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Coincidences

I do not believe much in coincidences.
I think that any words spoken or written, always have a reason, when issued, posted or printed. Whether
blessings, or accidents, when they go to 'good' end (especially the latter) puzzle me.
groped To clarify this fog, I'm going to tell an anecdote that 'might' be taken by coincidence, were it not that, as mentioned before, I do not believe in coincidences at all.
Abstract: since last Thursday, the cat disappeared from his blog and comments from friends of other blogs. What
in this period could have fun without cat hair left here and there.
Well, the sigh of relief portatomi by the north wind that haunts my area, it ends here.
Please look at the palm of his left hand stretched, face downwards, raised as high as possible, to make it visible to the referee, the linesmen and the fourth man in this palm is pointing the right index finger, to indicate time, please !

And time to time, we start from the beginning.

Tuesday, November 9, an autumn now said, had entered into an illustrious Prof his blog post indicated that the substance of its depth of thought, already known and appreciated both inside and outside the walls.
That was already well in his post, in describing an operation to limit coprophagy.
To give greater visibility to this its sown, Prof him with a photo that was at odds with his commendable habit of publishing (a figurative support of most of his writings) angelic figures, flowers of our time, in full bloom of their beauty, with curves, niches, canopies and fleshy fleshy pistils.
In short, the best that this world, infamous for the rest, could offer. In
post of which I speak, the camera kit was, to say the least, euphemistically repulsive.

I will say more: it was literally repulsive (see blog Pearls before swine, post Crisis rejection).
Among the favorable comments, the first saying
"This post is really disgusting. I like it. "
and the profane, not to belie his reputation as a fair, appreciated the 'good taste' of commenting.
A little 'below, I expressed my humble opinion on the post, noting the' wickedness' of the picture, in contrast with the habits' flower 'of the illustrious Prof.
adding (ahimé! alas!) that only a "depraved" and the pleasure could imagine that the post in support of this.
A narrow space of the comments, among other considerations, the answer I got was:

"In a little 'cat will miss the' I ', absolutely good taste!" (sic !).

(We all know that sic means "so", paro paro, including all caps).
The first thought: it is possible that a commentadora, just because I took the liberty of adding an affectionate "depraved" to his already countless titles thought of suicide?
Excluding now the unlikely event, I thought
a) I kicked ass in his blog (I bans, as it seems we tell the world bloggaiolo)
b) if somehow pass in my blog, will only come to me for spitting in the eye, on feast days in both.
If both hypotheses were verified, I lit the fire in advance (the time is already on fire 'planted a'), specifically to create a bucket of ashes, and sprinkle it with the two heads available, just to make you forgive me.
For the record, the post of 'blessing' is posted at the fateful 19.58 November 9 quoted above. 10
The same month, on Wednesday, was spent; quiet shadow of the sun had enlivened the day, in contrast to the case in other parts of the country.
Thursday 11: Morning more or less peaceful, more or less blue sky, clouds here and there makes the day almost spring.
afternoon, while doing the usual relaxing nap, suddenly the sky blue when I fell in bed, he was overshadowed by ugly, thunder and lightning in the distance first, then straight over our heads ... It was
water cats and dogs but not for trucks, and hail and wind to be frightening.
I was down in the garage, hoping that the entrance grid was able to dispose of the stream coming down the descent into the interior.
So I watched, helplessly, to direct a mini-tsunami in an instant a dozen feet of water had flooded the garage, entering from under the shutters in the pits.
will lasted a quarter of an hour, then ... the calm after the storm.
I had called his wife, and we were made to fuck ... ...
the water out, making it back to the grid, whose bed was emptied in the meantime.
In a couple of hours, with bare feet and trousers rolled up to his knees, at least we had rejected the bulk.
A refreshing coffee, a cigarette oxygenating, and I went to the computer to get some 'reading the last breath of the world's bloggers.

"In a little 'cat will miss the' I ', absolutely good taste."

The modem was off, and I had not I turned off.
Taken by the breaking of the water, I had forgotten to unplug everything, like I always do when the weather becomes dangerous.
-Turn back on, crushing-ripigia, crushing rischiaccia: Nothing to be done.
I wanted to try to reset, but with the modem off would have been reset as a corpse.
No landline, adsl zero.
Friday 12: called the operator, reported the accident, the ragazzuola, gentle, go to the trouble my technical field, it will take about five days to get a response.
A piece of music that I know very well unfortunately. Nicola
would come, or Amedeo, or who knows who?
not count Friday, Saturday and Sunday are not working, he would have spoken, if it went well, the following Thursday.
Monday instead (rain, this time motivated by the quickness of the response), had come to the telecom engineer, a distinguished stranger.
A couple of tests and final sentence: modem fucked.
Obviously he did not have a spare, I'd been with me the telecom immediately changed. Would forward the request to change dell'aggeggio. No, the delivery did not know them, the telecom will change immediately. The telecom is always the telecom, other music ...
In the nearby village there is a kind of point of sale computer gear, where among other things I bought at the time the modem just now deceased.
explained the situation, bugiardescamente said that dozens of people waiting, hungry wolves, my comforting words, the owner had given me a modem provisional, pending the new one from headquarters.
After connection (strangely went straight to fruition), the first question that I had done was:
"Where was I?". To answer
I went to give a pass to the various blog, going too fast feedback, to try to see where it stopped my pills distributed wisdom.
arrived at the post mentioned above, at times I burn out the modem provisional.

"In a little 'cat will miss the' I ', absolutely good taste."

Coincidence?
Six days in jail, in solitary confinement, under the 31 bis 41, also a, was exaggerated.
With a dog, also convict (found in the blog of the saint, further evidence that you know ...), to cell mate ...

hours in the air I went to clean up the beach, gathering wood in the storm had driven from the seafront.
For the first week of cold fuel will have to feed the fire. And ...

... in the fireplace will make a pyre

wood brackish

and salt on the flame

shall see, over the top,

burned a saint.

Dolce his face,

sneering smile,

say with affection:

"Cat damned

I go roast

but you will do less ".

HELP!

Post-post : tour d'horizon, I ended up in the blog bysa portraits of animals, created and directed by Samantha Abis, there is a very beautiful and interesting, Feast of the Black Cat .
worth visiting THE reading correctly, not to be confused with AL, it would be a gatticidio, pursued even in the Criminal Code.

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visit Rize

many come to feel that Serena has the Rize Saturday in Italian!

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Law The Bacchelli

Act

Bacchelli Law (No. 440 of 8 August 1985) was established to provide support to individuals who have distinguished themselves in the cultural art of the spectacle of sport, at the end of their careers find themselves in difficult circumstances.
Personally I think a law unconstitutional, in reference to the article (which does not quote, because it is ignored so that everyone knows) that declares the equality of all citizens before the state.
By providing specific interventions for certain categories, discard the other, creating a de facto discrimination.
The fact that it came to light nell'afa August (85 that was real muggy and hot dog days, not like the warm summer now) makes me doubt that it is born in the cool mind that is essential at the time of issuance of any state law.

Act II

A couple of days ago, a FC (for the law on privacy by not mentioning the name and surname, even this I think is a wrong law, or at least misplaced, since the deluge of our laws is the only one that is respected, until the climax), which is nicknamed the "Caliph" (a nickname not circumvent the law cited earlier; the identification of the subject is encrypted by the fact that we are full of Caliphs. One is the Caliph Massimo D'Alema is not good even though he has a fair amount of caliphs, who express this title in all the powers attributed to the fact caliphs), however this feeling of belonging to the Caliph FC circle of benefactors, cultural this country, has requested access to the law cited in the opening.
In an interview with a well-known newspaper, television and voice work, the Caliph has expressly said to have squandered billions, of having "had" more than a thousand women (I think here it is braked, in my "girls" would be more appropriate ; women, but has little else think they are) to be dropped fracturing, if I remember correctly, three vertebrae.
This incident prevents the exhibition in the streets, that deprives him of a livelihood and way of life he was used.
One senator, Domenico Gramazio, took to heart the matter, he dusted off and broke the law cited was forwarded to the Minister of Culture, Bondi, who has pledged to begin the process for the award of the annuity.
E 'this morning the interest of the governor of the Lazio region, Polverini, which is committed, heart in hand, to give appropriate support to live a decent FC Caliph.
which, in during Thanksgiving, we promised to dedicate a song, because "it's a beautiful pussy." The
Gramazio, in particular, has explicitly ruled that the fact that FC is not the right time to suspect "has affected his speech ready and disinterested, but caused only by the humanitarian spirit to a Caliph who honored the Italian culture.
goes without saying that the same spirit lingers on Bondi and Polverini.
says that FC is forced to live with twenty thousand euro a year of copyright, having to pay the rent, for food to get by on the street (or bins or Caritas or latch, I presume).
The annuity, if (but an uncertain pro-forma, with these pushers would have us to complain if you do not give it to him) were to give it to him, he would have some other twenty-four thousand euro per year.
guess, if you do not know math, forty-five thousand euro a year.
be rounded with a few took to the streets, sometimes.

Act III

Also two days ago, I read (I like to read everything) in a blog then I quote an open letter that seemed so incredible that it can be considered true. Although I would not be.
synthesizes it (look what you've heard: damn cat, if summarizing the weather does not come back!). The
has written a gentleman, MC, 48, addressed at the highest organs of state.
This gentleman worked 85 to the RAI / Abruzzo, seconded to the secretariat of the TGR.
In February 2010 he was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer and from that period in the disease.
One says: poor, we hope that if the cables.
Well, this is not his wrath. His anxiety that the letter sets out in no uncertain terms, is due to a law (holy law, as Bacchelli) provides that after 208 days of illness (seven months) the deduction of salary by 50% after the next 8 months 50%, the salary will be cleared and remain cleared until the expiry of 24 months. With a recognized disability to
100%.
After that date, the company (RAI, RAI we're talking about, is how to shoot to Talk About the Red Cross) would go to his dismissal, again by virtue of the same law as the scissor kick salary.
The scissor kick, as talk of numbers is not a crime, it will lead to 700/1000 € per month against the full salary of about 2000 which was paid. The letter also speaks
MC inconsistencies that are creepy: please, go read it in full. The
found on LIBERAL VOX 8 November, the post title is "Living with cancer with half salary."

Act IV

Two shame in comparison.
a very close personal (involving the circle that says), the lack of dignity that makes it odious, the motivations and eventual implementation. The histrionic amuse me, irritate me the Marple.
The other, is not ashamed to MC: shame is first and foremost RAI and after that, we, all of us.

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cockcrow

El Canto del GAL

Coma chiel Fasia already bib le matin

with the Edco has Comense sang

drinta I know the game, Sagrini stating that each sensation,

single head per Drita Mach salutary.

The only beautiful crests Rossa bin soli

the Dasi ciàir he sens la corona ed to:

hanger 'd col poly, chiel, al'era' re

and it controlled its own 'd. person-to ...

Andrinta in court, ciàira and bright

ai Caminada bin al nobile soagnà:

with him only to pass Leger spassigiava

blagand piuma touch with bin pëntnà.

Chiel fasìa the level to play chicken-and

ch'a it cudìo of full-and amirassion:

El blagheur aj'ero soe ... regin-e, but

deuvìo situassion understood the bin.

Ma 'n brut ij lader

are passed to and from the poles have piàit suits the Galin-e:

chiel for SOA al'é a fortune-scape,

but with the brut 'do-it-and since propi ... je.

For a while 's time has pa pì cantà

con el sò cheur full and soferensa:

peui with cole pole neuve found it

na Rason neuve for SOA esistensa.

Al fond ëd costa stòria j’é na moral

ch’a val s’a-i é ’l sol e con la brin-a:

për podèj sempre sente canté ’n gal

basta ch’a-i sia davzin...soa galin-a.

                                                                                                                                        (Attilio Rossi)

The cat has translated from chicchirichese, meowing like this:

OF THE SONG GALLO

As he did every morning

that day began singing

into his chicken coop, with no thought,

with his head up just to say hello.

His beautiful red crest erect

gave the clear sense of the crown:

because of that chicken, he was the king

and controlled right person.

Inside the court, clear and bright, we walked with poise

noble

walked with her light step

showing their feathers well combed.

He made nice with his hens

who tended full of admiration for the gallant

... were his queens,

but had to understand the situation well.

But a bad day

thieves have passed and they took all the chicken coop:

him his fortune he's escaped, but that

bad day was the end.

for a while 'time no longer

sang with her heart full of pain:

then with the new pullets

has found a new reason for its existence.

At the end of this story there is a moral

that applies if the sun is shining and the frost:

to sing always feel a cock

close enough that there is ... its chicken .

The moral of the poem is clear: if there is hen the cock crows, otherwise nisba.

Who is like poetry, should also enjoy the following tale.


There once was a rooster that had received free loan for a specified time (thought, belief, hope) a building, and had made a poultry house: in order to full-throated singing was not limited to a single hen, had wanted several and considered him a king, their king.

Villa himself had a rooster, another chicken coop: chickens josa wanted here, and always love to sing better (Ar core can not control, he said).


He also had another villa, island, Pollaiolo this too, not to pay the ICI had called Certosa, by including the church property tax exemption by hatred. More than a villa was a country, near the sea, equipped with everything one could miss the chickens? No, and there brought us better, more ... more!


order not to miss anything he had also bought an old barn, overseas (the natives call it Antigua, not to change from macaroni): here the inevitable chickens were exotic, hard, tanned and not seeking the payment of contributions payable by domestic workers.


Heaven, not for the other to contribute: distributed command posts, where the chickens could have fun, as a hen's brain allowing it to do.


For others, spent the coveted summit, there was the safe haven in television, which was a chicken coop especially, at the time bought to boost its crowing.


Not to look a despot, was surrounded by chickens and capons, which could chicchireggiare a command or by delegation; sometimes it seemed they did their own initiative, and the cock, mock angry, punishing them severely, promoting to higher positions.


The tale ends here.

Like all fairy tales should have a moral. This does not have it.

The moral of those who have died directly, dignity is buried, the shame no longer exists.