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alternative would like to hear at the Oscars, not the string of clichés that all the winners

A efore anything by way of preamble, will you let me send a message to my tailor, because he and I must thank him only pain eggs that I have now: John, my soul, I have the balls about to explode, to see if you learn to take action, I shit on you fucking her into the world, that not everyone has two marbles for balls like you sissies, you're a sissies.

I remember my family, especially my mother and my father who helped me just enough to get here, the whore that gave birth to two: he was a drunk bastard who was drunk not to waste urine, and she's a bitch that was spent on gambling addiction bingo money I had saved to enroll in film school. Mami, motherfucker, if you see me, and you rot in hell, hopefully all the cocks she sucked to raise the money thou hast the will get in their the ass one by one, you'll see how it would end your problems with constipation. To you dad, I wish you only one thing: that the liver you will fall into pieces and float in the stomach as chips folta a cork in a bottle half full.

Why not, this is a time to think about my wife, Brenda, honey, here is our Oscar, yours and mine, I know you really wanted this award, but you can put off all plans you made to attend events and festivals and other, until you learn to eat the cock like god you out of house no punk, you're useless.

course could not forget my son, who unfortunately is going through a hard trance in a Houston hospital: Joshua, my son, light of my eyes, if you run out of a coma, and there is no trace you, I confess that the bags of coca that I took from the wallet the other day was not cocaine, but a mixture of rat poison and detergent, I put myself in the portfolio because it was up to the very cock that steal me day in, day out. Son, if you recover one hundred percent nothing happens, nobody is perfect, and you can always reahacer your life with another slug subnormal you know in the hospital where I interned let your whole fucking life. Thank
everyone.

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vomit Chronicles of a young angry II

I racundo: it is fucking great, really fucking great.

One: What?

Angry: What vase, so the teacher that touched me early. He shall not, said that although the time to start the class is at 8.30, start each morning twenty or twenty minutes later because it gives you time to get the stragglers, those who linger between the sheets indulging in nocturnal emissions.

One: Wow, I have to explain it of pollutants. Angry

: Then man then, now I'm very encabronao with shit that profession. Osea me that every day I get up at 6.30 in the morning to be on time in the classroom, sentadito in my chair with ordenata on his knees, I have to fuck up and let everything a professional sucker college - university ! - reward tardiness and undermine the efforts of the rest for being on time in the classroom.

One: ordenata wear to college? Angry

: Okay, motherfucker, will you leave to serve and be superfluous so important? Or do you speak Chinese?

One: Do not get us patanto asynchronous.

Angry: I get as I get the tip cock. If you do nothing but interrupt with the pollution and the ordenata, when the important thing, again, is that I have a university professor, fuck a teen who accompanied her mother to the door of the classroom and will plant two Besic before leaving in the doorway, which is that the prick loose class does not start when you should start because every morning waiting to appear wimps who have fallen asleep and stay asleep is always more to delay the start of the class, while I and others like me are in the classroom even before the time, but long before the hour, where are you going to stop. Come on, that if one neglects the janitor opened the college whore us. Do you think you are entitled to that, I shit the holy virgin?

One: What apretao are, right? What need do you have to go to college soon? Pa donkeys always time

Angry: What mamonazo you. As he hears rain. So cagaras HAD diarrhea and sea urchins, you bastard.

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Dialogues with my three year old daughter Martina, VII

M Artina want to see pictures.

-Mama, I want to see SpongeBob.

"Well a little bird told me today not give" her mother replied. Martina

not satisfied with the response and looks at her mother as if she were raving. He says, "What bird

if the birds do not talk ...

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Chronicles of a young angry bad Tirao

L a thing was this: it turns out that we were in class, reviewing the test that had to do the following week. The teacher give you stick with Baudelaire and all that badness and so the viciosillo this frog has gone down in history (brief pause, raise your hand if you have no fucking idea what I mean ..... one, two, three and ... fuck, to see if we catch up, pussy. What a bunch of illiterate visit this blog. But let no wonder, if everyone thinks that a (former) friend of mine , whose identity will omit and replace it by a nickname chosen boat soon, like Alec, that literature does not serve for nothing, and he says, has attended college, not tell the rest of the ignorant. Anyway. Going flying we do not have tol day: Charles Baudelaire was a petty bourgeois nineteenth less work he liked that Jorge Javier Vazquez a clitoris, and spent his life going to the whorehouse, catching cogorza potando championship and all the gardens Paris while holding his dick with one hand to keep it from falling to pieces because of the syphilis he had tremendous catch and hide, and wrote verses with each other. I close parenthesis.), When suddenly (or suddenly or suddenly, or unexpectedly, it is that I have no resources), a voice behind me interrupted the teacher and asks: Does the will review the spelling errors? ( A review l'tell ortográfiques are missing?, And in Catalan lest Gene fined me for not labeling the vernacular ).

I turn. I look at him. I: Okay, my soul, do you think that the question be? That's like raising your hand in the middle of a math class to ask if you need to know numbers to be there. In short, not for me to censor you. Of course. No more freedom and liberal guy than me (hell, I buy El Pais from primary), but nen, do you really think it is appropriate Question? Dude, you're studying Literature, Literary Theory, Linguistics, Grammar, Latin ... and I mentally listing the subjects when suddenly ("mola mola or not the variety of resources?) the guy comes to cargo, as if one might not have been clear stupidity, and formulates the question again, but done by changing the order of the factors that we do not realize that was the same product. Anda and you better nen, as if it were not that old trick. A Jart old.

I say that if the faults will have a lot in the exam, insisted the turkey.

Host

what mania I'm fucking.

Let's see, social waste: If you do not want to penalize spelling errors, Enroll in Mathematics or Statistics, or Variable Geometry (no fucking idea what it is, but it sounds to numbers quetecagas). Or if not studying to be an engineer, which is what my (ex) friend Alec, and there you go, with a handsome work really handsome, winning pasta to blade tip, so you have bought a soccer team or something asynchronous . Yes, you read me right: a football team, like those Arab sheikhs. He obviously does not win a game or even play against them, but buy it, it was purchased. There you have it, the macho, not only have not read a fucking book in his life, but it sucks when others read them. If it even has an airplane, or something asynchronous.

engineer

But if you do not like because it produces alopecia, or because you are a social waste outrged (the parrot with the word maligned insult verb) football and the sheikhs and Alecs, Enroll in Fine Arts. There. Awarded. Fine Arts, I'm telling you, you write HESTORNUDO or blog HARMARIO the drawing, and in four days you are exposing as provost of conceptual art in the MoMA in New York. "Can you believe it? Masescuchaó "right? In the New York MoMa puto! The best city in the world. Really, I I say that I've been, (if not what the English)

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ment

H o I've had the last review of the first semester. Instead of going down to Barcelona by train I decided to take the bus, which stops close to home. I decided to change because the agenda of the review was very long and needed some time to review something, and the coach is perfect for reading without distraction. Yes, I know you will think that train has traditionally been the most appropriate transport for delivery to reading. I also thought before to travel twice a week these past four months. Ah, but things have changed. Go if you have done! It has not been a single day during these months, I insist: not a single day, which does not appear from under the seat, suddenly, the trio Los Panchos bawling with a pair of claws handed rancheras as a guitar hurt and whiny. I repeat: every day I have lost, not one or two, everyone. Either on the outward or return, appeared to god knows where, and before that I had time to throw to the tracks and had set up a scenario that laugh you take a tour of Madonna or U2. Seriously, the outward and return journeys. And if not were Los Panchos Bonnie Tyler appeared to be a house, tall and blond, looking Polish or Romanian or Russian, that in case the same. And to wonder Aunt staff sang to the English copla Isabel Pantoja, but Nazi officer accent such that for the same price speaks and spits you. If it was not unfortunately what little story (which, as they say in the movies, is based on real events, little word of the baby Jesus), once the party was in addition to a native musician; yes, ja m'enteneu, dels fa country that, wearing long dreadlocks and suputamadre , stinking and stinking to hell. The bitch that bore him, smelling more that fucking ugly dog \u200b\u200bfrom that company. Well, this, the nostre, the native, was devoted to hit small jumps and turn in on itself as a flute snorted emitting a sound identical to a bad fart Tirao , or lying half. One of them farts, I understand, that promises the apocalypse, then it is hardly the gentle flutter of a butterfly languid.

understand that the musical profession brings together a unanimous sympathy from the staff. It is a discipline that sometimes can be very thankless (though one should not dramatize what was more fucked up the cleaner of the Twin Towers on 11-S), and is ungrateful because not all the world has ears to enjoy it or sensitivity to appreciate it. In addition, those who decide they do pursue it almost altruistically, to provide pleasure to us, from weather calamities, just around any corner, while they give us a moment of pleasure FIMER touching that subject with which we lost virginity or we cling to the teat of that neighbor. Jodamos But one thing is these musicians, and quite another terrorist gang of staff who every day take hostage the passengers on the train.

any of you, as if he saw it, twist the gesture and think, but, hell, Arcadio, better that they are committing crimes the streets, right?

You really want to answer you?

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A Dialogue with my three year old daughter Martina

M throwing my attention Artina jersey. She puts her hand to her face and pointing his finger to poke their noses into your nose.

-P apa, you know that my snot glow? "He says.

-daughter, all the snot shine. Some more than others.

"Yours is not.

- No?

-No.

- Why yes yours and mine not? I ask.

thought for a moment and immediately said: "Because my

mucus are magical.