Wheeled Backpacks Nerdy

Gold II Set. That's all. (Third Update)

The scene is surreal. "El Rudo" tells the "Corny" you throw the ball to the right to give him the penalty to the opposing team, and incidentally, save the neck. The gunner drops the shotgun and the goalkeeper, in fine print, is thrown and stops the ball, his face contorted. Needless to say both players are united by blood, compelling reason to pierce the target left. Well, Vico no more united us and felt that a solid friendship, bordering on the carnalismo , in such a way, we needed not have come from the same womb to pass the ball towards the net.

also in a surreal scene, Vico convinced me to enter the 506 to sing a song to Marc, who was hopelessly smitten. Me with the guitar and screams, he, not with maracas, as in that song destrzada by Panda, but cobijero his tenor voice, he sang "Lupita" Pito Pérez, which I do not just materialize in Seseras, they did not have much to say to Marcelina, however to me went well chipocles the six strings. The more embarrassed ninfeta that was put, you could see more red cheeks and made him the most espantasuegras whistle to Vico, who finished with a falsetto "Let me not jama-ássssss yuuuú-uuu-uuuu.

He became a legend love my carnival dogged by that girl in college. And I know that: When we went to School Services, she went three rungs up, bobbing towards the validation office. The vision of that round ass, huge and strong, coming and going, like swishing Listerine was, to say the least, a formal invitation to fantasize about spanking, skinned knees and much jarcor . Given our risitas pendejas, turned to face and there ended his face was that of consolidating the scoring in the goal of Vico, who said, "That beautiful you are!" and that's where the fuck your mother language, as Marc seems to hear "Oh, daughter of a bitch, that shorts!", dedicated to his eyes Valesvérguer Vico number 327 and rushed to the third floor , making shake his head like crazy in pursuit of their nalgotas.

And there for real, Vico took pains to exist in the frame-universe. It threw to get to the gym, where she was responsible to make the audience drool, frankly shit was a joke at the meeting of Student Delegates and even sent him a huge bouquet of flowers on her birthday. Nothing. I felt ugly to see my brother doing juggling sizes to reach and nothing happened, maybe a smile of vanity and parallel counting. One day, spurred by the bitterness of the beers and the songs from Arjona, was tossed to write a letter once and for all, won him the favor of a prominent Costeñita caboose.

The laughter must have passed unnoticed for Vico, it kept asking what was wrong with his love letter. "Everything, asshole" - I said, choking with a handful of peanuts enchiladas. - "Your letter is a remix of fragments of songs!" And so it happened. The brain my cuais conceived that if a mellow and romantic song could work miracles right, a liquefied rolas could certainly pave the way with his fluffy lady. I mocked both their textículos and many gave advice, which I finished writing the letter. Who commands us to walk nosy nosed and then? And the following Monday, with tremendous raw yet, and their secret weapon under his arm, Vico came straight to entrust their partners put the stop packet in the hands of Marc. At noon, we went to buy a toast with beans and sausage dog to ease the hangover. Marc looked at Vico arrived, walked with their pimp, a mixture of Chacalon , That of the Thundercats and a gorilla with polio. Vico paid for the lunch, Suresh glad, because your loved one did not look with his usual contempt, and threw a spit on the floor, a sign that defecated all over his line. "No Mam, Caun!" And we were very smug to follow him to hell.

date It was the usual festivities of the Week "communication" and our small team of fast football, once again delighted the respectable, having been beaten in a brutal even by the first half. However, we laughed at our disaster, making awkward and showy moves, showing her ass and the cheerleaders guandajonas jalándole the short to Albitres . When we were like eight - zero, we look to reach the stands the little group of Marce, reason enough to see the amazing transformation of Vico, who was in throwing out his chest, made his dribbling and commanded tremendous Rio fierrazos the poor goalkeeper who only managed to cover Bueb their horror. Motivated by this miracle football, we clown and we are dedicated to man's game, getting goals and more goals for the approval and admiration of the nalgotas. When the match ended, we saw that we won fourteen to nine, but that mattered little, because as we squeezed the sweat, Vico's phone rang and his life changed forever disgusting.

As always, the aforementioned week of festivities culminated with an evening Pulgosa disk somewhere and outdated. The message was for it, to ask my brother if he would attend. I did not know the sender of the message, but it was in fuck it was Marc. Which was soaked them vile blanket with scabies, he bought gel and socks and stood as chamberlain. Two hours before the appointed hour, he was impeccably groomed and with a smile that will not go away and poking her anus with a hot iron. I arrived with a six of chelas, to go grabbing track, to discover that my carnival not going to do that day. Sacrilegious! But not to waste, I got to give so graciously as we ejecutábamos on guitar a few songs. Vico was tossed as the dregs, he dialed his carcass object of desire and said, without giving any chance to mount his quack "I have a good song that I want to give" - \u200b\u200bPfffff! - Cerati must be spinning in his grave, asshole! - I said then, without knowing what a premonition of my words, then started to "Multiply" and if, as with barley, we rechula the song came out the speaker phone. Since we finished the stunt, he did say some things beardless Marce, but the cel and just told him "tu tu tu tu" ... We arrived at antrucho

that unfolded so "chic" event. Guácara smelling fellow, with his Chinese colleagues stiffer than spring cot and tiny tops. Everything in order. My carnalazo immediately began combing the area more thoroughly that Sardinian gabacho seeking weapons of destruction, but Iraqi-iva in cubicle, looking for the owner of their jackets. I, and stubborn, I went to the track between two friends who danced the syncopated "Asereje" as zombies pee sprayed with the Pope - "Asereje, ja-your-dejebe dejebe" - screamed the singers accent that would pale in Christ envy "Marcelino, bread and wine" and I meneándome gracefully, like gazelles in goose down pillows. Meanwhile, Vico and his eyes were red like jicama with chile peeling so much that Zamorita cash them, holding the smoke clouds that were scattered on the track - fuáaaaaa! "- The smoke smell fuckload ecological taxi, and nothing that appeared the su-culento goal.

I reached my carnallite in the bar, and entered the second chela. Strangely, I was half apendejado by barley ... and that is, to enter the film lover's shirt, he ate not even a Japanese peanut chile, well, let alone pants that looked like a bullfighter. "Health, Tart" - you're not fucking - repeated. And what vile teenager, the cloud of smoke, under Marcos, who from the ground up, scrutinized our actions assholes. Kneadable walked his ass all over the place, like not wanting, leaving many wanting. Vico, he intervened in chinga, inviting her to dance gracefully, but the hit was still a recurrent stroke in their relationship. Finally, a little tired of walking alone and always have a dance to Vico Watch out, I wondered why his disposal at that caboose blistered, if agreed, were desirable and I'm sure they have generated gallons of buttermilk in hundreds of Heck benefit Marce's ass, but ... So? Can one be content with hand spitting while those buttocks just happen and go?

[More. Already there are many parts, but I interrupted duty]

Toddler High Protein Receipes

Life Is Not Complicated.

Yesterday, the whole city is wet. was in full rain and I, under any pretext, went outside to feel the water on, you know, those old vices that remain for one kid. If my mom told me that I was wet, I found more pleasure in walking under the jets falling from the wings of the adobe houses of my old neighborhood, the more I felt rich splashing water from puddles to jump into ... go, what times those ...

few days ago, I was a little tired of everything. Of those evenings when you're tired, you do not like food, money and not enough and the work is tedious and boring ... but it happened that came to my seat the smell of a delicious flan. Yes, I swear that made me mouth water just smelling it and I could not concentrate. I thought, I swear, it was just one of those silly jokes of desire, but not in a little minutes more, left a rich flan mold that Paty I did, because something made me remember how much was flattered years ago with a . No need to tell you that I saved the evening.

Friday night, do not ask me which gave me a huge desire to play guitar. He stuck a lot of songs that X or e reasons was unable to make whole, so I worked in the fill of "wild world", in adornitos of "follow me" and "Cats In The Cradle" ... I loved it even start with "Lucky" by Jason Mraz and believe me, is a paramour sensation of feeling that comes on the same notes as the original. I remembered, and I was eager to go outside to play the guitar again, find a bar and watch the chelas come free, invitations, flirting ... that is the problem of joining the chelas, and music night, leaving a kind of infection in the heart that never goes away. However, I shall not come, nor tasted the bitter and rich of a cold beer, but if I let him leave me a lot of emotions that I have been archived for better days, is ... I dare say, almost therapeutic.

On Friday, coupled with that is my day off radio, I love taking my pekes to the schoolhouse. I like to dress them, take what chamagoso and change their diapers. See them walking, smiling, making quips and then see them go through the door of the building, the hand of his master ... making me the proudest father in the world. Then I go to school. I light a cigar, buy a coffee, sit on benches and read a little and when it passes the bolillero, it is time to call pigeons for breakfast. I love migajitas come to eat, because, in their gray wings and light, bring handfuls of memories of my childhood, from the stable of Don Taco, full of birds, the flutter wave that caused the run after them in the socket Mexico City ... So come, eat and flutter, making me happy one bit.

Life is not complicated. It only happens the loading of things we do not need, therefore, accumulate and are making a terrible burden to the extent that we throw everything. If you do not want to give your tree a rotten guavas, the solution is not throwing all the guavas. Look and tell me. Is it worth throwing a kiss of love, getting rid of the memory of a snub?, "valued the same as a hug from his mother that a coup? ... I think not.

Then, why let the bad things could spoil what makes you happy? Not worth putting a smile, even when things go wrong, but apparently not fierce monsters? For me yes. Worth pursuing being nice though I walk pissed. Worth offering a sincere smile but not know who would smile, but it needs money to be honest, be loving it because I am with those I love. And are otherwise bullshit.

Today I woke up, after rain, wet clothing heat in the bed ... and I write about what I feel. And I feel great. Just.

Types Of Flatwares And Their Uses

I believe in ghosts.

Yes, I think. And, if I did, it would be irrefutable proof that I've already gone crazy. How, if you do not believe them, explain the morning greeting I get to get to work? I do not know as much as others do, but I do trying to get my ghost is a daily event, something that is not going to kill me a fright. I think this is better because I have not managed to que se vaya y deje de jugar con los artículos de oficina, o que ya deje de jugar con las luces.

Sé que no quiere hacerme daño, pues si esa fuese su intención, ya estaría yo recluido en algún manicomio, o bien, formando parte de esa extraña estadística de los que tienen el “susto mortal” como causa del fallecimiento en los servicios forenses. Apenas el 30 de Abril me traje un puñito de dulces y se lo dejé en el tercer escalón de la escalera que sube al tercer piso, donde la vi por primera vez. Los dulces no desaparecieron, pero si su olor y su sabor… así es, me atreví a probarlos después de que escuché las risillas de alegría.

The caretaker of the building suddenly gives me a nervous smile, I doubt that will be used to this small ghostly presence, but has no other. And Tita ... I mean, so affectionately call him, was not here before me. She followed me from the former offices of Fidalgo Street here. I was already researching the archive of the news agency I work for and read the February 13, 1987, a woman died, along with his little daughter to whom had been very sick to the clinic Alameda, overwhelmed by a driver drunk in the corner of this street and avenue Sayula. I understand that Tita is sick, then all of a sudden, violent coughing can be heard in the dark bucket elevator ... that's why we always go up the stairs.

The advantage of Tita, is that my schedule, which begins at five in the morning, is not monotonous. Sometimes when I go to the Bodeguita, I get the ball rolling green with white stripes going around. "Good morning" - I say usually, not without some chills. "Gustas? ... ah, but do not drink coffee pekes "... I'm talking and I calm down a bit nervous. It passes me and I turn on the light to enter, laughing with my goodies and even tells me that someone is coming. Tita is great, but so far, nobody has talked about it ... you know ... not everyone supported their ghosts.

This is the result of my attempt to compete on the Internet, answering the question Do you believe in ghosts? ... Hopefully come to fruition, that beforehand serves me, because writing is something I love to do, but it has deprived me and fun.