Well, then here, I was not qualified in history. Obviously, it is voluntary, and it was only done to avoid that you spread around the new "you know, I know a girl that is skilled in 3 sections CNU. You see the kind of suck it. "I know you're feeling bad mouthed. First, I want to clarify something is sucking the very least, it's just useful for a publication (and yet something quickly released by an obscure Trotskyist magazine that nobody reads, you see the kind and there if I wanted to be nasty, I would have said something published by Syllepse, something like that, fortunately you bad eyes), but certainly not a qualification for CNU. For once qualified, you do what unhappy? You sleep with the Hearts of the Red Army? But all things considered, was this the career you are considering? Public reader attention. You read it here first one of the answers to the great test of the spring 2007 "I put some order in my life by enrolling in unemployment and asking me for what job I'm done," the March issue of Marie Clair. Then I'll take you swimming with dolphins magic you'll see, they are smarter than the teachers of your university, and you'll have to send this news to 20 people that you love so that your dream come true. Otherwise, all your family and friends crashing in a plane crash in the Amazon rainforest, thereby contributing to global warming and the spread of bird flu that will eliminate all future generations in a gigantic universal diarrhea. Public darling, it will be terrible for the survivors. I will not hide it.
Well, and me, we do not make me. Even when we suck, we're not sure to be qualified in the end. So I thought it was useless anyway to finish in a brothel in Bangkok with cramps in the thighs, and you will not catch me this time with salt on the tail as with larks (or gulls, I do not know very well, with an animal silly anyway) and above all I'd have already done well the last time and it was bad enough that way. A bit like walking into a small puddle when wearing sandals with socks brown smelly. Or a bit like trying to punch a button that is white but not yet ripe, or fingers getting caught in the nose at a red light by the driver of the car next door who is also super nice kid. You see? While there, "I dab the brush with a big Coquillard like that", as my Latin teacher from 2nd to whom it was said that no no no, we had not copied on bilingual translations of Beauties Letters from the school library to do our theme and we were talented, that's all. Collectively gifted here. He frowned when he said this, and also, it spitting super fat little things he kept in the coarse hairs of his mustache graying after lunch. You see? Yes, because normally, we all had at least one like that in our school. Let him who postilion leftovers from dinner the previous evening, who has big films like confetti on the neck and the back of his brown corduroy jacket (ribbed) or one who has not only morning breath, but that of l'avant-veille, et puis encore celui qui porte des vêtements tâchés et qui revient des toilettes en oubliant de remonter sa braguette. Moi, j'ai eu les quatre, en plusieurs exemplaires même, plus celui qui garde des dépots blanchâtres et pâteux à la commissure des lèvres (collector celui là, pour peu qu'il soit prof de sport et qu'il porte un pantalon de survêt un peu collant avec poutre apparente lorsqu'il vient dans les vestiaire des filles pour voir si elles sont prêtes, c'est bingo!). Et j'en ai même eu un qui a un jour machônné par inadvertance mon stylo bic rouge, c'est dire jusqu'où j'ai poussé l'abnégation alors que c'était du prof d'allemand which I love, and who could chew all my pencils, who told us all stories Rolf Und Gisela (see photo).
I also launching a vigorous appeal : If you have at home German textbooks for years 85-90, thank you for putting them somewhere on the net or send scans of crazy adventures crazy crazy Rolf and Gisela, his silly sister, just good at ping-pong ("Eins zu Nuuull! Bravooo, Gisela"), who could not even bring a pipe "wooden" and the newspaper to her father who rested for a day's work in the salon chair ("Rolf, Wo ist meine Pfeife - deine Pfeife? - Ja, meine Pfeife - Achh! Wo ist die Pfeife. Sie ist nicht in Wohnzimmer "- bah come, they come back! It must be said that at that time in 6th, it was not dirty minds as youth main'nant), while his mother uh ... well cooked in the kitchen. You can leave your contact information or links in your comment if it does. And if, as Gisela, you are gifted for sport and drink and Orangenschaft not with computers, I can help you.
short, it is because blanket would probably disagree, but it would take a thread that I look like one day these teachers disgusting just to annoy students and avenge me of so much suffering since college. I say the college because the college before there was the CM2 class with snow and it was nice to be away from parents for 3 weeks, though I cried a few times because I was the only one whose parents did not write for 2 weeks (it was mostly that they did not put enough stamps on the envelope had been two weeks to arrive, unaware), and before I do know very well, but there was some finger paint that smelled good rudely, felts and also the clay that is rolled into long tubes for good on the table mates and then make some nice baskets for Mom. In short, one day I'll be revenged on the one hand and students on the other hand my parents by telling them the story of the little girl crying in class because of snow is the only one not to have received cards from his parents for 2 weeks, even as she walked in the cold and the snow warms purchased with matches at the exit of the weekly class Franprix the village (where they also obtained supplies Malabar ). Rather, release me, finally, I will not make your psychalanyse the con.
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