“What is the sanctity of a man who loses his memory,” Gimferrer said in his fiery verses, though now he transfers the quote to this Sunday of mourning and warm beer. Everyone can vote whatever they want, everyone can vote how they think, red on the drums (“No one is stupider than a poor right-winger”) and blue on the guitar (“Red, a government of hunger and lice”). . But What does not fit in democracy is losing face. The thing that doesn’t fit into democracy is the balaclava, What the mirror cannot return to you are the eyes of hatred, without a face.

According to Olona’s book, the business that was always there is back, selling or charging matches next to gasoline cans, whether from Ariza, Kiké Monasterio or henchmen. What is not worth it is chaos as a business And in the free market we go through everything, Anson’s sixty thousand bucks a month in Arizona, the 11 million Vox News clan, the unions in trolls and trills, and more flaring, and more burning of containers, and more stealing of chairs, and some more. More baskets for the people, and more carnivals outside of law and order. No, it doesn’t fit.

Amidst the feast of phantom unions, of sneaky camps, of shots from Iran, of Tizona’s “prostitutes and sundry”, of long pasta, we must remember, I think, in democracy, that everything can be lost except the expensive one. . There is no room for any pseudo-speechThere is no illusion of gangsters and no terrorism of eyes burning with hatred. RebellionAs an association that comes to sell matches next to the gasoline can, it has nothing to do with good people, they vote whatever they think, whatever they vote for.

Perpetuating hate is a business, and a shame, and a mission to quell hate. When beggars come on the street, the first thing they do is cover their faces with long, wide, stormy beards. Another type of beggar fights for a dignified existence, in hardships, for daily cleanliness, for daily shaving. The masked and masked mafia is Dantesk, The lurker since the Golden Age, waiting around the corner to give us the stick. Democracy, as we know it today, is respect for various things, law and order. Sparkler business burning in the checking account of four, ruined due to not paying money to the milkman, now there is panic among others too Street violence that changes the tone of everythingOr, where the aim is to break down fences, where the dishonest destroys every good look.

“Nobody gets a shock until they see themselves on television doing something they didn’t think they would.”

There was always something very poetic, a scream in the crowd, a hope in the eyes, a sparkle in a glance caused by the sublime humidity. To simplify the couplet, the old communist concept of “collective front” causes many casualties. It involves what has always happened, a demonstration whose purpose is to parasitize, whose purpose is to colonize, and some people from outside come in and put a banner over the head, and for no other reason than the main reason behind the scene. Enters. No one is shocked until they see themselves on television doing something they didn’t expect. Amidst the condomless sex of the Virgin of Candelaria, the business of selling matches with cans of gasoline remains very greedy on the part of the official gangsters, they all went bankrupt, not even paying the milkman. The serious parole was that he did not have many companions.

Spanish democracy only tolerated ETA by force with balaclavas, where the trail of blood always led to lies from politics, for which they never paid, of course, not to screw up, because it was also a popular business. Poets, and good people, and common people, common people about whom many have said, they are and we are absolutely in the language of clouds. This is better than a masked person whose pupils belong to someone else. Nothing to see: Nothing, nothing, out, out, balaclavas and hoods are all that is deserved in our democracy. Those looking for new sponsorship for their broken companies continue to use confrontational rhetoric. Reducing hatred, replacing alcohol with water, is not beneficial today and now. Violent minorities do not know that they are driven by higher interests, Peaceful demonstrations cannot escape parasitism. Road, business, set fire to a matchstick next to a gasoline can to resolve air promises as well as a broken company. What does it matter, hey, if I’m going to do my job. All the rubber balls burst in the blind eyes. Democracy – in capital letters, importantly – never involves someone else telling you what you think.

“In capital letters, I continue, there is no democracy where guys in hoods carry compasses while others use maps.”

Match boxes will not be sold next to gasoline cans. They’ve had enough of the business, the middlemen, the chickens under the cover of the night, the biters who want to bite the Aachen host at their wits’ end, the deeply ignorant, the manipulators and the tricksters. Pay what you owe, Julito. In capital letters, I continue, there is no democracy where hooded men carry compasses while others use maps. Julito’s compass is, of course, of the ruined people, of the desperate people, in front of the public, the most useful thing, to be at the head, while we sell the donkey in the back, where hot business is useless, of the whole society in subsidies. Partisan rule as the host’s election shock in my current account, is implemented or executed as an enemy in my own logic, because the enemy’s language is the main income, don’t mess up, and what’s going to happen is another. The hooded men do not fit into any natural dichotomy. The hooded guys don’t fit in with the trident and the sneer. Now there is no place for hooded people.

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