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FLOATING WITH NOTHING

Yesterday was the day of shame, the day that we have nailed to Paraculo, infidelity, to carelessness, to eternal nothingness.

It is no coincidence that the pratogonista these days is Gianfranco Fini, the man of thirty pieces of silver without ropes, the man who can not be hanged because he is glued to a chair with lottery coupons in hand.

The other is on the phone to Monte Carlo, or with Badoglio, in a historical continuity of cialtronaggine Italic, hairy and bright boy. In the party of fellatio, Monty could get the pluripresidente, another piece of the 90 putative nepotism italics. Perhaps even putative think of it.

From one who greeted the first Roman and then enrolled in the NPC, what can we expect?

The vacuum wrapped, says absolutely nothing, but he says it well ... sometimes.

Italo Muti