"You drank the last beer merdaccia bad?" Joe
the rest has filled balls that I do is pretend look for work and drinking cans of cider belt, his is a mission that aims to make me almost normal. Lately, Joe is like the whores that they stop beating, or drug addicts who quit do, all become Joan of Arc ... you believe all of the little EJ Hoover you like mosquitoes buzzing around the CIA. From the incredibly annoying because in a sense, the memories themselves. They can not come to terms with what they were, then you see that it is your fault just because they are stingy and does not like to go somewhere to get someone psychoanalyze
... The house where we live with Uncle and his Swedish sirocco St. Martin's College, is on two floors and is adjacent to a Kentucky Fried Chicken as a cursed that you leave the ladder in the back of the iron ladder, or you feel like fried chicken or you start vomiting on the steps. Sometimes I think of suicide. I am three months that I came here to retrieve my, let's say I have succeeded 60%, are even more plump. Joe also tells you when the barrels magnificence on the sofa, when in a good mood, when an eighteen and trumpet. Other times, must be his things and I can only do so foreign to my face that I find myself, and then says they are the same as always. In my case it is never a compliment, although I take it to the spirit of survival such as teeth and smile to thirty-two thousand. The days follow one another like photocopies all the same, because the sky always white, the smell of fried chicken. But I love the repetition, then that's fine too I am infamous time. He made some beautiful sunny days when I was still north of the street sweeper Walthamstow, but it left me indifferent. Indeed, sometimes m'indispettiva since seven o'clock in the morning was cold and about eleven had to get rid of the jacket because I was sweating, so I had to fix the bad and worse on my jalopy full of shit. A Pakistani boy once asked me with great face fuck and a disturbing hair on her upper lip if by chance I pick up a bum or just the stuff that the homeless are left below. Curandomi not to be seen by cars whizzing assigned to me on the street, aimed a sweep but the shy and the boy makes me a raspberry. A cricket's future? I do not remember well because I refuse collection is fired from north London, although a vague idea I have. Not bad. After a while 'fooling around, many walks in the street market, up and down with the Job Centre, I am stuck with my friend. Perhaps the age of eighteen has accannato to a peer, instill I do not see anything wrong with that. So me, Joe has found a good job, a job at Sainsbury's, the supermarket chain into which a few months time will be stopped for shoplifting. Joe brings me a nice brochure and argues that there are immense possibilities to build a career. There's barely concealed irony in his words, and a touch of sadism. I suddenly put into his head to feed a visceral hatred towards him and stop to speak to him. From now on we will only tell a rude gesture. The reality is that he can not wait to see me wear a uniform to fool, not they care that much that I let him, wants to see me dressed as a snowman to be seized by hysteria and laugh until pee pee. Useless my whining that I'd rather get back to do the garbage, sell your ass or bury the dead. The rent is owed, I never do the shopping, it's time for me would be helpful to the cause especially as I finished writing the thesis in Sofia of the debauched uncle and I have not a shred of an alibi. Besides being a drug dealer uncle, usually always prefer to get paid in goods rather than cash. Nothing to do. I have to go for the interview, Joe does not trust and follow me home and to the door of the supermarket, my shirt and I combed the system as would a mother. Once inside, I'm surrounded by English Delayed and ethnic minorities from the air a thousand times more determined than me. These are modern, and make us fill out a little 'questionnaires from the ceiling in an office down annoyingly. The neon lights are, I'm going to smoke a cigarette in the toilet and I realize that I'm so pale that it seems almost transparent. Perhaps I flatter myself, I do not take because they are invisible. But those who care about the assumptions they know more of the devil. We deal a home movie on the supermarket and then tell us to write down what we saw. Christ, I have a great sense of observation, at least make me manager. I take it as a challenge, but I see the Pakistanis and even the English boor write non-stop as a reporter fifties. I toyed with the embarrassment of a fat pen lent a veil. I can think of tongue twisters and nursery rhymes Friulian my grandmother sang to me, I smile at my new Muslim friend, but she ignores me. They spend a bit 'of days, Joe gets up to go to work and I curse because I can stay pending the decision of the responsible staff of Sainsbury's. I laugh and I pull the blanket up to his ears, Joe thinks to some form of revenge. I know I must be on guard, but I count sheep and I go back to sleep. Me and my friend, we share the bed it is true, but we are like Kato and Inspector Cluseau, although it is difficult to tell who's who of the two. Then when we get drunk, even though he is six feet and I only one there and eighty track, improvise bumfights that our friends are pretending not to know us and let us walk. Ours is an insane rivalry that comes out after the sixth or seventh pint. Typically we begin with some jabs, and then move to insults, to involve our mothers, in the street until we take the soup from the army Salvation and we poured it on him, while we take a fight on the escalator of the subway, then get some chick in a blue uniform that counsels us to pack it would otherwise call the cops. Sure, sure ... the interference of others distract us from each other, a short respite, but then again that if we get back up the iron ladder in the back of the house, beautiful stuffed we are not happy. Sofia asks us if we are crazy, we belch in the face even if Uncle is not happy, but never mind she is Swedish.
And unfortunately this time the job arrives. Joe handed me a brown envelope with a wicked smile as he opened and already knows that the miracle that had been waiting for has arrived. Start kicking the room, unable to comprehend the fact that those pieces of shit who had the courage to hire me. Joe I caress her head, I am calm and I'm hooked on mystical visions. The work I imagine it as a death with an orange robe, the color of the supermarket, instead of a scythe, holds a bar code. I would run away, but this time I just can not. The house I'm in has a nice warmth, others do the shopping and I from time to time I start to cook. Borat look ketamine and Goofy. It 's a loser agree idyll but an idyll. What's so idyllic can not I look better, but that's OK at the bottom.
"Do you think Billy will give you a uniform?" Seeking
to ignore, I drink from my can of cider ghetto pretending to follow a documentary sull'aquarello with three broken ass that should paint a landscape somewhere in Cornwall.
"I think you will look good in uniform, will give an important air ..." I tell him
of trouble and I light up a cigarette. Uncle also arrives, joins the guffaw of the other moron, but then decided to pull myself up the morale to take me to get some 'fresh air. They range from the SS Death's drummer, one of his customers prefer. One who calls the pills "yum yum" and that the coca calls "nose." Step of carefree hours, the SS Death says bestiality one after the other, Unk I check to see if I enjoy. For some reason some people enjoy the fact that certain things I enjoy. Every time I go to the bathroom because I get the giggles. Then Uncle gives me a shot of hope that maybe bamba m'incastro and stop making a fool that he is working after all. But this sort of bear of a man, I come to Sabaudia, Lazio, Latina or some other hell, do not realize what makes me die. In fact, I listen to him and ask him to name a more large, so in the end I'm so nice that he offers. We leave lair of tigers and the fact that as we move both as Pinocchio, Uncle proposes to go do a couple of pints. So he pays me introduce myself ...
Saynsbury at nine o'clock in the morning to the big day. I go to the office of a modern Pakistan and stout. This guy in a suit and tie with a Parlotti English, are both in good spirits. I drew a smile constipated.
"A Filippo, Filippo Inzaghi as ..."
muttered an oath between his teeth and I introduce myself in the dressing department puppets. I give up my beautiful uniform, I can not remember but in addition to cigarette pants and shirt as a policeman, there is a sort of tie that is fixed with a pin and the beautiful orange sweater that Joe dreams for days. But the piece de resistance are the boots that make me walk like Frankenstein. I head straight into the belly soaking the supermarket, warehouse. There are a fat cockney and that there is never a middle-aged type Jamaika taxis that cigarette every five minutes. I am involved in unloading goods from trucks. Work on the ramp and load a forklift, hand food, then I put them where I tell them. Let's do some 'inventory, we are the quintessence of listlessness. At lunch I go home, my feet are so bad that if someone gave me the shoes I put them to commit suicide andarmi a hand against him in a truck. At home there is no one and thank god, because now I can see in the mirror as they finished bottom. I make myself a sandwich and two cans of cider, then eat a package of vigorsol, prey to a bout of bulimia from gum arabic. I'll be back at the slaughterhouse and slightly tipsy appearance instructions. The Jamaika tells me to take it easy, to sit as well. Then came an Englishman with a mid-air between the fennel and the Nazi who asks me why I have nothing to do. He sputtered that are new. The pederast makes a face and asks me if they are Irish. This
then ... "Then there is an Italian with a English name in Walthamstow? precisely in the warehouse of a Sainsb ... "
" It's not English "
" As you think, sure I'm not Irish? "
After the pain in the ass and leaves Jamaika out from his hiding place, ask him what is the history of the Irish. Bob shrugs and says that the type must have thought because I have an air of being lazy and saying that Italian I have certainly improved things.
The next day Bob showed me my new assignment. We go outside where there is a giant press, before which are placed high carts full of rotten food that I will have to exterminate me in person. The press is very dangerous, there is a guy dead inside but my colleague does not remember exactly how. He shows me the buttons work, it gives me a kind of shovel, a jacket and it makes me good luck. I scratch my balls. I begin to squash shit, Joe cursing at each shovelful. Good for me bedraggled trousers and smadonno because they leverage a mephitic smell. Every now and then pass Jamaika to see if they are dead or if by chance I ran away.
o'clock I go home, Uncle opens the door and I burst out laughing in the face. Throw away the tab from the can and shoot myself in the whole pint at once, advancing to the staggered seating. I am about to start crying. There Nose, so now we call the type of Death SS. He did not find anything abnormal in my new way to get around. He's there to acchittare Uncle and since it looks good from joining his client, gives me a braying that just does not like blowjobs alone. A point ... I'm
me through the hunger, I think the press imparanoio, thank nose and go down the ladder of iron doubly handicapped by stiff boots that were not enough. Pass the Off-license and the Turks, accustomed to seeing me in many other garments, do not make it to linger and become a chuckle, too. I'm not upset, because they make me credit, I attack the second can of K Cider and walking like Forrest Gump when the metal braces I am going to shovel a few more tons of shit. The evening of the day, doing DIY stoned ketamine I open the palm of the hand in two with a knife. I cut the muscle, Joe is called the ambulance to Uncle because he is sick. I hear a lot of pain and lose so much blood, but I tell myself that tomorrow will put us all in all some other asshole in front the press. The hospital are unable to patch, then the next day Joe who took a good scare us call a taxi slams into me. We have to go to a hospital specializing in this kind of accident, Essex. I say well, I've never been to Essex ...
Along the way we stopped at a gas station, because Joe did not take me three or four beer porn magazines, two Snickers and Mars.
"You can take the stuff tomorrow? I'll come ... "
Joe ignores me. Do a bite to a finger, the whirring of the window, the other if the putty my friend now very concentrated in the reading of porn that I should bring up the morale, but I figures will only do shit with the nurses.
the rest has filled balls that I do is pretend look for work and drinking cans of cider belt, his is a mission that aims to make me almost normal. Lately, Joe is like the whores that they stop beating, or drug addicts who quit do, all become Joan of Arc ... you believe all of the little EJ Hoover you like mosquitoes buzzing around the CIA. From the incredibly annoying because in a sense, the memories themselves. They can not come to terms with what they were, then you see that it is your fault just because they are stingy and does not like to go somewhere to get someone psychoanalyze
... The house where we live with Uncle and his Swedish sirocco St. Martin's College, is on two floors and is adjacent to a Kentucky Fried Chicken as a cursed that you leave the ladder in the back of the iron ladder, or you feel like fried chicken or you start vomiting on the steps. Sometimes I think of suicide. I am three months that I came here to retrieve my, let's say I have succeeded 60%, are even more plump. Joe also tells you when the barrels magnificence on the sofa, when in a good mood, when an eighteen and trumpet. Other times, must be his things and I can only do so foreign to my face that I find myself, and then says they are the same as always. In my case it is never a compliment, although I take it to the spirit of survival such as teeth and smile to thirty-two thousand. The days follow one another like photocopies all the same, because the sky always white, the smell of fried chicken. But I love the repetition, then that's fine too I am infamous time. He made some beautiful sunny days when I was still north of the street sweeper Walthamstow, but it left me indifferent. Indeed, sometimes m'indispettiva since seven o'clock in the morning was cold and about eleven had to get rid of the jacket because I was sweating, so I had to fix the bad and worse on my jalopy full of shit. A Pakistani boy once asked me with great face fuck and a disturbing hair on her upper lip if by chance I pick up a bum or just the stuff that the homeless are left below. Curandomi not to be seen by cars whizzing assigned to me on the street, aimed a sweep but the shy and the boy makes me a raspberry. A cricket's future? I do not remember well because I refuse collection is fired from north London, although a vague idea I have. Not bad. After a while 'fooling around, many walks in the street market, up and down with the Job Centre, I am stuck with my friend. Perhaps the age of eighteen has accannato to a peer, instill I do not see anything wrong with that. So me, Joe has found a good job, a job at Sainsbury's, the supermarket chain into which a few months time will be stopped for shoplifting. Joe brings me a nice brochure and argues that there are immense possibilities to build a career. There's barely concealed irony in his words, and a touch of sadism. I suddenly put into his head to feed a visceral hatred towards him and stop to speak to him. From now on we will only tell a rude gesture. The reality is that he can not wait to see me wear a uniform to fool, not they care that much that I let him, wants to see me dressed as a snowman to be seized by hysteria and laugh until pee pee. Useless my whining that I'd rather get back to do the garbage, sell your ass or bury the dead. The rent is owed, I never do the shopping, it's time for me would be helpful to the cause especially as I finished writing the thesis in Sofia of the debauched uncle and I have not a shred of an alibi. Besides being a drug dealer uncle, usually always prefer to get paid in goods rather than cash. Nothing to do. I have to go for the interview, Joe does not trust and follow me home and to the door of the supermarket, my shirt and I combed the system as would a mother. Once inside, I'm surrounded by English Delayed and ethnic minorities from the air a thousand times more determined than me. These are modern, and make us fill out a little 'questionnaires from the ceiling in an office down annoyingly. The neon lights are, I'm going to smoke a cigarette in the toilet and I realize that I'm so pale that it seems almost transparent. Perhaps I flatter myself, I do not take because they are invisible. But those who care about the assumptions they know more of the devil. We deal a home movie on the supermarket and then tell us to write down what we saw. Christ, I have a great sense of observation, at least make me manager. I take it as a challenge, but I see the Pakistanis and even the English boor write non-stop as a reporter fifties. I toyed with the embarrassment of a fat pen lent a veil. I can think of tongue twisters and nursery rhymes Friulian my grandmother sang to me, I smile at my new Muslim friend, but she ignores me. They spend a bit 'of days, Joe gets up to go to work and I curse because I can stay pending the decision of the responsible staff of Sainsbury's. I laugh and I pull the blanket up to his ears, Joe thinks to some form of revenge. I know I must be on guard, but I count sheep and I go back to sleep. Me and my friend, we share the bed it is true, but we are like Kato and Inspector Cluseau, although it is difficult to tell who's who of the two. Then when we get drunk, even though he is six feet and I only one there and eighty track, improvise bumfights that our friends are pretending not to know us and let us walk. Ours is an insane rivalry that comes out after the sixth or seventh pint. Typically we begin with some jabs, and then move to insults, to involve our mothers, in the street until we take the soup from the army Salvation and we poured it on him, while we take a fight on the escalator of the subway, then get some chick in a blue uniform that counsels us to pack it would otherwise call the cops. Sure, sure ... the interference of others distract us from each other, a short respite, but then again that if we get back up the iron ladder in the back of the house, beautiful stuffed we are not happy. Sofia asks us if we are crazy, we belch in the face even if Uncle is not happy, but never mind she is Swedish.
And unfortunately this time the job arrives. Joe handed me a brown envelope with a wicked smile as he opened and already knows that the miracle that had been waiting for has arrived. Start kicking the room, unable to comprehend the fact that those pieces of shit who had the courage to hire me. Joe I caress her head, I am calm and I'm hooked on mystical visions. The work I imagine it as a death with an orange robe, the color of the supermarket, instead of a scythe, holds a bar code. I would run away, but this time I just can not. The house I'm in has a nice warmth, others do the shopping and I from time to time I start to cook. Borat look ketamine and Goofy. It 's a loser agree idyll but an idyll. What's so idyllic can not I look better, but that's OK at the bottom.
"Do you think Billy will give you a uniform?" Seeking
to ignore, I drink from my can of cider ghetto pretending to follow a documentary sull'aquarello with three broken ass that should paint a landscape somewhere in Cornwall.
"I think you will look good in uniform, will give an important air ..." I tell him
of trouble and I light up a cigarette. Uncle also arrives, joins the guffaw of the other moron, but then decided to pull myself up the morale to take me to get some 'fresh air. They range from the SS Death's drummer, one of his customers prefer. One who calls the pills "yum yum" and that the coca calls "nose." Step of carefree hours, the SS Death says bestiality one after the other, Unk I check to see if I enjoy. For some reason some people enjoy the fact that certain things I enjoy. Every time I go to the bathroom because I get the giggles. Then Uncle gives me a shot of hope that maybe bamba m'incastro and stop making a fool that he is working after all. But this sort of bear of a man, I come to Sabaudia, Lazio, Latina or some other hell, do not realize what makes me die. In fact, I listen to him and ask him to name a more large, so in the end I'm so nice that he offers. We leave lair of tigers and the fact that as we move both as Pinocchio, Uncle proposes to go do a couple of pints. So he pays me introduce myself ...
Saynsbury at nine o'clock in the morning to the big day. I go to the office of a modern Pakistan and stout. This guy in a suit and tie with a Parlotti English, are both in good spirits. I drew a smile constipated.
"A Filippo, Filippo Inzaghi as ..."
muttered an oath between his teeth and I introduce myself in the dressing department puppets. I give up my beautiful uniform, I can not remember but in addition to cigarette pants and shirt as a policeman, there is a sort of tie that is fixed with a pin and the beautiful orange sweater that Joe dreams for days. But the piece de resistance are the boots that make me walk like Frankenstein. I head straight into the belly soaking the supermarket, warehouse. There are a fat cockney and that there is never a middle-aged type Jamaika taxis that cigarette every five minutes. I am involved in unloading goods from trucks. Work on the ramp and load a forklift, hand food, then I put them where I tell them. Let's do some 'inventory, we are the quintessence of listlessness. At lunch I go home, my feet are so bad that if someone gave me the shoes I put them to commit suicide andarmi a hand against him in a truck. At home there is no one and thank god, because now I can see in the mirror as they finished bottom. I make myself a sandwich and two cans of cider, then eat a package of vigorsol, prey to a bout of bulimia from gum arabic. I'll be back at the slaughterhouse and slightly tipsy appearance instructions. The Jamaika tells me to take it easy, to sit as well. Then came an Englishman with a mid-air between the fennel and the Nazi who asks me why I have nothing to do. He sputtered that are new. The pederast makes a face and asks me if they are Irish. This
then ... "Then there is an Italian with a English name in Walthamstow? precisely in the warehouse of a Sainsb ... "
" It's not English "
" As you think, sure I'm not Irish? "
After the pain in the ass and leaves Jamaika out from his hiding place, ask him what is the history of the Irish. Bob shrugs and says that the type must have thought because I have an air of being lazy and saying that Italian I have certainly improved things.
The next day Bob showed me my new assignment. We go outside where there is a giant press, before which are placed high carts full of rotten food that I will have to exterminate me in person. The press is very dangerous, there is a guy dead inside but my colleague does not remember exactly how. He shows me the buttons work, it gives me a kind of shovel, a jacket and it makes me good luck. I scratch my balls. I begin to squash shit, Joe cursing at each shovelful. Good for me bedraggled trousers and smadonno because they leverage a mephitic smell. Every now and then pass Jamaika to see if they are dead or if by chance I ran away.
o'clock I go home, Uncle opens the door and I burst out laughing in the face. Throw away the tab from the can and shoot myself in the whole pint at once, advancing to the staggered seating. I am about to start crying. There Nose, so now we call the type of Death SS. He did not find anything abnormal in my new way to get around. He's there to acchittare Uncle and since it looks good from joining his client, gives me a braying that just does not like blowjobs alone. A point ... I'm
me through the hunger, I think the press imparanoio, thank nose and go down the ladder of iron doubly handicapped by stiff boots that were not enough. Pass the Off-license and the Turks, accustomed to seeing me in many other garments, do not make it to linger and become a chuckle, too. I'm not upset, because they make me credit, I attack the second can of K Cider and walking like Forrest Gump when the metal braces I am going to shovel a few more tons of shit. The evening of the day, doing DIY stoned ketamine I open the palm of the hand in two with a knife. I cut the muscle, Joe is called the ambulance to Uncle because he is sick. I hear a lot of pain and lose so much blood, but I tell myself that tomorrow will put us all in all some other asshole in front the press. The hospital are unable to patch, then the next day Joe who took a good scare us call a taxi slams into me. We have to go to a hospital specializing in this kind of accident, Essex. I say well, I've never been to Essex ...
Along the way we stopped at a gas station, because Joe did not take me three or four beer porn magazines, two Snickers and Mars.
"You can take the stuff tomorrow? I'll come ... "
Joe ignores me. Do a bite to a finger, the whirring of the window, the other if the putty my friend now very concentrated in the reading of porn that I should bring up the morale, but I figures will only do shit with the nurses.
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