only from the superhero "kiavik, exploded and hit the rebound, as well as good things to the network. Beat in two sets grouse Verdasco, with lowered crest and more "like a Tabasko Verdasco (corrected to xamamina). I'd also played my imaginary house, on that two sets to zero. The girl hit and character, and I hear him speak.
Nell'atp Brazilian SUIP Costa do however, manage to have a great final between two top 15 authentic Nicols Almagro and Alexander Dolgopolov . At the end wins the Iberian. Arrogance essence stinging rain and buffeted. Struts atrocities behavioral and white cherub apology from his opponent with hand raised. But when I do win bets, is much more tolerable. Well also Dolgopolov (maybe it was better to see him playing in other tournaments on the fast), and that, hence the throw burning permanently, will do the Masters in London. If you said to Bolelli and Seppi, and are still on the loose ...
WTA number one with tumble Clijsters, Hantuchova he sees himself. The WTA lived on spasmodic (yes, as a rally to Rutelli and tobacco) pending Kim Clijsters new number one. Designated as such even by computer. And for once, not the usual gimmick to mislead. Target reached easily from the mother Dutch premiere in Paris. But celebrated with the unexpected defeat in the final at the hands of Petra Kvitova . Member of czech tennis tradition always generous, year to date on the levels of the best. Ottoman service and constant pounding left-handed, with that made off the student suffers from a physical Juno. It takes a little short.
Italian on the shields in the WTA Pattaya City. Our second line, Sara Errani and Roberta Vinci , facing one of the semifinals. It causes great sadness to see the wonderful slice of elegant solutions Robertina, go against the unwatchable tractor revving screaming Errani (commendable, for the love of Buddha). But that's life. The tracagnotta Bologna with his arms by dockers, pulling two winners throughout the tournament (four in preseason), reached the final. Then collects the lupins and two games in the finals, dominated by a newfound Daniela Hantuchova . Good return of the Slovak gazelle always nice and flat geometric evolutions. Between high, low and angry bickering with the scale, there is more than a decade. Perhaps for that, instead of his 42 years shows 27. 
"Psycho Killer" Divella windmills . Without prodigious Ride of the Valkyries or inspired by the best symphonies of Mahler, the tennis season is in that phase of sleepy tired before important meetings. In this arrembante waltz for people looking for location, beautiful space it carves out its Robin Soderling. A sound of ignorant Sleeveless rudimentary. But this is history. The psychotic lumberjacks of Tundra, repeating the success of last season in Rotterdam, proving worthy of the peaks reached. Not only serial killer impromptu trance of the most powerful, capable of genuine virulence Divella with rude and blind ambitions of the favorites in the romantic Parisian proscenium, but also disturbed and constant bounty hunter tournament "minor."
Robin and convincing wins in the Netherlands. Tournament, as witnessed by the names of past winners in the gallery, has a good tradition. A good win in the final against Jo-Wilfried Tsonga . Match only partially retains the expectations of battle violently beautiful. The Swede check the correctness of the September 3 "Cassius Jo, fragile clay giant, which also could technically do a lot more of the rough opponent, is stranded at the distance wistfully. Incapable of that, almost unique in the human world, skills in combining shots medieval scimitar fluettanti stored in foil. Continues to be torn, as a one-off intermittent rumbling from the engine drowned out by traffic on city streets. Maybe not the courts, on his way. Maybe. What is certain is that the poor fool, nihilistically increasingly delusional, struck in 2008 to point to predict the victory of a slam by 2012 (enrollment penalty the circles of freedom together with the bilingual Nicole Minetti and a passionate kiss in the moonlight to Cicchitto), it is increasingly resigned. And that is languid kiss Cicchitto. Of leprosy is contagious dies. If so, take a previously secular in my honor. Even watching a match old McEnroe will alleviate the sufferings of my deceased.
Returning to the sauce, if anything, there were triumphs "Psycho Killer" Soderling. Great club, even a semblance of moderation tactics, between blind rage and extreme myopia. And the proverbial "fists", complete with a pleased look to his corner, tightening the lip like a child who is pleased that he stole the jam. Coach Pistolesi (seemed to me thin 2 ounces of good), all constipated, holds barely contentment. Some had to tell him. In the past few months from being considered inappropriate to forge the amazing qualities of a delicious Italian by ectoplasm top 50 at most (Bolelli) to train a thoroughbred top 5. Italian flair. Robin seems to have acquired even a moderate mental maturity, and balance over the senseless murder of the fund. The tournament, more than in the final or the semifinals, where he mastered in the safety of frogs croak in the brain of Misha Youzhny, he won the second round. That 's where unlined lion character and courage in canceling a match point to Philipp Kohlschreiber in the decisive tie-break.
Robin and convincing wins in the Netherlands. Tournament, as witnessed by the names of past winners in the gallery, has a good tradition. A good win in the final against Jo-Wilfried Tsonga . Match only partially retains the expectations of battle violently beautiful. The Swede check the correctness of the September 3 "Cassius Jo, fragile clay giant, which also could technically do a lot more of the rough opponent, is stranded at the distance wistfully. Incapable of that, almost unique in the human world, skills in combining shots medieval scimitar fluettanti stored in foil. Continues to be torn, as a one-off intermittent rumbling from the engine drowned out by traffic on city streets. Maybe not the courts, on his way. Maybe. What is certain is that the poor fool, nihilistically increasingly delusional, struck in 2008 to point to predict the victory of a slam by 2012 (enrollment penalty the circles of freedom together with the bilingual Nicole Minetti and a passionate kiss in the moonlight to Cicchitto), it is increasingly resigned. And that is languid kiss Cicchitto. Of leprosy is contagious dies. If so, take a previously secular in my honor. Even watching a match old McEnroe will alleviate the sufferings of my deceased.
Returning to the sauce, if anything, there were triumphs "Psycho Killer" Soderling. Great club, even a semblance of moderation tactics, between blind rage and extreme myopia. And the proverbial "fists", complete with a pleased look to his corner, tightening the lip like a child who is pleased that he stole the jam. Coach Pistolesi (seemed to me thin 2 ounces of good), all constipated, holds barely contentment. Some had to tell him. In the past few months from being considered inappropriate to forge the amazing qualities of a delicious Italian by ectoplasm top 50 at most (Bolelli) to train a thoroughbred top 5. Italian flair. Robin seems to have acquired even a moderate mental maturity, and balance over the senseless murder of the fund. The tournament, more than in the final or the semifinals, where he mastered in the safety of frogs croak in the brain of Misha Youzhny, he won the second round. That 's where unlined lion character and courage in canceling a match point to Philipp Kohlschreiber in the decisive tie-break.
acrobatic feats from home for unbalanced seals. Yes, you heard right, Philipp "Kolhi" Kohlschreiber . And here the conversation slips inexorably toward my beloved trained seals, suffering from dystonia neurocerebral. German, arrembante agonist as even a chinchilla in the season of copulation (or as I learned, for wild fields Berghem de haut) gives a performance sanding. Usually it has three per season. We are the one played in Rotterdam. Doth sumptuous shots, some captivating and descents garrulous net with volleys lying softly. Always with that face a bit 'so, who does not know whether to buy at the supermarket radishes or wild chicory. Eyes dull, sleeping and surreal look hairstyle with vague hints of banana, a corollary of an adorable picture of Baroque dying. But how not to mention the other of Germany Philipp. Philipp "Picasso" Petzschner . Darting and ready to fight. He that in this early season has to defend the two semi-finals of last year and threatens to plunge more than 170 of the position rankings. Forever. Motivated, then, and spring loaded. Lost in qualifying, falling against the Russian robocop Dimitry Tursunov. Fished as a "lucky looser" after the resignation of Ernests Gulbis (everyone has a little bit of illogic disarming), also enters into the board. Picasso, "lucky loser". What involuntary trembling words can better describe the essence of man. He honors the hand of Lady Luck be overwhelmed by the knotty Dutch De Bakker, 6-1 in the third. Not before winning the second 6-0. The Picassi settle for what is known. Then along with the trust appears circus Medrano ( Jurgen Melzer ) illuminates the front of the stage with acrobatic circus knitting. The dual is true, and only, way of Picasso. Repeat bad, but I said it in time no suspects.
noisy appearance in Rotterdam for a new and playful adept, now almost a regular customer: Benoit Paire . Skip the qualifiers and beating none other than Gilles Simon. Just look at a few shots to see that victory was never the most technically justified. And even religiously. Then lost to Ljubicic. Benoit is a stray Gattaccia, hopelessly devoted to defeat amazing. Or the most unexpected victory. North wind blows and winning huge sleeping, languid damped double faults and repeat. A Baroque building burned down by aliens. Just look at a point, and understand all of the brilliant bohemian French. The other serves for the match. Makes a drop shot, not really short and here is the trans action hero. Two sleepy cat leaps forward detachment in suspension and left scroll ball hit with racket between his legs. The other takes over and closes the field unprotected. And wins.
noisy appearance in Rotterdam for a new and playful adept, now almost a regular customer: Benoit Paire . Skip the qualifiers and beating none other than Gilles Simon. Just look at a few shots to see that victory was never the most technically justified. And even religiously. Then lost to Ljubicic. Benoit is a stray Gattaccia, hopelessly devoted to defeat amazing. Or the most unexpected victory. North wind blows and winning huge sleeping, languid damped double faults and repeat. A Baroque building burned down by aliens. Just look at a point, and understand all of the brilliant bohemian French. The other serves for the match. Makes a drop shot, not really short and here is the trans action hero. Two sleepy cat leaps forward detachment in suspension and left scroll ball hit with racket between his legs. The other takes over and closes the field unprotected. And wins.
Raonic and Almagro, sounding two blasts . God is my witness. And even some writing. Milos Raonic great revelation of 2011. Along with the pleasant "low crotch" Ricardas Berankis by magic hand, and for lovers of disasters spineless, even at that Benoit Paire above. Milos, a giant Canadian Slavic origin, with the beardless face and chubby schoolboy from a good family Harvard University, send all to the mat, winning his first ATP tournament in San Jose. Service works is that if stem only from the superhero "kiavik, exploded and hit the rebound, as well as good things to the network. Beat in two sets grouse Verdasco, with lowered crest and more "like a Tabasko Verdasco (corrected to xamamina). I'd also played my imaginary house, on that two sets to zero. The girl hit and character, and I hear him speak.
Nell'atp Brazilian SUIP Costa do however, manage to have a great final between two top 15 authentic Nicols Almagro and Alexander Dolgopolov . At the end wins the Iberian. Arrogance essence stinging rain and buffeted. Struts atrocities behavioral and white cherub apology from his opponent with hand raised. But when I do win bets, is much more tolerable. Well also Dolgopolov (maybe it was better to see him playing in other tournaments on the fast), and that, hence the throw burning permanently, will do the Masters in London. If you said to Bolelli and Seppi, and are still on the loose ...
WTA number one with tumble Clijsters, Hantuchova he sees himself. The WTA lived on spasmodic (yes, as a rally to Rutelli and tobacco) pending Kim Clijsters new number one. Designated as such even by computer. And for once, not the usual gimmick to mislead. Target reached easily from the mother Dutch premiere in Paris. But celebrated with the unexpected defeat in the final at the hands of Petra Kvitova . Member of czech tennis tradition always generous, year to date on the levels of the best. Ottoman service and constant pounding left-handed, with that made off the student suffers from a physical Juno. It takes a little short.
Italian on the shields in the WTA Pattaya City. Our second line, Sara Errani and Roberta Vinci , facing one of the semifinals. It causes great sadness to see the wonderful slice of elegant solutions Robertina, go against the unwatchable tractor revving screaming Errani (commendable, for the love of Buddha). But that's life. The tracagnotta Bologna with his arms by dockers, pulling two winners throughout the tournament (four in preseason), reached the final. Then collects the lupins and two games in the finals, dominated by a newfound Daniela Hantuchova . Good return of the Slovak gazelle always nice and flat geometric evolutions. Between high, low and angry bickering with the scale, there is more than a decade. Perhaps for that, instead of his 42 years shows 27.
Wednesday, February 9, 2011
Mount & Blade Build A Fort
SGRULLO pee (Bettors are born)
Starring: Me ("PEE") and my (now) only friend (call him affectionately "Sgrullo of").
Dialogue (I think) intercepted by the narcotics and vice squad in joint action.
S . Scommessina?
P . But of course (with lots of expression devoured by greed).
brief huddle on the uselessness of football betting. Policy compelling: The cunt of Fig. The twins De Vivo. Ruby heartthrob. Noemi. Sara Tommasi and all of apparatao zoccolame around the rotten miserable ravings of a mentally ill person who governs a country, making us the laughingstock of the third / fourth world. "Sgrullo of" is an anarchist sminchiato, feebly sympathizer Beppe Grillo. But agrees with me (maybe to please) the usefulness of a peaceful demonstration. Hang in the square. All naked and with the meat hanging limp in the wind. Exposed to non-violent public ridicule of the nations, which in turn wilted Nerbini their pudenda and spit on those hideous faces Lombroso.
Then it's back to serious things. The bet.
P . I put Seppi 2-0 (1.66. Ok we lost to Gstaad, but want to leave a set in his kingdom Maffert Bergamo?) Berdych 2-0 (2.10, I figured, I stretched mercilessly that Garcia Lopez) and 2-1 Paire (quoted at 12.00. It 's one of those things that you feel in your skin. I really believe that the French win. Paire is one that has no awe of anybody. It could beat Nadal and lose in listless ease by or against Vassallo Arguello a fisherman sighted in Antigua.).
(15 €, winning about 620.00. Very good.)
S . seeeeee
P . Look, I understand it to court (a insolence of heavy wire impermalosito from "Sgrullo." One of tennis that can count only a dog, Camporese, Forget and Jaime Yzaga). Even football, I mean. So much so that I could begin to cheer on the team, what's his name ... the intfssshs ...
S . (Laughs, but does not include)
P . I play, if you do not want to risk a two out of three recoveries and the bet, no?
S . No, the limit point only 5 € and the other I leave them for another ...
P . Do what you think.
S . (Stresses) Yeah ... it is difficult to get them dry with the set betting is impossible! Limit them to play without a set betting now I see what comes.
P . All right, upstream. Do it myself.
Two steps into the car. I think Hitler was democratically elected by the German people at risk of hitting 180km / h an old man who was traveling at a crawl on her pretty lambretta of 1912. Lele Mora imagine lying on a sofa, surrounded by half-naked maidens squittenti also ready to sell virginity headset smiling and panting muscular decerebration the throne of "men and women" as a mirage of life. And I bet more than infallible. Heck, if (as usual) I want to win € 15/20, at which point I would make a bet on the faint-hearted: Robredo (you want the re-match Fognini can win? His triumph is already good to insult him. To the delight of many and spetazzi neurocerebral phenomenal supporters, who with a brilliant rush chilling call it "sewer"). There would be the ultra-reliable, in the early rounds, Nishi and Vinci . Rely on in the brain of locusts screaming Misha Youzhny . Not to mention the double Errani / Vinci (do not lose against people weaker than them since 1957, I believe). Or, if you want to dream, the couple who will be declared a UNESCO short: Kimiko Date / Romina Sarina Oprandi . The little samurai and plump dove mountain.
At home, at 20.35. Napoleon (the cat) was ingroppando a pillow, fell in love with the little eye. Still excited, I took the neck and sent into the garden.
"Shoo! Go away eecchione, Get a life! Found a cat or I'll castrate without anesthesia Giggi from the butcher. " I heard someone laughing. Maybe my neighbor (very ugly. It looks like a young Jamie Lee Curtis, but with no boobs. Basically a useless thing for the common sentiment. And soon by ministerial decree.). Napoleon has run started slowly and unsteadily, towards the world. Must overcome shyness otherwise never fuck, that. It's not like Satan, who became pregnant for the feline half the town. Five years from stallion. It was my father's pride, Satan. I
of philosophizing reflections: This cat does not look like the tireless pipatore our Sultan. Should I speak to in order to find Lele Mora a cat that does so many problems?
still trying to think of giving birth and ancestral ruminations. On TV there
mouthpiece which is aimed at a blonde troiame freedoms without any shame:
"But you just can not get angry? He fails, eh? And vabbeh.. "
Behold, I now I would vote Bocchino. It 's the sign that I'm crazy, or that this country is sick.
But meanwhile it is too late to play and I knew Berdych. Match started which of course will end up 2-0.
me a little consternation.
today. Lunch. Un'insalatona eat, sad as the face of Juan Chela Ignatio that standing up with the copula Prestigiacomo. Willing to stake at least 2-1 the young man transalpine 12.00. But the match has already begun. Nasty that Minetti (replaced the sense "bitch" on Zanichelli). Sul (prevedibilissimo) set equal, I decide to place it at 6.00. I lodge, and a trembling green screen appears to indicate: site unreachable. Despite a Tremonti. Of intelligence, counterintelligence, or whomever. Forget it, eat a steaming coffee em'avvio the place of alienation. Without thinking about how it will end.
recent history. I see the result.
Paire Benoit-Gilles Simon 6-2 2-6 6-3.
SMS sent to "sgrullo of"
P . Played then?
S . No, the game tonight on Wednesday there are a lot of football games.
P . Ah, the good jerk. But you know that you are really idiot, yes? Just got back from here we go around, doing & Foolish Foolish. We deserve Berlusconi, Bossi and La Russa, and troiame. I'll tell you. What else is worth two people like that?
S . Are you okay?
P . Normal.
me no more answered. And then I pointed out in another message:
Good. However, the next time I feel to bet, I remember that sodomizing a hen. I mean a real chicken, not those who live all'olgettina (also done rhyming couplets).
Dialogue (I think) intercepted by the narcotics and vice squad in joint action.
S . Scommessina?
P . But of course (with lots of expression devoured by greed).
brief huddle on the uselessness of football betting. Policy compelling: The cunt of Fig. The twins De Vivo. Ruby heartthrob. Noemi. Sara Tommasi and all of apparatao zoccolame around the rotten miserable ravings of a mentally ill person who governs a country, making us the laughingstock of the third / fourth world. "Sgrullo of" is an anarchist sminchiato, feebly sympathizer Beppe Grillo. But agrees with me (maybe to please) the usefulness of a peaceful demonstration. Hang in the square. All naked and with the meat hanging limp in the wind. Exposed to non-violent public ridicule of the nations, which in turn wilted Nerbini their pudenda and spit on those hideous faces Lombroso.
Then it's back to serious things. The bet.
P . I put Seppi 2-0 (1.66. Ok we lost to Gstaad, but want to leave a set in his kingdom Maffert Bergamo?) Berdych 2-0 (2.10, I figured, I stretched mercilessly that Garcia Lopez) and 2-1 Paire (quoted at 12.00. It 's one of those things that you feel in your skin. I really believe that the French win. Paire is one that has no awe of anybody. It could beat Nadal and lose in listless ease by or against Vassallo Arguello a fisherman sighted in Antigua.).
(15 €, winning about 620.00. Very good.)
S . seeeeee
P . Look, I understand it to court (a insolence of heavy wire impermalosito from "Sgrullo." One of tennis that can count only a dog, Camporese, Forget and Jaime Yzaga). Even football, I mean. So much so that I could begin to cheer on the team, what's his name ... the intfssshs ...
S . (Laughs, but does not include)
P . I play, if you do not want to risk a two out of three recoveries and the bet, no?
S . No, the limit point only 5 € and the other I leave them for another ...
P . Do what you think.
S . (Stresses) Yeah ... it is difficult to get them dry with the set betting is impossible! Limit them to play without a set betting now I see what comes.
P . All right, upstream. Do it myself.
Two steps into the car. I think Hitler was democratically elected by the German people at risk of hitting 180km / h an old man who was traveling at a crawl on her pretty lambretta of 1912. Lele Mora imagine lying on a sofa, surrounded by half-naked maidens squittenti also ready to sell virginity headset smiling and panting muscular decerebration the throne of "men and women" as a mirage of life. And I bet more than infallible. Heck, if (as usual) I want to win € 15/20, at which point I would make a bet on the faint-hearted: Robredo (you want the re-match Fognini can win? His triumph is already good to insult him. To the delight of many and spetazzi neurocerebral phenomenal supporters, who with a brilliant rush chilling call it "sewer"). There would be the ultra-reliable, in the early rounds, Nishi and Vinci . Rely on in the brain of locusts screaming Misha Youzhny . Not to mention the double Errani / Vinci (do not lose against people weaker than them since 1957, I believe). Or, if you want to dream, the couple who will be declared a UNESCO short: Kimiko Date / Romina Sarina Oprandi . The little samurai and plump dove mountain.
At home, at 20.35. Napoleon (the cat) was ingroppando a pillow, fell in love with the little eye. Still excited, I took the neck and sent into the garden.
"Shoo! Go away eecchione, Get a life! Found a cat or I'll castrate without anesthesia Giggi from the butcher. " I heard someone laughing. Maybe my neighbor (very ugly. It looks like a young Jamie Lee Curtis, but with no boobs. Basically a useless thing for the common sentiment. And soon by ministerial decree.). Napoleon has run started slowly and unsteadily, towards the world. Must overcome shyness otherwise never fuck, that. It's not like Satan, who became pregnant for the feline half the town. Five years from stallion. It was my father's pride, Satan. I
of philosophizing reflections: This cat does not look like the tireless pipatore our Sultan. Should I speak to in order to find Lele Mora a cat that does so many problems?
still trying to think of giving birth and ancestral ruminations. On TV there
mouthpiece which is aimed at a blonde troiame freedoms without any shame:
"But you just can not get angry? He fails, eh? And vabbeh.. "
Behold, I now I would vote Bocchino. It 's the sign that I'm crazy, or that this country is sick.
But meanwhile it is too late to play and I knew Berdych. Match started which of course will end up 2-0.
me a little consternation.
today. Lunch. Un'insalatona eat, sad as the face of Juan Chela Ignatio that standing up with the copula Prestigiacomo. Willing to stake at least 2-1 the young man transalpine 12.00. But the match has already begun. Nasty that Minetti (replaced the sense "bitch" on Zanichelli). Sul (prevedibilissimo) set equal, I decide to place it at 6.00. I lodge, and a trembling green screen appears to indicate: site unreachable. Despite a Tremonti. Of intelligence, counterintelligence, or whomever. Forget it, eat a steaming coffee em'avvio the place of alienation. Without thinking about how it will end.
recent history. I see the result.
Paire Benoit-Gilles Simon 6-2 2-6 6-3.
SMS sent to "sgrullo of"
P . Played then?
S . No, the game tonight on Wednesday there are a lot of football games.
P . Ah, the good jerk. But you know that you are really idiot, yes? Just got back from here we go around, doing & Foolish Foolish. We deserve Berlusconi, Bossi and La Russa, and troiame. I'll tell you. What else is worth two people like that?
S . Are you okay?
P . Normal.
me no more answered. And then I pointed out in another message:
Good. However, the next time I feel to bet, I remember that sodomizing a hen. I mean a real chicken, not those who live all'olgettina (also done rhyming couplets).
Monday, February 7, 2011
Wash Fleece With Warm Water Jacket
ITALTENNIS, joy and sorrow
Fognini and Starace, the final all blue (the play station route). And the usual pantomime by Italians abroad. I read a site of the mentally ill. Because it is obvious that those people have the wheels turning backwards. Mind you, not the articles (they only tolerate my goldfish dying in the bulb, when he needs to get hurt intellectual), but the comments. The comments are a hoot. Overwhelming comedy provided "free", would say "er fracico" (an intellectual end host). On Thursday two Italians in the quarterfinals here finals of the prestigious tournament in Santiago, Chile in the middle of the Andean cordillera, and between jovial songs of Intillimani, which lend a great inner peace and a desire to die a bloody death in the second round of six minutes. In short, a mediocre tournament. One of the many (perhaps too many) ad hoc media figure able to win some flash (think Kevin Anderson nodosa pole winner in Johannesburg and the cool snowman in this sapientino Dodig of Zagreb).
On Thursday two heroic Italians abroad come here to the quarter-finals (Starace and Fognini), Chile Scene jubilee among commentators / supporters "Italian". Things never seen before. Aided by the eve Nalbandian ('ZZO we going to do as a Nalbandian among graminivorous journeyman soil?) out in the second round, you could dream of. We already questioned the final all blue, the mental Minus Habens. Up to a par of years ago I would have enjoyed songs, acting. It was my second favorite sport. Not any more, because in them there is the tragedy of unawareness. They do not know, and even touches them the idea that as written before, the tournament is "ad hoc media figure able to win some flash." And ours are capable of lightning? One is a regular long-distance rider, who can not offer more than generous offer. The other, rather than give lightning, was struck by lightning. It 'obvious. Euforia
uncontrollable when the two fearless heroes calling the semifinals. The first rule of justice and with great craft, the left-handed Zeballos (Death of paunchy Nalba nap), the other wins the match more atrociously bad in the last 182 years against sport unwatchable Brazilian Bellucci. A torture. The tennis similar to a traffic light flashing in our plots to take precedence over the thresher and intermittent dementia obscene brasileiro. There may be.
history died of a pantomime Italic unseemly. Delirium among the stars unbalanced. Some also talk of Roland Garros Grand Slam 2012, Vilas, Connors, Borotra ... Then you get to the semifinals, and Starace can only surrender to Santiago Giraldo, spartan and primitive thug made in Colombia, after a good start and honorable defense. But it's another to get the headlines (almost black). Fognini if \u200b\u200bhe saw her with Tommy Robredo, and as is normal for the long suffering from the Iberian expert. The usual ups and downs that the Ligurian anaemozionale offers non-stop for lovers of anything surreally bad (it was funny, yet-still, one is passionate Bastian Knittel or Grimelmayer). Never seen such a sloth snooty, rude and oblivious to the days of John McEnroe. The dislike for excellence. We just want to be rude, arrogant and vulgar when your name is John McEnroe and you have a hand that could enchant and anesthetized with a bull Paturnie homicidal, thanks to a simple stop volley at Wimbledon's Centre Court. It should be great courage and fearlessness that borders on the absolute madness, if your name is Fabio Fognini, you did not win anything, you have a modest Talentino unwilling to play a top 50 and 250 in Santiago, Chile
short, things happen ever seen. The experienced and Iberian repellent is the decisive break at the beginning of the third set, thanks to an Italian shot off center. Sing as if he won the Roland Garros exhaling a urlaccio have also heard that the Native Americans in Arizona. Fognini looks at him and says, quote: "Fuck rejoice? That shit man .... " It might be enough, but (and here the doctrine and reels of wiretapping and lip reading, divide) seems to complete the sentence with a "tennis are strong, but you're a man ... shit." The other looks of disbelief on his face, as if to say, "Emme, I always do, they do almost everyone. He does Nadal in Paris, he is number one in the world and 'fair play award 2011', and I can not do it in Santiago? 'ZZO want little Italian bungabunga (seppiatelo, so call us now abroad, with a little compassion evil)? ". The only think, but a great gentleman does not say anything. The exultation of proportion and semi-intimidating opponent on an error, which is what gives a some discomfort to me. But after years of vague in the circuit or even the simple task to go clubbing, you get used to. You'll make a right. Think of your own, perhaps even charging them more to win the match and pull his face into a successful crossing. This would think a tennis player and a normal man. The Riviera, however, continues in a rutile joyful "man ... shit." Like a mantra, a biofeedback. And of course, loses. The Italian genius in the craft in question. Equally brilliant in moving from right to wrong with a disarming naturalness talented. In a process would be able to pass in the space of five minutes maximum, to be formed for plaintiffs to obtain compensation, to getting four life sentences with daytime isolation.
It is certainly not finished the story for submental beings. Lost the match, our claims even to shake hands with the opponent that, like any medium to be endowed with intellect, refuses indignantly, after explaining to the referee who has suffered unspeakable intolerance throughout September 3 The result is a near-brawl with our coming back in the proverbial speech insulting. And we come to the old story: Can an average man of sound mind, after insulting someone for the entire third set, go near him and love him with a gentle smile to shake hands for the correct decoubertiniana battle? Robredo earns 10 points in my personal card (but started from -110). Fabretti Jarmila can make me look like a sexy siren enchantress Groth. Fognini is able to make it look like a big funny guy Tommy Robredo, with the same talent Sampras. Torando with mental disorders, referred to debut article, is a stream of insults to the English wicked, guilty of having offended the sensibilities of our standard bearer completely right.
Italy, land of saints, sailors, tennis players and mediocre bunga bunga.
Fed Cup, pirates blue in Tasmania. One could expect some kind of addiction, mental fatigue almost monotonous in spending in this event. The first match of the Australia-Italy in comparison to Horbart scene, went in this direction. Do not expect truth. The only axioms that are provable: Schiavone commented by spotlights becomes more intolerable by the hospice piduista Primer Minzolini interviewed by (or for sale if you are for things less hard, but loving blowjob soft) and also under the spotlights of the demonic influences, the 'Australian Jarmila Groth, becomes divine muse flowing and floating, smiling, winking. Better than Jose Maria slicing with Kaia Kanepi and lascivious grace volleante sexier than Kate Moss in the act of removing a tight dress ripe peach, looking witch.
Power of Raitivvì.
The attitude of Francesca Schiavone, arrembante less than usual and almost resigned, suggests something quite simple: A woman who won a slam, it may not have the right motivation in addressing the team event (reduced to ranks and without great international prestige). If he has already won several times, feeling intuitively snerchiuta, will continue to grow. The Milanese Jarmila Groth transferred abruptly to debut in the match. Sore back, or maybe just wind villain crashing into an opponent can not provide rhythm and benchmarks, they put at risk the entire confrontation. The Australia that Italy has a great first singles player among the top 5 (Stosur), younger than ours. And a second singles player in high rise (Jarmila Groth) younger and with more potential to do harm to large levels of Flavia Pennetta. But also a double of experience, with the octogenarian Stubbs to leave international. Here is the match after the first defeat proved to be uphill. If you plan to travel also, even more so. Bravissimo
instead Pennetta (and almost heroic in excellent form) and a rudder to regain his senses Schiavone in the race to the event by showing that we take and how. Impeccable in resize crazy acceleration heroically misguided Stosur Jarmila and a version designed for Robocop after losing big battle.
On Thursday two heroic Italians abroad come here to the quarter-finals (Starace and Fognini), Chile Scene jubilee among commentators / supporters "Italian". Things never seen before. Aided by the eve Nalbandian ('ZZO we going to do as a Nalbandian among graminivorous journeyman soil?) out in the second round, you could dream of. We already questioned the final all blue, the mental Minus Habens. Up to a par of years ago I would have enjoyed songs, acting. It was my second favorite sport. Not any more, because in them there is the tragedy of unawareness. They do not know, and even touches them the idea that as written before, the tournament is "ad hoc media figure able to win some flash." And ours are capable of lightning? One is a regular long-distance rider, who can not offer more than generous offer. The other, rather than give lightning, was struck by lightning. It 'obvious. Euforia
uncontrollable when the two fearless heroes calling the semifinals. The first rule of justice and with great craft, the left-handed Zeballos (Death of paunchy Nalba nap), the other wins the match more atrociously bad in the last 182 years against sport unwatchable Brazilian Bellucci. A torture. The tennis similar to a traffic light flashing in our plots to take precedence over the thresher and intermittent dementia obscene brasileiro. There may be.
history died of a pantomime Italic unseemly. Delirium among the stars unbalanced. Some also talk of Roland Garros Grand Slam 2012, Vilas, Connors, Borotra ... Then you get to the semifinals, and Starace can only surrender to Santiago Giraldo, spartan and primitive thug made in Colombia, after a good start and honorable defense. But it's another to get the headlines (almost black). Fognini if \u200b\u200bhe saw her with Tommy Robredo, and as is normal for the long suffering from the Iberian expert. The usual ups and downs that the Ligurian anaemozionale offers non-stop for lovers of anything surreally bad (it was funny, yet-still, one is passionate Bastian Knittel or Grimelmayer). Never seen such a sloth snooty, rude and oblivious to the days of John McEnroe. The dislike for excellence. We just want to be rude, arrogant and vulgar when your name is John McEnroe and you have a hand that could enchant and anesthetized with a bull Paturnie homicidal, thanks to a simple stop volley at Wimbledon's Centre Court. It should be great courage and fearlessness that borders on the absolute madness, if your name is Fabio Fognini, you did not win anything, you have a modest Talentino unwilling to play a top 50 and 250 in Santiago, Chile
short, things happen ever seen. The experienced and Iberian repellent is the decisive break at the beginning of the third set, thanks to an Italian shot off center. Sing as if he won the Roland Garros exhaling a urlaccio have also heard that the Native Americans in Arizona. Fognini looks at him and says, quote: "Fuck rejoice? That shit man .... " It might be enough, but (and here the doctrine and reels of wiretapping and lip reading, divide) seems to complete the sentence with a "tennis are strong, but you're a man ... shit." The other looks of disbelief on his face, as if to say, "Emme, I always do, they do almost everyone. He does Nadal in Paris, he is number one in the world and 'fair play award 2011', and I can not do it in Santiago? 'ZZO want little Italian bungabunga (seppiatelo, so call us now abroad, with a little compassion evil)? ". The only think, but a great gentleman does not say anything. The exultation of proportion and semi-intimidating opponent on an error, which is what gives a some discomfort to me. But after years of vague in the circuit or even the simple task to go clubbing, you get used to. You'll make a right. Think of your own, perhaps even charging them more to win the match and pull his face into a successful crossing. This would think a tennis player and a normal man. The Riviera, however, continues in a rutile joyful "man ... shit." Like a mantra, a biofeedback. And of course, loses. The Italian genius in the craft in question. Equally brilliant in moving from right to wrong with a disarming naturalness talented. In a process would be able to pass in the space of five minutes maximum, to be formed for plaintiffs to obtain compensation, to getting four life sentences with daytime isolation.
It is certainly not finished the story for submental beings. Lost the match, our claims even to shake hands with the opponent that, like any medium to be endowed with intellect, refuses indignantly, after explaining to the referee who has suffered unspeakable intolerance throughout September 3 The result is a near-brawl with our coming back in the proverbial speech insulting. And we come to the old story: Can an average man of sound mind, after insulting someone for the entire third set, go near him and love him with a gentle smile to shake hands for the correct decoubertiniana battle? Robredo earns 10 points in my personal card (but started from -110). Fabretti Jarmila can make me look like a sexy siren enchantress Groth. Fognini is able to make it look like a big funny guy Tommy Robredo, with the same talent Sampras. Torando with mental disorders, referred to debut article, is a stream of insults to the English wicked, guilty of having offended the sensibilities of our standard bearer completely right.
Italy, land of saints, sailors, tennis players and mediocre bunga bunga.
Fed Cup, pirates blue in Tasmania. One could expect some kind of addiction, mental fatigue almost monotonous in spending in this event. The first match of the Australia-Italy in comparison to Horbart scene, went in this direction. Do not expect truth. The only axioms that are provable: Schiavone commented by spotlights becomes more intolerable by the hospice piduista Primer Minzolini interviewed by (or for sale if you are for things less hard, but loving blowjob soft) and also under the spotlights of the demonic influences, the 'Australian Jarmila Groth, becomes divine muse flowing and floating, smiling, winking. Better than Jose Maria slicing with Kaia Kanepi and lascivious grace volleante sexier than Kate Moss in the act of removing a tight dress ripe peach, looking witch.
Power of Raitivvì.
The attitude of Francesca Schiavone, arrembante less than usual and almost resigned, suggests something quite simple: A woman who won a slam, it may not have the right motivation in addressing the team event (reduced to ranks and without great international prestige). If he has already won several times, feeling intuitively snerchiuta, will continue to grow. The Milanese Jarmila Groth transferred abruptly to debut in the match. Sore back, or maybe just wind villain crashing into an opponent can not provide rhythm and benchmarks, they put at risk the entire confrontation. The Australia that Italy has a great first singles player among the top 5 (Stosur), younger than ours. And a second singles player in high rise (Jarmila Groth) younger and with more potential to do harm to large levels of Flavia Pennetta. But also a double of experience, with the octogenarian Stubbs to leave international. Here is the match after the first defeat proved to be uphill. If you plan to travel also, even more so. Bravissimo
instead Pennetta (and almost heroic in excellent form) and a rudder to regain his senses Schiavone in the race to the event by showing that we take and how. Impeccable in resize crazy acceleration heroically misguided Stosur Jarmila and a version designed for Robocop after losing big battle.
Saturday, February 5, 2011
Repairing Leather Seam
FED CUP 2011 - Jarmila BUM-BUM frighten ITALY
One tries also, for being Italian. Come home when it is still far from bleak dawns in the plains, with tired legs and minds made darting from four Tennent's. Seeks to strengthen the spirit of swallowing one's throat just now Lagavullin melancholy to drain. Australia-Italy's Federations Cup, held in pleasant places foreigners, in the middle of Tasmania. I mean. One has to cheer "The Striptease our beautiful". What the heck. Something to be proud of their country, after a day in which a deranged former patient satyriasis his face and fake smile drawn in the proverbial concrete, there was humiliated once again in Brussels. By its very presence and awkward phrases incensanti mad dictator Mubarak. Viewed as a poor madman by all EU members, to cause a certain limit giggle. Italy has called. Fortified armor from alcohol, I can not fail this time the supreme aim. It's not in my discography, otherwise I would put that piece of moving Toto Cutugno (the real Italian, for instance). Fallback on a photo of La Russa to give me courage. The match begins. There's Francesca Schiavone. Commented by Fabretti.
begin to be uneasy, in my imaginary flag.
screaming like a monkey marsupial blending strokes, Milan. Jumps with his overflowing load of feminine charm, exuding sympathy from every pore. The commentator does not take. E 'in the excited its ugly and verbose elegy of our tennis players. One who does not know life could be led to believe that this beast screams trivial gauge exhaling and balls grind it, is much stronger than Martina Navratilova and Billie Jean King put together. Or even to Maria Jose Martinez Sanchez, who left our heroine two games of human compassion in that of Rome. Do not know mica Jarmila Groth, the adenoid gigioneggiante commentator. He does not know who he is. Ask Van Peteghem, Chiappucci and Petacchi. And I will say something sensible, perhaps.
Remove the flag imagery, and seeking the Lexotan.
Finished. In the midst of that horror
partisan ecstatically describing feminine gesture to embarrass Pappalardo with the jugular swells, there is the charming Jarmila. Slovak girl by birth, Australian by adoption, which suddenly becomes ancestral muse. Bella, a languid feminine polite, calm and even good. Delicious, Jarmila. Throw everything possible, and always, in his mad plan in advance. Darts and arrows. Forehand and backhand especially Biman shot footage of his prince and carried with great ease atypical. She also played with that little girl from the left. Stubborn and idealistic, I like even more. Cede, however, in the delicate and decisive climax at the end of the first set and the beginning of the second. He has a moment of failure discouraged, while calmly or indulge in acts of masculine or repellency snuffed repugnant. The Maramaldo Italiot continues in a frenzied soliloquy flag. A growing hoarse from Rossini to creepy. Of course, when the vile prey seems foreign in the bag (7-6 2-0 40-15) we get the usual mockery of the adversary already won. It solace of taste. "Haha ... more drittaccio that goes ...". The poor wretch Australian misses an easy shot at an open field, and the cabin: "This is the footage shot of the girl, Rita eh? ... Heheh.
ultras have become an Australian. The hominid
in the background would be able to make an anti-Italian La Russa also intent, with expression reassuring to sing the national anthem loudly.
practices have already cooked and buttered pan in the kangaroo. But that has nine lives. The change observed during the camp, in scoring, at home, in a Fed Cup match and dissertations amiably with the captain, indulging in a few provocative smile. There is good in the WTA, in the end. On the strength of quiet charm with resumes sciorinare wild blows and sharp advance and backbeat. Hits like graniuole and on services. From Italy the people think, do not say it but the hint: "They should ban to pull over 190 km / h, otherwise ... eh Francy like it?". also drunk as a sheet tired, and I see a reality all too evident: Schiavone is destabilized by a court so atypical. It has no reference points. Bewildered, unable to take pace. Much less to prevent the other continues to pull mine. The singer feels the danger italics. And here's yet another must for indecent partisanship, even as a short-sighted Ultra curve. Milan is desperate to recover the lemme-lemme out of line, two-hour, under the chair umpire. And he, in his comfortable armchair, in Italy: "It was good! This was good! It also raises Barazzutti (implied: and if she gets Barazzutti so 'cocks!). The merciless replay shows the ball two feet off good. "Maybe we're part of ...", it mocks the unfortunate Rita Grande, in a burst of professional decency (she's not a journalist). "Oh but you know, on this ball ... I was undecided." Chiosa hero. Drunkenness fatal Fabretti guess now I knew coach. The image is beautiful. Then a macaque monkey that screams (almost) as Schiavone, joyful fluttering from branch to branch in the rainforest. Invitation to
comic, Jarmila flies like a devil placid. Tasks and feminine. Closes the second, run in the third. The narrators cling to the cabal at all possible. La Grande is disconsolate. "I see her off, Francesca. Not even a handful, not even shouting 'go' .... " As usual, she was overcome by exhaustion and fatigue dall'insipienza.
now arrived at the debased contempt of flag. Between gasps
strokes of blue and spineless comments sick, I'm afraid I do get to contempt. Could quietly. It is not tennis, is a chronicle of a plaintive calf (male) complaining that while they're cutting the throat. Do something. Where's tennis? The elegant white feats of aesthetic snobbery? E 'instead of the death of aesthetics, this. Ammazzamento a night time And then the night m'impippa no longer a pipe that will be able to hit in top and back, and chop in uderspin and overbackspin and a gazebo and Vattelapesca within the same exchange.
The aussie is running at high speed. Exchange and hard (for once) long, which ends with a delirious and Jarmila release damped in controbalzo. Fantastic shot and difficulty out of 10 100. Imagine if you notice it. Think of the case. You want a comment on a busy race cyclists in the Val di Susa, knows that the Australian was punished by his (sick) after each of several damped coach who used to shoot? Nothing. Not even a quick downpour of rain slows the travel of the kangaroo, which closes: 6-7 6-3 6-3. Then we think
Pennetta to balance the fate beating Samantha Stosur. But I slept soundly. And who knows what other gems will fly imperishable.
begin to be uneasy, in my imaginary flag.
screaming like a monkey marsupial blending strokes, Milan. Jumps with his overflowing load of feminine charm, exuding sympathy from every pore. The commentator does not take. E 'in the excited its ugly and verbose elegy of our tennis players. One who does not know life could be led to believe that this beast screams trivial gauge exhaling and balls grind it, is much stronger than Martina Navratilova and Billie Jean King put together. Or even to Maria Jose Martinez Sanchez, who left our heroine two games of human compassion in that of Rome. Do not know mica Jarmila Groth, the adenoid gigioneggiante commentator. He does not know who he is. Ask Van Peteghem, Chiappucci and Petacchi. And I will say something sensible, perhaps.
Remove the flag imagery, and seeking the Lexotan.
Finished. In the midst of that horror
partisan ecstatically describing feminine gesture to embarrass Pappalardo with the jugular swells, there is the charming Jarmila. Slovak girl by birth, Australian by adoption, which suddenly becomes ancestral muse. Bella, a languid feminine polite, calm and even good. Delicious, Jarmila. Throw everything possible, and always, in his mad plan in advance. Darts and arrows. Forehand and backhand especially Biman shot footage of his prince and carried with great ease atypical. She also played with that little girl from the left. Stubborn and idealistic, I like even more. Cede, however, in the delicate and decisive climax at the end of the first set and the beginning of the second. He has a moment of failure discouraged, while calmly or indulge in acts of masculine or repellency snuffed repugnant. The Maramaldo Italiot continues in a frenzied soliloquy flag. A growing hoarse from Rossini to creepy. Of course, when the vile prey seems foreign in the bag (7-6 2-0 40-15) we get the usual mockery of the adversary already won. It solace of taste. "Haha ... more drittaccio that goes ...". The poor wretch Australian misses an easy shot at an open field, and the cabin: "This is the footage shot of the girl, Rita eh? ... Heheh.
ultras have become an Australian. The hominid
in the background would be able to make an anti-Italian La Russa also intent, with expression reassuring to sing the national anthem loudly.
practices have already cooked and buttered pan in the kangaroo. But that has nine lives. The change observed during the camp, in scoring, at home, in a Fed Cup match and dissertations amiably with the captain, indulging in a few provocative smile. There is good in the WTA, in the end. On the strength of quiet charm with resumes sciorinare wild blows and sharp advance and backbeat. Hits like graniuole and on services. From Italy the people think, do not say it but the hint: "They should ban to pull over 190 km / h, otherwise ... eh Francy like it?". also drunk as a sheet tired, and I see a reality all too evident: Schiavone is destabilized by a court so atypical. It has no reference points. Bewildered, unable to take pace. Much less to prevent the other continues to pull mine. The singer feels the danger italics. And here's yet another must for indecent partisanship, even as a short-sighted Ultra curve. Milan is desperate to recover the lemme-lemme out of line, two-hour, under the chair umpire. And he, in his comfortable armchair, in Italy: "It was good! This was good! It also raises Barazzutti (implied: and if she gets Barazzutti so 'cocks!). The merciless replay shows the ball two feet off good. "Maybe we're part of ...", it mocks the unfortunate Rita Grande, in a burst of professional decency (she's not a journalist). "Oh but you know, on this ball ... I was undecided." Chiosa hero. Drunkenness fatal Fabretti guess now I knew coach. The image is beautiful. Then a macaque monkey that screams (almost) as Schiavone, joyful fluttering from branch to branch in the rainforest. Invitation to
comic, Jarmila flies like a devil placid. Tasks and feminine. Closes the second, run in the third. The narrators cling to the cabal at all possible. La Grande is disconsolate. "I see her off, Francesca. Not even a handful, not even shouting 'go' .... " As usual, she was overcome by exhaustion and fatigue dall'insipienza.
now arrived at the debased contempt of flag. Between gasps
strokes of blue and spineless comments sick, I'm afraid I do get to contempt. Could quietly. It is not tennis, is a chronicle of a plaintive calf (male) complaining that while they're cutting the throat. Do something. Where's tennis? The elegant white feats of aesthetic snobbery? E 'instead of the death of aesthetics, this. Ammazzamento a night time And then the night m'impippa no longer a pipe that will be able to hit in top and back, and chop in uderspin and overbackspin and a gazebo and Vattelapesca within the same exchange.
The aussie is running at high speed. Exchange and hard (for once) long, which ends with a delirious and Jarmila release damped in controbalzo. Fantastic shot and difficulty out of 10 100. Imagine if you notice it. Think of the case. You want a comment on a busy race cyclists in the Val di Susa, knows that the Australian was punished by his (sick) after each of several damped coach who used to shoot? Nothing. Not even a quick downpour of rain slows the travel of the kangaroo, which closes: 6-7 6-3 6-3. Then we think
Pennetta to balance the fate beating Samantha Stosur. But I slept soundly. And who knows what other gems will fly imperishable.
I would come to contempt.
Thursday, February 3, 2011
Gameshark Infinite Rare Candy Pokemon Ruby
Light
(photo by Garima)
What a feeling of slight madness ...
What a feeling of slight madness ...
We find ourselves increasingly in recent years like crazy on a ship of fools, as ecstatic, elated and unconscious in front of all what happens.
Increasingly, this ecstasy of consciousness envelops us and puts us in a catatonic state of resignation. "That is why it should be."
mind you, this is not known to show events and more crimes and we keep hearing about or Sparla. Does not indicate here the important events and happenings that bring us disastrous vortex sea change. We are here much more limited to the family, daily every hour, every minute every second almost numbed with our consideration more and more frequently, "so it is!"
And we say that normal continuation of our speech would be "because it must be so."
Madness indeed, the folly of our human mind now lost in the maze syllogistic constraints of the backend live live comune.Appunto common type of "Cosi fan tutte "
The cool thing about this is that since we all involved, there is no hope of lofty minds that we can somehow save or advise.
All references are lost, all the paradigms skipped, and the words are spoken to say everything and at the same time the opposite of everything. Everyone says and says only to deny and reaffirm. Each of us is wrapped in a blanket, which armor impenetrable to many, the only exposed part of us, so our only concern is to clean the pool because all'esternopossa be beautiful.
Ciarlo, rumored, scream, throw empty words, we proclaim loudly that we do not understand the meanings of even an infinitesimal part, we pretend to be part of a whole and instead we do not represent anything, least of all ourselves.
An animal has a lot more representation of himself and much more existential coherence.
We are one and all, we are good and bad, we are good and bad at the same time. We are torturers and executioners, and we are also the victims. The Our mind is now drunk and prey of large doses of ecstasy. We live this semblance of life, beliefs, doing so to convince us, that is life. In fact our daily efforts in this direction are: we must convince ourselves that we are living.
All our muscles, all of our energies are directed to say that we are living, and it matters little, in contrast, how. ;
The how is not convincing anyone, as no one cares, there is important, as the detail is a minor. It does not matter to society, we want individual interests?
We are living in cars some way, no matter how important it is to say: I live.
Moreover, they say, with time running maybe we get to make the distinction? we start to dot the "i"? Today it is already difficult to do anything, let alone if we lose time to ask "how" to do it.
We are willing to do anything, endure all, we find justification for everything, in order to conclude and say the verb to be. ;
recite it first, that would be totally foreign to our nature if only there was a moment of time and the will to think.
However the real crazy people would be more just, our problem is that even watered down like crazy and we are scarce.
Our states feel sorry.
Wednesday, February 2, 2011
How Many Calories In Stri Fry?
Club was born: the first meeting Saturday, February 19, 2011.
Presentation ended with the official announcement. The Club was born and its first operational meeting will be Saturday, February 19 at 14.30. Participation is free. Anyone can access easily. They are only comfortable clothes and wanted to get a bit 'in the game, doing something good for themselves and, indirectly, to the people we love.
any recommendations before participating. And 'get better after eating a light meal, avoiding the more strenuous exercises in complete digestion. It 'best not to attend the session in the following cases:
- cold / flu or other contagious diseases;
- severe pain in the chest and abdomen;
- pregnancy
- hemorrhoids been advanced;
- hernia;
- serious psychological disorders;
- severe respiratory disease;
- severe heart failure, recent heart attack, etc..
People who have undergone surgery (involving the abdominal area and chest) should wait at least two months before you start or resume regular activity.
In all cases of doubt, you should consult your family doctor.
Even with complete disappearance of disturbances that had been in care would be best to consult your doctor before discontinuing the therapy.
In any case, the Yoga of laughter is not 'replacement therapy as traditional treatments. Rather, it is an aerobic exercise that can bring many benefits on the physical, mental, psychological, emotional and relational.
That said, go ahead I'm looking forward to the Club every Saturday from 14.30, from Saturday, February 19. Do not worry if sometimes you fail to attend or you will be late. The beauty of the Laughter Club is right in his generosity and his freedom.
Thanks to all those who, today, with their participation, have enabled us to launch this initiative and thanks especially to Emily Contini and all the staff of the Public Library Among Christopher. 
Presentation ended with the official announcement. The Club was born and its first operational meeting will be Saturday, February 19 at 14.30. Participation is free. Anyone can access easily. They are only comfortable clothes and wanted to get a bit 'in the game, doing something good for themselves and, indirectly, to the people we love.
any recommendations before participating. And 'get better after eating a light meal, avoiding the more strenuous exercises in complete digestion. It 'best not to attend the session in the following cases:
- cold / flu or other contagious diseases;
- severe pain in the chest and abdomen;
- pregnancy
- hemorrhoids been advanced;
- hernia;
- serious psychological disorders;
- severe respiratory disease;
- severe heart failure, recent heart attack, etc..
People who have undergone surgery (involving the abdominal area and chest) should wait at least two months before you start or resume regular activity.
In all cases of doubt, you should consult your family doctor.
Even with complete disappearance of disturbances that had been in care would be best to consult your doctor before discontinuing the therapy.
In any case, the Yoga of laughter is not 'replacement therapy as traditional treatments. Rather, it is an aerobic exercise that can bring many benefits on the physical, mental, psychological, emotional and relational.
That said, go ahead I'm looking forward to the Club every Saturday from 14.30, from Saturday, February 19. Do not worry if sometimes you fail to attend or you will be late. The beauty of the Laughter Club is right in his generosity and his freedom.
Thanks to all those who, today, with their participation, have enabled us to launch this initiative and thanks especially to Emily Contini and all the staff of the Public Library Among Christopher.
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