Suonino i mandolini, partano le sviolinate, pisquani that give air to the mouth, the fourth championship pelota PF (Post Farsopoli) set fire to the powder. We heard everything, but the leather palm goes to the twins insolation Agostani Cobolli Gigli and, indeed, to their master and lord John that John, to tell the twins in glitter and sequins on Sky, has brought him in the locker room to the nougat team with "the progress made over the three years that we were recalling the number B and we have got these results." Keep me or send them to manage the plucked Turin, in the category that attracts them so much.
It 's the first championship on which the great feast of the Argonauts and the badges of cardboard does not feel its pestilential effects. From this year there plus bell Balkan-Swedish, which dictated the chimes of ramshackle orchestra Moratti, went in to dress the europaella Catalonia, and gazzettieri trullallero trullallà try to do the dumb. Too bad for Inter Milan to Bari are not echoed the bleating of those silly sheep and, in fact, looking at the San Siro is the afternoon of Ventura and his gang of youths. The Portuguese commentator, after giving vent to the trombone to deafen the head coach of the national, collects and preserves the rigorino Materazzi in advance of the shower, but not enough. Indeed, a few inches farther down and Rivas would have made him taste a succulent chicken piri-piri.
Sunday evening, in sambodromo Savoyard a welcoming committee made Italian taste pandoro shins of Don Diego de la Vega. There was a pisquano to beat the drum for this crime! Instead, there they were, in chorus, lai to send half of the Danish Falletto boots. Towards more sinister than this there is the usual whine of virgins Italic anti Juve. Ugh that beard Codest pirlacchioni badges waiting to snatch, clean balance sheets and otherwise denied successes in the field. Oh, how I imagine them on Monday evening, the festival of carrot, my friend Biscardone, all yelling on fouls in black and white area. But a shot on goal against Chievo did it?
Meanwhile, on the banks of the Tiber, there is a stuffed white owl che sogghigna beffardo con un disco incorporato: cra-cra-cra. Domenica alle sei saran tutti lì sotto con i mirini spianati. Avran già dimenticato il ritornello che "ora son tutti in buonafede, non come quando c'era Lui". Me li ricordo, 3 anni fa, al processo dove l’urlo forcaiolo e l’accanimento a senso unico riecheggiavano inesausti. Volevano addirittura cacciare il c.t. quale usurpatore indegno. A tanto eccesso arriva la stupidità umana. Alla fine si sono messi sulle spalle il tricolore sgomitando per applaudire sotto le tribune d’onore. Il calcio marcio era sparito. Vedrete domenica se il mostro di Loch Ness non riemerge dal lago.
Ma che rottura di maroni. I soliti menestrelli. I soliti stornellatori. Che ne sapete voi art of the leather ball? Better to spend time gazing into the flesh and silicone leaking from the saris that Maria Lopez Jimenez. The usual tettame. Why is not the football that we must give to Italians. Which, if there was the ball, where the hell should be getting at?
by Ju29ro
For Those who love America and Its values \u200b\u200band ideals! As in! 
