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.
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