Blogame mucho: Spouts of besugo

21.6.06

Spouts of besugo

The English are, surely, the people ugliest of the world. E one of that if it washes little.

However, that english of snout almost so enjoadinho as of the Peter Crouch and of the Vasco Brave Pulido, one that was to dribble itself for inside of the tenth seventh beer overturned after the small lunch and that projecto assexuado of portuguese journalist was interviewed by that one (that had, already now, to be condemned to lick escroto of the Thin Luis during eighteen months, and the corpse of the Andy “Varole” during the entire eternity, because what it must have done was to escacar the microphone whole number, with wires and everything, for the cornos below of that one merdosa sample of súbdito of that one monarchy where it only has ugly dudes to marry prostitutes or, but that is in before, chulos without beiças to marry gajas ugly, and where, however it may be, all people if dresses as if was for entering in one caixola of “concrete of fruits”, somebody remembers this excrement of the “concrete ones”? it was berrante, was not? ai was aberrant, therefore, also it was this), that English, son of great puta full of esmegma in the nails and of a relieved camionista, these, what if entreteve to sing, before the chambers of that Portuguese television that lowered it the pants, with voice of panilas, - yes, that the English with voice of panilas are panilas with more irritating voice of panilas and more panilas that has, over all of the South Pole for top -, this English, ugly imbecile and surrão, that it chose to drink a toast with estribilho “vocês do not pass of a small Spanish city! ”, this monturo British, this face of cu to the civilian who already have-of having been enrabado and completely ragged for cinquenta and six co-adepts its, are the Turks, and this only since that the world-wide one started, this son of a cow and a castrated ferret and a shirt of vénus route, looks at, said ragged and route, this go well, this English excrement yoghurt, said I, therefore, I had to be able to be contracted to pass with me five minutes, were enough five minutes to me, in a small farm from where the son of a mare and a leper could not run away, but where he could singwill what it apetecesse to it, evidently, while it cuspinhava the rotten teeth that I would break to it, in the dot, á murraça. But this, sincerely, in the dot, and to say to it “goes to enjoy with the goat of your mother and asks to it, already now, who is your father and if it does not have, by chance, house in Abambres”.

Already to follow, the version in english “by google”.

But, before this, this:
I have penalty that the Maradona has not marked that one golo to the English surrões that had been in Mexico, in 1986, with the colhões, in place of being with the hand. That, was with the colhões. It was with… soon, already it said with what it was, that with that that ball must have entered in the beacon of the “pevidosos of the I say”, I I know, soon, forgive, I do not come back to say, is one asneirola thick, I do not say more.

It was with the colhões!

I ask for excuse to the lolita for sotaque, to the scarce blogosfera that still gutter to read for manifest the intellectual poverty that, and to the JPP for the clamorous lack of digestion of the information that I disclose here. I know that the life is other things, as, for example, to walk to photograph other dudes to work.

A tradução para inglês deve ter sido feita por um gnomo britânico, pois.