New Year celebration is a useless and rather stupid , it also says Francis and it can not be wrong to give: change calendar will never have a beneficial effect comparable to the change of underwear, so to speak. Nevertheless, the tradition is to celebrate paying too much to hear from dozens of € vocalist dressed a wish for a 2010 full of dicks "(in practice, you pay more than that is going to do every Saturday, is not it big boy?).
The dinners are a mystery: for some reason you astrological Gorge of smoked foods, salted, greasy with the common denominator of taste pronounced. He says, "are those dishes that I never eat in the year" in fact. The guests of the dinner, then, are a very special race worthy of study: dressed up and pulled a shiny (but mostly cocaine), you know them in their worst moment (because if you dress for a party and you pull a shiny but mostly cocaine, because only about to begin the month dedicated to the god Janus, then you are at the worst time of your year, fucked all this rhetoric of ' New Years ... all year) and you can not despise them for that end. The girls, however ...
No, no girls, because if you're me (a rare case, but lucky), do not you care label, and attack the food is too tasty to be referred to as a veteran of the Russian campaign, and it seems that girls love the label enough to flinch every time you fall pieces of potato salad from the nose (to me it never happened, but it would be nice). Imagine if, during a friendly game you happen to suggest that once you have simulated orgasm: girls keep us, Stanislavsky orgasm, they consider it their prerogative post-feminist, and Your ability to simulate an orgasm during the evening fade as the approval ratings of Charles Manson at the club, "ex-wives massacred by Roman Polanski."
to say, is yet another New Year celebration that puts on display the ineptitude for alcohol, a dangerous mix when combined with any expectation that require sobriety and skill: the point is that
full of expectations and we all go out there to get drunk as a camel can bear to be with others, because we spent the late autumn and early winter cold immersing deeper and deeper in the TV Guide, and now we should be genuinely revel in the vicinity of these revolting lumps of humanity. And so naturally the resulting horrific scenes. *
So, I think next year I placed next to my friend Attilio with a couple of boxes of six and a kilo of lychee, and we look together the final episode of blob, just to feel inept in a world of spasticity.
Felice prostate year to all.
* (Lester Bangs, reasonable guide to the most horrible noise, pp. 392-405)
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