The truth is overrated. There is more to take a look to newspapers in the morning to realize that lots of news that would bring much better handled, in the case that correspond with the facts that are intended to inform or not, since the news of being manipulated would be also be improved because the newspapers in this country tend to do so in imitation of truth, a truth hypothetical, fictional, virtual, in order to convince their readers that is a proven fact, and we have said at the beginning of this article that the truth is overrated and therefore not worth fighting for her or for her costumes. In universities
reporters insist that they must fight for truth. It's something I do not understand: the teachers are irresponsible, which drive students to a professional life of misery in which in addition to supporting the sweat of the editorial, the stupidity of their leaders and the indifference of readers will be forced to seek The boring truth like a dog chasing a bus. Universities are a dogmatic church where you can learn a lot of rules whose only purpose will be to further bolster our consciousness that the rules, which means they only have one mission: rape. In that respect each other can we ensure that college is a real school of life. But put an example of inadequate truth. Is the cross-known journalist and university professor Arcadi Espada defends against literary rhetoric in the media reports. As he really is not accurate enough and embellishments that make it attractive novelero the news. Therefore, it has spent much of last year to denounce the violation of this rule by peers of the profession in his personal blog, first, and currently maintains stay at El Mundo, then that sneak in shorts pointing on the board antics of his friends in the absence of the teacher. Arcadi Espada's teacher is Mr. Pla (Josep), who made history in our literature by the annotations daily on their daily journalism and misery in the notebooks, as gray and gray, Sword now has as its particular stylistic Bible ethics and applied in life and work. But there is a problem or two: an old Catalan Pla was wearing a beret and boots gnawed wine, while Sword is just a moralist; Pla never took himself seriously, while Sword is taken very seriously the two, himself and Pla, and so on. Reading the notes snakelike ambiguous and Sword on the profession I'm glad I made it something more cheerful, fun and a liar during my childbearing years in the newspaper where he now works to put tildes on proparoxytone. Invented interviews, characters and situations, exaggerated everything that I exaggerate, I colored my chronicles with slander and shameless that were not always true, but at least they did have a good time to readers and ethical irritation to my bosses. Finally, note that a year ago I met with Sword in a ceremony and threw the smoke in the face for a reaction. All he did was head down and tear one's hair. I asked him about the truth then, and as he spoke I could not help but notice the abundant hair on his arms. Before it ended, I interrupted to tell sexist jokes and he rose from the table face divide by thirteen. Conclusion: The truth is for Pring. I like things simple prejudice and full, I think, therefore, that my career could be divided between those like me we take it with humor and those like Espada make it a boring routine dedicated exclusively to the crowing of a mediocre reality . It is known that the dark side chana infinite nun more than Obi Wan.
not believe: I had to make intense intellectual effort to clarify my mind and develop this theory, not everything in me is frivolous and inane chatter. It was about the year when eighty-five impregnate my girlfriend Melissa and I found the practical possibilities of the lie. Parents Melissa, who was then still going to school, people were very traditional, if not accepted in any way let alone our relationship were to swallow the pregnancy, but we had the advantage that people were also careless. Let me explain. At the time, abortions were not so popular as today and the girl was a sentimental, so we decided to go ahead with the child. Thus, the solution to the conflict with his family was as simple as preposterous: simply, do not count. When he went to family meals, their wacky relatives of egged with comments like "stop eating now, you're getting such a seal." And all so happy. The family For its part, still without news of samophlange. Now, although I had been alert to the double edge of the truth, my wife was not always so clever. Shortly after birth he had the audacity to confess two things: first, she had doubts about the paternity of the child, having sex with another man, and second, that he loved me deeply, we, who loved me, come on I was in love. What is said was an outburst of sincerity, and paid dearly: I could not handle the pressure and I went off home. How could he say such a thing and yet expect me to remain with him? I mean, how could you tell me he loved me and yet expect me to remain with him? The anacoluthon would prejudice seriously against my principles. Otherwise I had no difficulty in accepting non-paternity of the child, the end of the day it allowed me to leave the home without any pangs of conscience, and returning to the carefree single life, in fact, had never left behind.
What would have happened if Melissa had concealed the truth? What had become of my life if I had not confessed her feelings to my teen horror (for then I had just thirty years behind me)? Probably now be corrected with relish the schizophrenias literary peers Press slide amid reports increasingly distorted and unrealistic ambitions thanks to its aesthetic, as well as a Arcadi Espada anyone, rather than here, belching mamarracheces a prestigious blog without charging a penny. Some would consider my position completely pathetic or delayed, and will have their reason, but will certainly ask that obtuse if what I write is true or poet pretending otherwise, and that is the reason for my moral superiority over those who worship truth as a measure of redemption for the human misery: I am the salt poisoning their diets, I blew up the world from within. But really. Or more or less. You get the point. So.
reporters insist that they must fight for truth. It's something I do not understand: the teachers are irresponsible, which drive students to a professional life of misery in which in addition to supporting the sweat of the editorial, the stupidity of their leaders and the indifference of readers will be forced to seek The boring truth like a dog chasing a bus. Universities are a dogmatic church where you can learn a lot of rules whose only purpose will be to further bolster our consciousness that the rules, which means they only have one mission: rape. In that respect each other can we ensure that college is a real school of life. But put an example of inadequate truth. Is the cross-known journalist and university professor Arcadi Espada defends against literary rhetoric in the media reports. As he really is not accurate enough and embellishments that make it attractive novelero the news. Therefore, it has spent much of last year to denounce the violation of this rule by peers of the profession in his personal blog, first, and currently maintains stay at El Mundo, then that sneak in shorts pointing on the board antics of his friends in the absence of the teacher. Arcadi Espada's teacher is Mr. Pla (Josep), who made history in our literature by the annotations daily on their daily journalism and misery in the notebooks, as gray and gray, Sword now has as its particular stylistic Bible ethics and applied in life and work. But there is a problem or two: an old Catalan Pla was wearing a beret and boots gnawed wine, while Sword is just a moralist; Pla never took himself seriously, while Sword is taken very seriously the two, himself and Pla, and so on. Reading the notes snakelike ambiguous and Sword on the profession I'm glad I made it something more cheerful, fun and a liar during my childbearing years in the newspaper where he now works to put tildes on proparoxytone. Invented interviews, characters and situations, exaggerated everything that I exaggerate, I colored my chronicles with slander and shameless that were not always true, but at least they did have a good time to readers and ethical irritation to my bosses. Finally, note that a year ago I met with Sword in a ceremony and threw the smoke in the face for a reaction. All he did was head down and tear one's hair. I asked him about the truth then, and as he spoke I could not help but notice the abundant hair on his arms. Before it ended, I interrupted to tell sexist jokes and he rose from the table face divide by thirteen. Conclusion: The truth is for Pring. I like things simple prejudice and full, I think, therefore, that my career could be divided between those like me we take it with humor and those like Espada make it a boring routine dedicated exclusively to the crowing of a mediocre reality . It is known that the dark side chana infinite nun more than Obi Wan.
not believe: I had to make intense intellectual effort to clarify my mind and develop this theory, not everything in me is frivolous and inane chatter. It was about the year when eighty-five impregnate my girlfriend Melissa and I found the practical possibilities of the lie. Parents Melissa, who was then still going to school, people were very traditional, if not accepted in any way let alone our relationship were to swallow the pregnancy, but we had the advantage that people were also careless. Let me explain. At the time, abortions were not so popular as today and the girl was a sentimental, so we decided to go ahead with the child. Thus, the solution to the conflict with his family was as simple as preposterous: simply, do not count. When he went to family meals, their wacky relatives of egged with comments like "stop eating now, you're getting such a seal." And all so happy. The family For its part, still without news of samophlange. Now, although I had been alert to the double edge of the truth, my wife was not always so clever. Shortly after birth he had the audacity to confess two things: first, she had doubts about the paternity of the child, having sex with another man, and second, that he loved me deeply, we, who loved me, come on I was in love. What is said was an outburst of sincerity, and paid dearly: I could not handle the pressure and I went off home. How could he say such a thing and yet expect me to remain with him? I mean, how could you tell me he loved me and yet expect me to remain with him? The anacoluthon would prejudice seriously against my principles. Otherwise I had no difficulty in accepting non-paternity of the child, the end of the day it allowed me to leave the home without any pangs of conscience, and returning to the carefree single life, in fact, had never left behind.
What would have happened if Melissa had concealed the truth? What had become of my life if I had not confessed her feelings to my teen horror (for then I had just thirty years behind me)? Probably now be corrected with relish the schizophrenias literary peers Press slide amid reports increasingly distorted and unrealistic ambitions thanks to its aesthetic, as well as a Arcadi Espada anyone, rather than here, belching mamarracheces a prestigious blog without charging a penny. Some would consider my position completely pathetic or delayed, and will have their reason, but will certainly ask that obtuse if what I write is true or poet pretending otherwise, and that is the reason for my moral superiority over those who worship truth as a measure of redemption for the human misery: I am the salt poisoning their diets, I blew up the world from within. But really. Or more or less. You get the point. So.
