All actors are, it's all lies. It is increasingly clear, I have evidence.
long time ago that I know, before the Truman Show. Often the "writers" are correct and nailed the leg, so that this degenerates into a "Trapped in time", where "the monotony kills dynamics conceptual creativity, "and hence is when they suspected: the same faces, same places ... someone tell me" then travels more acartonao! "I have checked: Salamanca, Granada, Pamplona, \u200b\u200band abroad (in relation to the English border) errors garrafals always see an extra descarriat some figures and known me pose alert. What does this / to here for So far the Terreta?
I tell anecdotes (such anecdotes are not) that make "the tip of Vellore" (poetic license, for Tiquis-ordination):
glorious Sunday Madalena, a bar full of smoke (bufff, Why were beasts!) with a group of friends. A cover of the newspaper about the city, the inevitable Mediterraneo, with the image of a lady "weight", round face, a color Titot, leaving religiously to prayer "with its best gala". I made some comments, let soften, about jocosos paints did. A friend m'adverteix: is the mother of another girl there and this is worse, listening. I do not believe me, the whole province of Castellon (invented in 1800 and peak) and has to be his mother ... in that comb ... Well ere
truth, cagado was mega-cagado, as the television Boboto That's balloteig (actor twice). The girl still talks to me, everything is clear as theater ... I also want
to deceive others "trampantojos" as Matrix (I have not seen) and rolls philosophy such as Plato and the myth of the cave, or Descartes ... Calderon as literary and Quevedo (these would be the role that everyone has played) in the game for the club to please me, and now come a crisis of Madrid, but I will take it calmly deception, conscious and trying the carpe diem . Yesterday I rose to the credit and debit cards, and no reason to Unison. When I write these lines a fictitious actor quietly pass by my street wearing the shirt albinegra. What
little imagination!
not forgotten that our life
comedy theater of farce and the world
everything that moves the aparatus Instantes
fear into him and we all farsantes somos ... Quevedo.
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