From the series: "The well-fed blunderbuss"
Two weeks long. Long, or have been a few days over 14, and long, because there have been endless. But in the end, we're here with a brand new connection to the old Timofonica by a three-megabyte connection that is less than one, as usually happens in this fucking country, which cost me shouting, anger, screaming and, well, have had to finish solving the sad old procedure calls to the buddy.
migration also server and CMS has made me and I have water stuck in a war trench that leads nowhere. I hope that when the reinforcements come back from holiday to go ahead with the case and finally bring it out.
And I've been made and disconnected in a couple of weeks already, and ... Let's see what has been and catch up ...
Som a military
" All Against Canon " presented in Parliament a million signatures against the brutality of the silly soup. By now, more than one million but, well, at that time were one million sixty-odd thousand. And there was fucking, of course. Too much, a million firms, and is much more like a Hexacostés of local and regional elections. Consequently, the river has declined media these days that no confederation basin contain it and to any political party seems to want to capitalize on a very poor brass medallion hung from the burladero-and the bull well tied by an almost unanimous " when things went by Parliament. Banter is the thing. Just yesterday I read out there who is curious how the parties are divided to kill in extremely serious issues such as terrorism, foreign policy or military intervention in areas of English conflict, but as soon as Teddy Bautista plays the whistle, firm, ar, and vote as one man, but one or two senators who serve as playing to the gallery any mental reservation and ask, well, that just the tip, I would say Perez-Reverte. Rinse often.
The ball is on the roof of Clos and Dixie who staged an operetta of disagreement more false than three euros a ticket because when two members of a government there is a disagreement on something concrete, there a guy named president charged, among other things, resolve the issue. But the canon is not, as they say in these cases, a hot potato but a toast from a bottle of vitriol and one of nitroglycerin and everyone wants to be away if any of the bottles were broken, it will break.
The incredible chutzpah exercise conducted by two ministers, after which skirts the other encoder, the President is not the front but behind all-skipping Act flagrant and inexcusable to delay the issue until after the election, we must see to believe. But that is not what we see now, simply beating around the bush until it passes the current electoral process, is that some say could be waiting until late July for the stabbing endin fully exodus holiday, you know, out of sight, raincoat stolen. There would be nothing new under the sun, remember that in the summer of 2003, so now weeping and $ EAG ASIMELEC endin us his knife to veintitantísimos July.
What I wonder is: if the term expired, less than a year, the polls predicted a good time to sociatas election in October, for instance, and early elections this month (almost no would not advance) ... Would he have to wait for the decision on the fee to the government resulting from the new elections? Would they pass Clos and Dixie deadly vials, and the subsequent brown- to their successors? "The final decision was to wait until Christmas or maybe even Carnival? How can one another, the law passed by the lining of the etcetera?
canon This is a very serious issue. grave per se, but very serious, perhaps even more-for all that holds: what happens behind the scenes for a government (and opposition toooooda), instead of sending to hell in a small well-fed bunch of bums, turn a deaf ear to more than evident clamor of the citizenry, and virtually the entire play, because it plays, there is no to see which are mounted for sideways through thick and thin?
What kind of real power are actually $ EAG and the rest of the gang? What else control it? What other decision centers dominate? How and why?
is very, very, serious.
The other canon: card points
seemed, thought so, that would work. This past summer, all the cars going by highway with the automatic set at 130 km / h speed limit almost (132) of theoretical radar activation punitive. Some, well, isolated, perhaps dared to get to 140 or 145, in despair at the syndrome-dangerous, moreover, the "formation flight" caused by the circular firing millimeter distances and invariable total, up to 152 km / h there is no danger of losing points and the risk is called "100 euro fine." A bitch, but bearable.
On the positive side of the case, the grace that made me move in the left lane and take back the cagabidets an "Audi" quiet as a lamb and without resorting to headlights or anything (I've never understood why they have the " Audi "or what type of clientele is yours, 'Mercedes' and "BMW" behave, in general, civil law, while the phantoms of the four-rings also function as a general-highway hogs, find out the reason as rare as some association Gylippus ... I mean, man-mark .)
But the joy would not last long. In a couple of trips this fall and winter, I could see that the national sobrancia had lost their fear and I circulated to 130, more than once was slow even for the middle lane of a three-by-track direction of travel, while the left by four-wheel fighter bombers passed without seeing them almost time to color.
Normal: the panic the first time, the paralegal market (Internet) is full of anti-radar devices and laser inhibitors, even without being at 100 by 100 effective the latter, reducing the chances of being caught a line segment so low that it negligible. And, of course, cracking legal issue: the family of points common pot (including the card's grandfather, who ten years ago does not take a flyer), and more than enough for holding and without grandparents, action for refusing to testify who was driving the car fired, leading to a multazo 2,000 euros (I think it is 2,000) but not the loss of points.
All these measures have left reduced to rubble, and eye, which was predictable, the enormous waste sociata, beret beret and in electronic arsenal of repression.
And sing numbers: the second time in a year of out-return operation, the number of deaths in road-to eight-twenty in the afternoon of day 9, this writing-already exceeds by two or three to the same occasion last year in which, remember, the card was not in place on points. Great
failure because of the system, which is not surprising the political illiteracy of its supporters, and perhaps raising success in fines, but would have to subtract the cost in "electronic warfare" of all the junk useless riding in their car Poly countless bodies of this country.
in Victoria and it is doubtful if "Pyrrhic.
The week [before] Santa and the city is
If not out of the city, almost never leave home for the holidays. The possibility of encountering any tacky show prepared by the mayor in office is depressingly high, and at home with the TV off or remote ready to zapping the less aggressive propaganda political in origin, one is at your leisure comfortably.
Easter was an exception to this rule. It was the only time when this unfortunate Cábila was bearable and I could enjoy a level of exercise of citizenship. Herds of compulsive idle starts with a fresh wind to give the ass a peaceful inhabitants of the coast or the mountains that had caused them no harm (the hospitality trade and much of the tourist areas are not "peaceful inhabitants the sea or mountain "but, in general, import personal domestic or international) and in the city four and stayed out all our quiet city, quiet, relaxed and peaceful disposition.
But no more. No we were lucky that a good car accident offal material became the son of a bitch who, seeing Barcelona Good Friday, said, "there's gold in that quiet." And, for about five or seven years, our export of idiots turned the importation of barter flight guiris shop around a hundred and Nordic churrasco cruises.
Every day I load more tourism, actively and passively.
For active every day but I feel like, I hate starting to hate African-deep, visceral-terminals of large airports (if that can be called "great" that crap infect Madrid and Barcelona with his "T" for included), and also, once loaded, the plane is what it was before: it seems a common bus line (uncomfortable, dirty, narrow and smelly) with the particularity that rises from the ground. The road is disgusting since the idiots have taken it with speed, and for good, and travel is eternal, inexhaustible and encabronantes. Not even the air conditioning and adjustable seats for twelve thousand points finish the fucking prevent painful journey, dubbed a four, with the skin greasy, dirty and bad temper. And crew Boat less than I trust a cloud on the mountain in late August, ho, brave guild (as have other newspapers one week and forty below as well). Only the train remains more or less with its old charm: in it, the filth, the sweltering heat or cold, annoying, intrusive employee, travel companion pig, part of their tradition and their ancestral color, but not A proposal is comfortable for a family outing.
Tourism we receive, however, is getting what he failed to achieve the Islamists and aunts with a cloth on the roof: I go back could not be more xenophobic. Xenophobic really, not in the sense given at the end of meavallas of good vibes. The individual is foreign to me, and every day more so, a rompehuevos is fucking me in my own house, packed my walks, that keeps me quiet access to my market, which will not let me enjoy my monuments of my architecture, my urban landscape (fortunately, I can still enjoy my museums, provided they are not fashionable this crap as Nordic is functionally illiterate as the local crap we sent them there, but museums are not everything.) A I rompehuevos high prices, who mistreats my flowerbeds, vomiting and pees at the door of my house. A few-very few- make a killing with fucking guiris and, like the ETA, socialize suffering: they are lined and citizens are the ones who endure the disgusting filth. Caterers we steal, we steal, because the facilities-and beer-serving meadillos be yours, but the city, the country is mine, is ours. And we have taken with the complicity of a nefarious mayor that if there is no remedy, and there will be, "will one heir who will go for them.
It has been six or seven weeks holy that I never leave home. Why?
And tomorrow, today, for the reader, the rentrée this quarter. We have charged the batteries, they say (although I'm not sure who the downloads or what, but anyway ...) and we're ready for combat. So much so that tomorrow will be travel agents crowded booking tickets and hotels for the bridge on May 1. But we stay here we should not worry (well, I'm not going to worry at all): the illustrious heir and Pontius of this unfortunate city, we have prepared some underwear to add to the cooked guiris rivers that fill the city we shit.
is what it is about the panem et circus: when there is one, you swallow it endin-to-another.
Sic transit gloria mundi
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