When you look at it ...
I gossiped a little about Polanski story to tell what has been said, the better, also on many other blogs, and ... After everyone.
Then write great lines of Frédéric Mitterrand, his sex tourism, and my interpretation of the economy when the economy, specifically, I'm not. It is always those who talk most who have least, probably.
Then j'excrète some deep thoughts on Sarkozy's son. It could have been a big wad as I regularly do. This time, I'm the rabbit and plays a series of small droppings, staccato fashion. And like any good lagomorph, I will devour them when I am bored.
Speaking of John S., I realize, finally, what bothers me most is not that troufignon eventually president of a machine that will allow him to do the expense report on the back of my Kamarades Zouvriers defense, but, more prosaically, I could no longer chew.
must say, I'm a little bundle. To nab the radasse, I had signed up to "N" PA. It was (obviously) and I mostly petered busted bulbs. I had better register for the UMP, I would not cop more, but at least I could ask a small post anything in CDI. It was always better than the push-pinpin weekend.
short. I bothers me to not be part of this elite crawling with slimy profiteers in which I could see myself doing, though.
j'embraye And this poor Christine Lagarde, who decided not to remove the revolving credit facility, this perverse monstrosity in which I am obviously fallen, just to be able to buy this damn computer that I can quell naked women and fill my blog from time to time. But I could not afford to pay. And that cost me a bridge and now it's going to ruin me unsustainable debt. At this rate, I might end up unemployed piss me off in a shabby apartment of a city hopeless mediocrity amidst a dreary Toulouse ... as ... as ... bah ah yes for now.
And hey, I hit a shot at Peter Cohen, who uses the CRS. Be said that the CRS, in general, when he sees me, he knocks. Even if I'm not stopping. I must have your head about it. Paf.
The common point between all this? The feeling of jealousy at not being able to be part of this elite from the rest of the population, can not put a gap between me, self-proclaimed elite of the political blogosphere and the daily despair of platitude of "normal" watching my debilitating spectacle of a disgusted look. So good, waiting to be part of the elite - I know, there's work, I'll start a little every day - I feed the foul beast who wakes up with my little texts that nourish the soil extreme-right: speeches lapped, agreed, repeated in a loop until the words are empty and bloodless, and never embarrassed the extreme right in anything; me at all, with a nice red ribbon story to convey.
It's "populism", this post? Well yes, it is. It's taking the party to do the same thing as other blogs, and worse, a little (too) late, by warming same arguments and rewriting them with a few "twists" to me. That populism than write awry thoughts wobbly sauce with autism who is only interested in him? So yes, I am "populist" proud of it, and I intend to convince as many people as it is beautiful and well being.
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