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]
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