Barbie e Carfagna. Due donne, un destino.
Il 9 marzo 2009 il mondo cerebroleso festeggerà i cinquant’anni della Barbie mettendosi in testa un una cofana biondo platino leggiadramente accessoriata da magnifico fiocco rosa. Quanto saremo carine… e d’altronde mamma ci ha sempre voluto così, no?
The news - I will tell you - would pass quietly if I had not stopped to think about all the trouble that he has made a move sgallettata latex in all this time.
Mind you, I have no idiosyncrasy in relation to latex products is 22 cm, but the fact that she does not vibrate in a certain sense, makes me puzzled ... I would say frustrated. In short, what is its real meaning in our lives? Why 22 cm? Why on earth from an early age have continued to give? But most importantly, why still so successful?
I know, I would first verify the existence of God, but now I'm home sick, and being self-injury, ho deciso di tentare il suicidio. Almeno quello intellettuale, intendiamoci.
La prima volta che m’imbattei nella Barbie fu all’età di cinque anni. A cinque anni le bambine sono tutte più o meno uguali, ma decisamente tutte inesorabilmente piatte, tendenzialmente bruttine e grandemente confuse.
Non c’era molto da fare: le tette prima o poi sarebbero cresciute e la patatina avrebbe cominciato anch’essa ad avere i suoi pruriti. Non mi era chiaro perché mamma me l’avesse regalata, ma poi compresi che tutto faceva parte dell’educazione sentimentale da interiorizzare come schema di comportamento per i prossimi trent’anni.
Non so i vostri, ma i miei giochi vertevano soprattutto dress on and wrap it in conjunction with the wonderful events of daily life that I created in my mind and then discovered that would never become real. In this case, it was always social events: parties, romantic evenings, dancing ... or at least anything that required ten yards of tulle and a tiara on his head.
Fortunately, times have passed and they invented facial tissues: artefacts latex dancing semivestite (note the witty conceptual opposition ... I did not say "half naked") that does not even open their mouth when they become minister of equal opportunities.
You probably wonder why he veered to 180 degrees on that "thing" anoressica che blatera a fasi alterne sgranando gli occhi come un’allupata?
In effetti, stavo per illuminarvi sui mille modi per attuare un genocidio di massa nei confronti di quelle bambolette nemmeno buone spolverare le nostre cavità uterine (vedi foto in alto), quando ad un tratto fui rapita da un’interessante discussione parlamentare su Radio Radicale.
Come ben sapete, in questi giorni la Mara dal digiuno coatto (sindrome da top model senza tacchi dati in comodato d’uso al Cav) si è pronunciata sullo Stalking… sulle persecuzioni telefoniche, per dogma , ad opera degli uomini.
Tra le mie lettrici c’è sempre una fan della Carfagna e stavolta I take poetic license in advance: when a woman has reached her personal goals, and are tired of man's perceived as an act of violence. I wonder, then, that men might denounce them in turn when "scassaminchiamente" ill-treated them by phone to get that pair of shoes seen in the window of Gucci or muskrat fur?
The point that I wanted to take another instead. When a representative of the Democratic Party has asked why the amendment had removed the reference to gender stereotypes conveyed through the media, she not only did not give an answer (silence is his favorite sport), but said he was doing his work. His job?!
Yes, he was doing his job: he was expertly licking the smelly feet of that little guy who gave her a chair to keep her pastel pink-good, just a ...
is also too easy to assert that the problem of violence against women lies in the insistent calls of men, and not in the quality of images that relate to ... especially if the vehicle "just happens" from the TV of his lord and master (about emancipation !!!).
The problem of stereotypes about women, it seems in fact to an absolutely trivial Carfagna ed'altronde ... we have to blame if our models identity are all those great course for sluts that you see everywhere and that continue to rage into the ether? What fault is it if we are so sensual hormonally to cause a man from morning to night and then castrate him at every turn? What fault is it if we do not make us men-tit for tat - the same thing?
What fault is it we have, finally, if everything around us continues to delay the image of a hooker looking for paying customers? I want to know, because she is so dear Carfagna so obtuse on this issue, or maybe not so fond of the chair wanted to see the source of problems?
The stereotype is a cultural factor, and certainly those weighing on his ass and on her tits "chastely" around the web maybe could give some useful indication. She often complained saying that it is "treated" so just because it's a beautiful woman, but she is sure that it is this and not that it is a beautiful woman in poses and attitudes from Troy in search of cocks?
Obviously these were not his intentions ... no, she wanted to make just a few clicks of the CEI for the calendar ... or for the prayer group of Maria Theresa of Calcutta.
The point is that stereotypes - as she has been experimenting on her skin - are difficult to change, but she really does not do anything to do so. Of course, if the men they left with the package or in great evidence that the kilt a glimpse of the pea ... surely this would be scandalous, against the moral and caused many reactions in women Assatanate Cock from morning night. And maybe by then the most gifted beings would be the target of obsessive telephone calls from women who want it ... and at this point will affect them to revise the bill-buffalo, which is preparing to launch ...
would be interesting if rather than engage on so lightly a law so stupid she does not have the correct lighting the fire of our education, such as starting a boycott of latex tardone these, the pink by our cabinets, the sweetness of our faces, the presumed innocence of our behavior, our reason dogmatic speeches, beauty contests, broadcasts, where you can save on the fabric of the costumes of fresh pussy? Why not for once put in motion the brain on something that is worth it? But above all, because you do not stop with these rhetorical questions?
is always at this point, in fact, usually the people of Liberty (and you thought?) Carries out his usual bland, standard: freedom. This word has long since begun to have a sound odd to me ...
That place is a place where all are free? Is it a happy place? That place is a street where women are free to dress as sluts and men are forbidden to conduct lawful course? I'll tell you, is just the perfect place to continue to pretend to be the weaker sex, which are to be discriminated against because certain that the whole world veiled by indulgence will take care of us and our false rights, the place of opportunism ... and breeding of all those old pictures of cripples coglionazzi stuffed like Wilma Flingstone. Including bone head.
I think, alas, the answer lies in the fact that we women have made our choice ... we chose to follow Barbie, become papers, emulate gattemorte, appear helpless and weak ... and aspire to do the ministers without portfolio. There is nothing wrong with that, but holy God, let us stop whining: the tears are melting rapidly and the mascara stains are pink dress with our fists.
And now let me in my pain ... I want to attack a tent and dramatically ... I would cry, but I can not, the only thing I would do at the moment and plug it in the fucking electric chair and make an ashtray. Pink of course.
The news - I will tell you - would pass quietly if I had not stopped to think about all the trouble that he has made a move sgallettata latex in all this time.
Mind you, I have no idiosyncrasy in relation to latex products is 22 cm, but the fact that she does not vibrate in a certain sense, makes me puzzled ... I would say frustrated. In short, what is its real meaning in our lives? Why 22 cm? Why on earth from an early age have continued to give? But most importantly, why still so successful?
I know, I would first verify the existence of God, but now I'm home sick, and being self-injury, ho deciso di tentare il suicidio. Almeno quello intellettuale, intendiamoci.
La prima volta che m’imbattei nella Barbie fu all’età di cinque anni. A cinque anni le bambine sono tutte più o meno uguali, ma decisamente tutte inesorabilmente piatte, tendenzialmente bruttine e grandemente confuse.
Non c’era molto da fare: le tette prima o poi sarebbero cresciute e la patatina avrebbe cominciato anch’essa ad avere i suoi pruriti. Non mi era chiaro perché mamma me l’avesse regalata, ma poi compresi che tutto faceva parte dell’educazione sentimentale da interiorizzare come schema di comportamento per i prossimi trent’anni.
Non so i vostri, ma i miei giochi vertevano soprattutto dress on and wrap it in conjunction with the wonderful events of daily life that I created in my mind and then discovered that would never become real. In this case, it was always social events: parties, romantic evenings, dancing ... or at least anything that required ten yards of tulle and a tiara on his head.
Fortunately, times have passed and they invented facial tissues: artefacts latex dancing semivestite (note the witty conceptual opposition ... I did not say "half naked") that does not even open their mouth when they become minister of equal opportunities.
You probably wonder why he veered to 180 degrees on that "thing" anoressica che blatera a fasi alterne sgranando gli occhi come un’allupata?
In effetti, stavo per illuminarvi sui mille modi per attuare un genocidio di massa nei confronti di quelle bambolette nemmeno buone spolverare le nostre cavità uterine (vedi foto in alto), quando ad un tratto fui rapita da un’interessante discussione parlamentare su Radio Radicale.
Come ben sapete, in questi giorni la Mara dal digiuno coatto (sindrome da top model senza tacchi dati in comodato d’uso al Cav) si è pronunciata sullo Stalking… sulle persecuzioni telefoniche, per dogma , ad opera degli uomini.
Tra le mie lettrici c’è sempre una fan della Carfagna e stavolta I take poetic license in advance: when a woman has reached her personal goals, and are tired of man's perceived as an act of violence. I wonder, then, that men might denounce them in turn when "scassaminchiamente" ill-treated them by phone to get that pair of shoes seen in the window of Gucci or muskrat fur?
The point that I wanted to take another instead. When a representative of the Democratic Party has asked why the amendment had removed the reference to gender stereotypes conveyed through the media, she not only did not give an answer (silence is his favorite sport), but said he was doing his work. His job?!
Yes, he was doing his job: he was expertly licking the smelly feet of that little guy who gave her a chair to keep her pastel pink-good, just a ...
is also too easy to assert that the problem of violence against women lies in the insistent calls of men, and not in the quality of images that relate to ... especially if the vehicle "just happens" from the TV of his lord and master (about emancipation !!!).
The problem of stereotypes about women, it seems in fact to an absolutely trivial Carfagna ed'altronde ... we have to blame if our models identity are all those great course for sluts that you see everywhere and that continue to rage into the ether? What fault is it if we are so sensual hormonally to cause a man from morning to night and then castrate him at every turn? What fault is it if we do not make us men-tit for tat - the same thing?
What fault is it we have, finally, if everything around us continues to delay the image of a hooker looking for paying customers? I want to know, because she is so dear Carfagna so obtuse on this issue, or maybe not so fond of the chair wanted to see the source of problems?
The stereotype is a cultural factor, and certainly those weighing on his ass and on her tits "chastely" around the web maybe could give some useful indication. She often complained saying that it is "treated" so just because it's a beautiful woman, but she is sure that it is this and not that it is a beautiful woman in poses and attitudes from Troy in search of cocks?
Obviously these were not his intentions ... no, she wanted to make just a few clicks of the CEI for the calendar ... or for the prayer group of Maria Theresa of Calcutta.
The point is that stereotypes - as she has been experimenting on her skin - are difficult to change, but she really does not do anything to do so. Of course, if the men they left with the package or in great evidence that the kilt a glimpse of the pea ... surely this would be scandalous, against the moral and caused many reactions in women Assatanate Cock from morning night. And maybe by then the most gifted beings would be the target of obsessive telephone calls from women who want it ... and at this point will affect them to revise the bill-buffalo, which is preparing to launch ...
would be interesting if rather than engage on so lightly a law so stupid she does not have the correct lighting the fire of our education, such as starting a boycott of latex tardone these, the pink by our cabinets, the sweetness of our faces, the presumed innocence of our behavior, our reason dogmatic speeches, beauty contests, broadcasts, where you can save on the fabric of the costumes of fresh pussy? Why not for once put in motion the brain on something that is worth it? But above all, because you do not stop with these rhetorical questions?
is always at this point, in fact, usually the people of Liberty (and you thought?) Carries out his usual bland, standard: freedom. This word has long since begun to have a sound odd to me ...
That place is a place where all are free? Is it a happy place? That place is a street where women are free to dress as sluts and men are forbidden to conduct lawful course? I'll tell you, is just the perfect place to continue to pretend to be the weaker sex, which are to be discriminated against because certain that the whole world veiled by indulgence will take care of us and our false rights, the place of opportunism ... and breeding of all those old pictures of cripples coglionazzi stuffed like Wilma Flingstone. Including bone head.
I think, alas, the answer lies in the fact that we women have made our choice ... we chose to follow Barbie, become papers, emulate gattemorte, appear helpless and weak ... and aspire to do the ministers without portfolio. There is nothing wrong with that, but holy God, let us stop whining: the tears are melting rapidly and the mascara stains are pink dress with our fists.
And now let me in my pain ... I want to attack a tent and dramatically ... I would cry, but I can not, the only thing I would do at the moment and plug it in the fucking electric chair and make an ashtray. Pink of course.
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