Estoy desenado verla, algo que han querido censurar probablemente aporte algo de inteligencia a todo el asunto

en realidad, no aporta nada nuevo. pero se escuchan voces y opiniones interesantes. q los q vivimos aquí ya conocíamos, porque las tenemos cerca, pero más allá, en la esfera donde todo ruge, apenas se les puede escuchar.

Estoy totalmente de acuerdo con tu post. Lloré en el cine viéndola por la emoción de la música de Laboa y la verdad de las personas. Siempre nos reprochan que no hablamos.. pero es que nunca nos quieren escuchar no vaya a ser que digamos algo que no haya pasado por su visto bueno.
Los civiles de todos lados somos siempre los que recibimos los palos y ya es hora de que nos demos cuenta de que sin nosotros no son nada ninguno.
Ya no se puede ni hacer documentales más allá del pensamiento único.
Que no nos digan otros lo que nos conviene ver y oir a los civiles de Europa.
Eskerrik asko Medem, zure ausartasunagatik.
Gracias Medem, por tu valentía.

So she went into the garden to cut a cabbage leaf to make an apple pie;
and at the same time a great she-bear, coming up the street pops its head
into the shop. "What! no soap?" So he died, and she very imprudently
married the barber; and there were present the Picninnies, and the Grand
Panjandrum himself, with the little round button at top, and they all
fell to playing the game of catch as catch can, till the gunpowder ran
out at the heels of their boots.
-- Samuel Foote
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creators. He hated and loved what they hated and loved and he was invariably
found on the side of those in power. ... Most of the gods were pleased with
sacrifice, and the smell of innocent blood has ever been considered a divine
perfume."
-- Robert G. Ingersoll
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and at the same time a great she-bear, coming up the street pops its head
into the shop. "What! no soap?" So he died, and she very imprudently
married the barber; and there were present the Picninnies, and the Grand
Panjandrum himself, with the little round button at top, and they all
fell to playing the game of catch as catch can, till the gunpowder ran
out at the heels of their boots.
-- Samuel Foote

I like myself, but I won't say I'm as handsome as the bull that kidnapped
Europa.
-- Marcus Tullius Cicero
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-Fry
"I don't get it." -Leela
"I'm sorry, Fry, but astronomers renamed Uranus in 2620 to end that stupid
joke once and for all." -Professor
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"Urectum." -Professor
paxil paxil onlineI like myself, but I won't say I'm as handsome as the bull that kidnapped
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-- Marcus Tullius Cicero

Roland was a warrior, from the land of the midnight sun,
With a Thompson gun for hire, fighting to be done.
The deal was made in Denmark, on a dark and stormy day,
So he set out for Biafra, to join the bloody fray.
Through sixty-six and seven, they fought the Congo war,
With their fingers on their triggers, knee deep in gore.
Days and nights they battled, the Bantu to their knees,
They killed to earn their living, and to help out the Congolese.
Roland the Thompson gunner...
His comrades fought beside him, Van Owen and the rest,
But of all the Thompson gunners, Roland was the best.
So the C.I.A decided, they wanted Roland dead,
That son-of-a-bitch Van Owen, blew off Roland's head.
Roland the headless Thompson gunner...
Roland searched the continent, for the man who'd done him in.
He found him in Mombasa, in a bar room drinking gin,
Roland aimed his Thompson gun, he didn't say a word,
But he blew Van Owen's body from there to Johannesburg.
The eternal Thompson gunner, still wandering through the night,
Now it's ten years later, but he stills keeps up the fight.
In Ireland, in Lebanon, in Palestine, in Berkeley,
Patty Hearst... heard the burst... of Roland's Thompson gun, and bought it.
-- Warren Zevon, "Roland the Headless Thompson Gunner"
buy cialis cheap cialisSailing is fun, but scrubbing the decks is aardvark.
-- Heard on Noahs' ark
cialis cialis onlineRoland was a warrior, from the land of the midnight sun,
With a Thompson gun for hire, fighting to be done.
The deal was made in Denmark, on a dark and stormy day,
So he set out for Biafra, to join the bloody fray.
Through sixty-six and seven, they fought the Congo war,
With their fingers on their triggers, knee deep in gore.
Days and nights they battled, the Bantu to their knees,
They killed to earn their living, and to help out the Congolese.
Roland the Thompson gunner...
His comrades fought beside him, Van Owen and the rest,
But of all the Thompson gunners, Roland was the best.
So the C.I.A decided, they wanted Roland dead,
That son-of-a-bitch Van Owen, blew off Roland's head.
Roland the headless Thompson gunner...
Roland searched the continent, for the man who'd done him in.
He found him in Mombasa, in a bar room drinking gin,
Roland aimed his Thompson gun, he didn't say a word,
But he blew Van Owen's body from there to Johannesburg.
The eternal Thompson gunner, still wandering through the night,
Now it's ten years later, but he stills keeps up the fight.
In Ireland, in Lebanon, in Palestine, in Berkeley,
Patty Hearst... heard the burst... of Roland's Thompson gun, and bought it.
-- Warren Zevon, "Roland the Headless Thompson Gunner"

Any woman is a volume if one knows how to read her.
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-- Ann Edwards-Duff
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