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.
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