... I had predicted Dwarves 
On 21 April I wrote:
"... Mr. F. could find support among the extras that are in the bottom of the trunk Puppet Theater: a band of idlers, of poor people in search of an author, almost always applicants who have not yet found an answer to their demands and grievances hatch deaf, bruising, visceral often preferred because they have seen for the electoral roll or the nomination far more poor people in the institutions of their (long story, CODEST, to be included separately). MISUSE so diverse brigade of ambiguous lazy, spiteful scatarranti disappointed and frustrated, unable to decide between masturbation or a leap nell'Udc, or between the applause and Santoro join the League, may perhaps be under the command of F. its - new
- mission. So dwarfs and dancing girls on one side, armed Brancaleone in the middle, and the rest of the brothel to party there, you know what a pleasure! "
seemed evil, seemed marked by their wickedness Codest my speech, advocating Codest the future. But no! I will not say the place or, even less, to taste, the names of the "noble" families, but in my border province that is what is happening. I guess it's the same even further. Everywhere.
Just a little, very little merit in this latter commander operetta, in this latter useful idiot of the moment I have to admit: the ability of the Pied Piper, who with his flute, lent for the occasion by the band of puppeteers who is spupazzando, is menandosi behind a brigade of domestic mice, rats and sewer rats bombs.
them against their will to drown "happy" in a pond mephitic as them, so hopefully clearing la nostra aria ammorbata, anche se questo accadrà piano piano. E si estenderà, voglio augurarmi, tanto da ripulire questa nostro paese. Basta cominciare, basta rifarsi da una parte, vero Alessiuccio?
Qualcuno si è lamentato con me perché non ha trovato altri scritti. Alcuni hanno pensato che fossi caduto per l’amarezza. State tranquilli amici miei, che malgrado tutto continuate a seguire questo blog, a inviarmi saluti, richiami, appelli, e-mail. State tranquilli, come vedete ci sono sempre.
E’ solo che fuggo, appena possibile, a corroborarmi lo spirito fra le vette silenziose, dove l’aria è limpida, tersa, fredda, pulita. E cerco più a lungo possibile di dimenticare this murky swamps, rotting, smelly. Where do I find it increasingly difficult to return, if only as a spectator in disgust.
forgive.
Yours, Bruno Stepic
San Martino, 28 October 2010, San Simone
(March on Rome) dwarves played - in this case beautiful - are the work of Diego Velasquez
