Marianne - who is decidedly and whichever way you take her a big sow - has managed to play on my fiber activist last night to m'entourlouper, and despite my attraction for ephebes rather, the opportunity to Lollipop completely from the subject.
We'll have to do the job that Marianne does not, and explain something that resembles a "reflection" to be biased to the brink of the Standing portenawak which wallows in the other complacently musty Blog decerebrate and its editor.
Now then, what have we here?
A bitch shady bar in Toulouse passes at once one of a cushy little life and almost hideous bourgeois bars in my neighborhood and poverty rampant in Darfur. From this point of view, by simple empathy, it's something to be unsettled to say the least: he quickly understands that Thierry grew up in an environment for the least harmful, forced to dress like the boys that if he attends rapped over the horizon is blocked, the sky is gray, and blogouille hoping that it may one day be a loophole ..
Twingo!
Tune, of course.
Blogosphere, links, quotes, that you recognize on the street, who do not care a bit of your head and your shirt is too tight and poof there he erected "spokesman bloggers Goch", nothing less, barely big pressure, Rock'n'Roll lifestyle and probably abuses that go with (kro to all floors, twix twice a day, total) ...
It's something to be a bit backwards, at a time, anyway: we start by talking about Marianne, that big tuna that made me believe that women is better, and we find ourselves talking about oneself, one's blog, his ego, his penis ...
So, obviously, our Thierry to be tired of this circus, and convert by assembling a brown shirt, like that he fuck peace. One would think that there are other ways of living a political commitment, as futile and ridiculous as it is, like some I know and Trotskyists who smoke, drink, burp and would love to kiss but nothing more . Trotskyists and say it anyway, without feeling the need and even less inclination to put any ball that either the head or breaking balls with other staff to attend to their whims Communists, and the big night everything. Thierry, meanwhile, traded against an existential alienation, and it is certain that it will go worse.
(Since we must still remember, and including my friends the most "leftist", that Trotskyism, in all its forms, is an ideology of oppression. Okay? No, it is not a trivial political expression. No. This is not a sign of "independence," ah ah ah, you're unintentionally funny when you say that, look, if it was not as devastating for all account that the world of scholars and educated in political science, it could be pretty funny. This is not because a horn is Trotskyite we must also support it unconditionally claims in its most reactionary, right? And steal from people is very, very precisely, but then very backward. Sisi. I assure you).
From this point of view, Thierry does not behave so differently from all those who branquignoles after spending many glorious years of debauchery, suddenly begin to convert to the first para-politics lying around in the back corner of history Meaning some of their life, and adopt the plan in the wake iron-kro-twix-calamitous give life lessons to all those unfortunate enough to pass the scope of his poor sad little blog. The most bitter depraved, rebels destroy most cardboard, all after a time fall into a hysterical Normopathy with such enthusiasm that they began to fever ravage everything before (rare as those who complete the process, c ' Is that why the only people who probably deserve the title of real coconuts are Stalin and Pol Pot).
In contrast, where his rantings are starting to tap the system is when Thierry - which calls for as much blood and guts as it is true that we are on the brink of civil war with the owners the bad guys who want to kill the employee under the FT tasks, these poor people can definitely not stand - very succinct way of conclusion:
"And if they sent the New Star in Saudi Arabia want?"
And then they say it calms down, Thierry Dicule. Because
take the example of a small section of your Marianne to mount it in mayonnaise showing that you hold any truth, when you emerge from your cooked stinker, and that your fine political analysis is that Méluche approaches the NPA when it moves away ostensibly, it's a very, very little capillotracté, to say the least.
And it also allows him to conveniently paste bourdieuseries undrinkable with, at the turn of paragraphs long, arduous and full of spelling mistakes that even a kid disadvantaged by past training rather vasouillarde of Education failed to correct it arrives after a simple proofreading, a few shortcuts on the dazzling cities, the bad policy that would be great if we did something like what we did for 30 years, with extraordinary results we know. But the policy also requires thinking with his neo-cortex, and that, to the wails of squealing pigs Marianne Thierry, we know that it's much too ask.
Unfortunately, we will still continue to bear. And if he was sent to Cuba, want?
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