Does Anybody Know Cytherea's

HELAASHEID DER OF MY LOVE Dingen

In Flemish please "To get into the bath, or rather the pit purain of asshole-les-Geese, non-literal translation, but very expressive name of the village where the story takes place. This film is disgusting, a dégobillage, diarrhea, a long shits irrepressible, a big old vomit and like any contortion scatological, stomach problems or gastrointestinal winter makes you navigate pathetic triviality accidental and sublime. Here jet, fuck, binouze, big poo, juniper are the same, unstoppable movement in swallowing / regurgitation, or proof that the man could be a pipe with an expiration date.

Indeed we in fact demonstrate, where Andre was castoff before the audience impatient and concentrate his drinking buddies: beer crosses his lips, and after five seconds when the magic of medicine operates "the miracle took place," the liquid fills his pocket with alcohol at an end, directly connected to his stomach. It is yellow like before and after inevitable betrayal of cirrhosis scheduled. Cheering, and cheers and applause, the departure of top marathon drunkenness was launched.

Yet if The Misfortunates man-made this unnecessary plumbing that runs at full (or empty?) To their destroyed and complete disgust, she did even better: it we convinced that the man, this thing sucks, shitty and boring, is not repugnant, because it is simply human. It is a masterstroke, the idea that the Big Bang theory is applicable to the scale of a human life where the most miserable of men (none original) contains and reveals all humanity (the expanding universe).

Passed the opening few minutes that give seasickness, a typical scene of carnival Flemish transvestite where the camera is also packed the meeting that it films, where presentations are made without the one manages to identify anyone, and where they quickly seized and the nature of the plot to come (Causes and Consequences of the beer culture: an anthropology of the Belgian Flanders through the vapors of hops) We discover the awe Family Gunther Strobbe. We feared the worst. They were right. It happens. Immediately.

Even ignoring the slings of all stakeholders (the story is told by Gunther restropectivement as an adult), so dive in abyssal and nightmarish fashion Emmaus 80s, which confirms that nothing is definitively save in that decade, neither new, nor the second-hand, the family is and remains Strobbe horrible, dirty and nasty. The kind that makes you want to call social services, or militia, or the pound or whatever, but action to that order, peace, luxury and pleasure are restored together, make way, karchériser, clean. Strobbe family makes you want to argue for eugenics. Sorry, not everyone should have the right to reproduce.

However, after the damage to our Judeo-Christian education of our conditioning pent seasoned advertising post-porno-chic, which we have imposed reflexes doomsday prosecutor and defender of good taste to any freeze-dried time, we just want to say fuck. Because of decades of ads later, the robot magimix the perfect housewife of the 60s for breakfast Ricoré vintage 92, 94, 95, of bag Vuitton SM trend to the early third millennium to the "beautiful people" magazine covers Adobe Photoshop CS4 11.0.1, we have come to believe that humanity is like a film by Wong- Kar-wai, the sleek decor of each were designed by Starck, where the fine humor of each joke has been blown by Woody Allen, where the art of drinking alcohol until the very elegantly death was given to each by Master Bogart. In short, the perfectitude things, and therefore of life, has contaminated our worldview, and one day you wake up every disappointed to have a life with two bullets, have an upset stomach, to find people stupid, wrong kiss and be kissed badly, having to eat three times a day fatty meals alone and without interest with the certainty that it will also do it again the next day to find only people stupid and ugly, to be yourself stupid and ugly, and great affliction and surprise, they piss several times a day is shit at least one, and we may jump at night because of snoring, ours. Hominum naturalis Vade retro!

true life and future of Gunther inadequate and quickly we would not give much of his skin. Moreover, one can take to think, "poor bastards", or "it's not so bad, he used", according to a commonly accepted idea that being poor is easier for someone who always has been, as someone who is. No doubt one reason for keeping the class, ensure that the impact of the portfolio is not too hard. As such, Gunther is doing relatively well, becomes a writer precisely because of his family history, which is the source of his recurring delays in school (kilometers bike, bike on which his father runs with a joy not feint, a way "no, my son you will not go to school, it is useless"), delays themselves the source of many punishments written develop his taste for writing, and some perseverance. But Gunther is also the one who dropped his girlfriend without remorse because she is pregnant. Beyond all the reasons that may explain the attitude of Gunther, the film has the advantage of never propose psychologizing readings (to retain the word, the "recumbent"), which avoids stopping all and make a simple Mertitude The chronic social observation with anyone plunge into depression.

Oddly, the face of such daily violence, maintained a family-shared by a whole village, erected in lifestyle and celebrated at every moment, it begs the question of who we are, exactly, to judge others, their stupidity, their carelessness, their complacency itself. Of course they disgust us, so what? Just live a little, walk a few blocks, to know a few people, and to watch a few moments in front to realize that the nice and smooth not exist permanently, and that if indeed comes to an epiphany occur, it arises also from the brothel crappy environment.

The moral of this story comes down to should I see the glass half full or half empty? In Strobbe, this issue is resolved: even empty, it is always a way to fill the glass.

Face Disclouration Singapore

ASSE

or my pain ...

All Etienne, he likes football or not, or is completely indifferent to the activity described as sporty, has a sort of third eye for the scores of the weekend. He knows. It smells.

But what?

Long ago, in a country of anthrax and fat land of mountains and dark woods acids, where the sun even dared to venture, there lived a race of moles. Here, after a day or a night of exhausting work in the bowels of the world, all looked alike: They emerged black, exhausted and happy with their crop cock. Poor and isolated, they had little distraction in their little valley bristling with wells and covered with dust. He had only two things: hope and football. This gave the ASSE (that green, and it's a football team).

Each year, from August, the return of paid vacation, spent in the country just above the city, they said in a Loire Haute, beetles ( their name with another mole) brought back potatoes and moult predictions for the new season ahead. Not fall, as would the cyclical time, but the other cyclical time, the only one that went on in this remote corner of the world, the season's first division (yes at one time not so remote, the Ligue 1 s' called first division is for children requires make them a little history).

potato field, "said Colorado Field, renamed Stade Geoffroy Guichard in 1932

The prognosis was always the same: this year we will be champions. By 11 times already, they had managed the feat, which animated the hearts and warmed the body (with the help of a few drinks and a few songs though). And 6 times, they had the Cup, that of the revenge of the small and non-degrees on the great of this world (football that is).

Years passed, and like all older worlds, the valley of moles changed. The chimneys were silent, the streets were empty, people terrèrent in their homes and in their misfortune. They had closed the wells, and nobody had to work. Nobody was working, and idleness invited himself. Idleness invited himself, and shame settled.

Except Saturday evening, where hope and pride reborn as a phoenix from the woods, er of this city, ever green, ever more spikes, and the songs and cries, and victory!

Everyone struggled to once a week, the deep valley again, moles flocked from all the galleries, and even other, mountains or countryside, were added to whoop, they thought. Yet it was the swan song, that of Tchaikovsky, who died at the end of the day in a long heart-rending wail.

discord and defeat came by a simple object, stupid, an ordinary object that nobody could have suspected: a slush fund. The fall began to never end, and like an animal in agony Valley was taking twists and turns, the worm in the fruit, it began to rot.

Since then, no one dares to throw into the compost, and all the months of August, the return of paid vacation, spent in the sea near a king is said Grau, ducks bring their palms and moult forecasts for the start of the Ligue 1 ahead.

Predictions are always the same: we will continue this year. For 5 years now, they manage the feat, after several hypothermic cardiac arrest and shock. And waiting for better days, they to tell a story, always the same story, their history, that of a cup with square posts, that of a legendary man-panther came from foreign lands, that of an angel that was green. To find, perhaps, one day, hope and pride of a forgotten valley.

Elements archaeological evidence of the historical reality of some of the characters Conte Valley of moles , better known as the Green Legend.

That's the story, we arranged to put a lot of pathos, because the reality is even more cruel. So each Etienne, at the time the game will start, hope this time it will be less worse.

This year, it is certain that it is better not to have the radio, should be avoided whenever possible Vandroux Jacques, the Stage 2 and other Téléfoot are persona non grata (but they still exist emissions ), and that Saturday evening or Sunday afternoon, it is necessary even mandatory to have something very important to do.

Unfortunately, when Monday morning comes, and we're going on his hotmail box, it always falls on the news, and always at the forefront, before the wars, the Depression, the purchasing power of the blunders and the wanderings of Ministers of Our Beloved Sovereign, insolvency social, environmental, it was the result of the Ligue 1. Wholesale. Very very big. In too too big. Beaten 3-0 by PSG. The PSG! This team has the team name! That is what football is Alzheimer aging humans: the promise of perpetual boredom which we have absolutely conscience and not until death ensued, by shitting all over the world.

And then we remember that the last time the ASSE has won something, it was the League Cup 2, and PSG or anyone else, there is no What do the devil. Then Saturday, December 19, when the bells ring 21 strokes of midnight, while St Etienne, he likes football or not, or is completely indifferent to the activity described sports knows it is time. He thinks the epics of old warriors, think of it vaguely as Cinderella are always in rags with a pumpkin that she can always make au gratin, it is always to win, and curse the OM, because they have too much money, they are too Southern, they are the fart too and that's what these leaders there, strip Mafia!

And on Sunday or Monday, because changing the coach and the athletic trainer is not enough to make a non-team a team, we will be fine internet.

I bet for a draw: 1-1.

Proud Son Poems Quotes

TRIBULATIONS AN UNCERTAIN

Iain Levison / Tribulations of a precarious
A Working Stiff's Manifesto
Liana Levi - t: Fanchita Gonzalez Batlle

A kind of bedtime reading for those who are insecure, enquiller rotten jobs and poorly paid despite a degree or more, especially in areas where everybody cares, including yourself. Just think back to Down and Out in Paris and London, eventually recover quickly from the U.S. from the late twentieth century and the Europe of the 30s, well, there was as it were of improvement ... The great merit of Levison's book is still to come to make you laugh situtations that are very similar to yours, and you are Moderately day you esclaffer, jobs hopeless, colleagues from the moment that you see as a threat then you are just mouth-hole of the month, hours of "training" for a non-paid job which is the time of the so called training, scheduling and the insane number of hours that you agree (because right away you're not really able to negotiate) but remain invisible on the payroll, the urge to go 2:08 p.m. without warning and never go back , and every day, read and review offers constantly claims to lower your ... But in fact, what claims? It's like the Mikado is a hand to take a mindset to acquire, a stimulating experience to live.