Late 90's Mercedes Wagons

Whenever

a country, continent or planet in economic crisis with serious consequences, the idiocy of the masses is expressed with eloquence spree after finding a first-world solution to their problems without going too far above to the homeless, the mutineers of the lumpen proletariat and the hungry Third, in the end must always be the ones to pay the piper for the rich people of monocle, slippers, mustache greased and tails.

I think the crisis is not so bad, but mostly it's an easy solution. As America goes wild liberalism seeking urgent and decaffeinated socialism to turn the machine back and get greedy Chinese have time to write in my blog graph as a journalist a few reflections that would certainly end this nonsense that we are living in macroeconomic boredom, ignorance and, a little also, with the pockets in the throat in the blink of an eye. Some insane are using the crisis to an X-ray and determine critical system that capitalism is in decline and that we must change it (attention) for a renewed international communist cycle. They are crazy those who defend this atrocity nice, true, but it is intriguing that the content, which ideological / economic analysts and experts of all stripes is so brief as to force us to incur, over and over again, the same mistakes of the past.

just do not understand these geniuses that both capitalism and communism are two remnants economic / sociopolitical not just fix the world, and therefore should be changed. What I propose, therefore, is a classic plagiarized revolution, a revolution-call it "neo-romantic, where no room for violence or hatred or resentment. An elegant revolution, which says a sweet pear revolution. To implement this utopian world could be divided into two teams traditionally known as a powerful and subject: the powerful would be the rich, and their cousins \u200b\u200bthe rich in spirit, while the subject would be the poor and insensitive in general. How could it be otherwise, the revolution would begin as companies begin universal, or bottom-up, or fly style. Thus, if the poor were truly romantic (too bad they are not) it would carry out the following golden dream: that all the poor of the Earth were to agree to commit suicide the same day, same time. Once everyone had gone, we would see the rich have to hoe the fields, plowing, to earn their bread by the sweat of their brow, to scrub, in short, everything.

The benefits of the revolution I propose are strikingly obvious: Libraries international society of a few thousands of millions of people unhappy and balance of honesty of physical work and noble aspirations as a Sun relucirían Imperial. And without violence or hatred or resentment. Elegantly: as one who does not like things.

2010 Mercedes Sprinter

Manganimart # 17! Have you already are you? Nakoma

If you have not yet # 17 of Manganimart passes and to claim your copy!



Manganimart is made by those who know for those who want to know, and is completely free and downloadable. Laburo see who takes the staff of Manganimart to select the most interesting issues, analyze the series of manga, anime, games and more., Thoroughly, and design a magazine that we could be seeing in the kiosks but they prefer to be free for you.
A jewel, friends have done it again!
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As you can see if you click on the url, www.nakoma.com.ar is offline. That's because we
moving the comic to nakomanga.deviantart.com
pass in a few days I hope to see our new home, where once we start to climb also Issue 3 of the series fresh.
Meanwhile, we kept in touch by this blog and from the forum friend manganimart.net
There are many developments to tell you, I hope you keep in touch!
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crisis

I have a predilection for the pace, I will not deny. It's something that haunts me because of my powers of observation, and I must say that given the contemplative aspect that has taken my life in recent years, we could ensure that the comment has become a fundamental part of it. Because observation is the rhythm. The pace and score of life, art and its miseries and atrocities. Bum, bum, bum, do not know: rhythm.

But go chronologically. The first thing you always remember the little old ladies. The little old ladies, and their homes, much of the landscape represent cardinal of children when they still are but observers small laugh, cry, applaud or grumble as how you react emotionally to your gear everyday monstrosities that record thanks to their avidity for observation. The old ladies have a cadence extraterrestrial I loved everything about them, for better and for worse, from their sticky chew their way to traverse the corridors, similar to that of a skinny dinosaur. The pace of old ladies is a slow, delightful. For the inexperienced child, the young observer, a good time at her grandmother is synonymous with development lecture pleasure, while a hard time equivalent to a foretaste of hell, a kind of family hearth. Why?: Because the pace of the old ladies child into a parallel dimension where patience involves all the particulars of life as a spider web. Discovering the old ladies when you're a sucker is something like finding out the Japanese horror film when you're a pretentious film festival audience: from then on, you see everything from another perspective, developing a self insomniac boredom and resigned ability to find entertainment, magic or style in which life is understood as a deep slumber. The pace is, and its nuances.

We talked about old ladies, people. Let's talk about things. There are plenty of objects related to childhood, raised in a specific rhythm, over-the limits of pleasure during the fertile years of their education. This is the swing, whose swing was able to anticipate a spring enjoyment prohibitive devalued over time in this thing we call sexual adrenaline. You swinging form a knot in the stomach whose behavior within sense of pleasure in our bodies is difficult to explain. The children then we formed a knot in my stomach on the swing on the swing the same way as adults we are today as when we swing to the neighbor behind her husband. That adrenaline, identified with the more private enjoyment of our instincts, comes from the rhythm, and bizarre shapes also charged in the extreme sports-bungee jumping, skydiving, "reckless driving or strategic military orgasms in the war front. But is all rhythm, rhythm, rhythm. Bum, bum, bum. Or bum, bum. Or bum. Swing motor bullets. Ritmo! (I do not like exclamations. Infarction texts. But I have not been me who has been the pace. The rhythm takes me.)

Adolescence. The truth is that I touched him. The teens were hosts at a better price, because there was a reward. The teenager was mature, learn to ride a bike based on noisy falls. Follábamos in adolescence. And watched. Do not forget that computer: observation. From there you could see everything, including sex. We voyeaures before dicks. Powders pretended enlarging the name of Onan, and what was more than what pace? The sum of two factors: rate and comment (raw, neighbors, mothers). Then came the practice. Alas, the practice. We started to fuck with the girls in our class, the few that did not start fucking with the guys from the upper classes. We had to break, it was very violent. There was no rhythm, just frustration. Then we picked up girlfriend, and that bride follábamos us a lot, whenever we could, at the expense of parents, neighbors and whispering. That you became a professor of energy, understand the rhythm. Teenage girls never tire to fuck. And that was fine because you do not get tired. Was to squeeze sex, find those shades of rhythm, amplificarte as a human being through an empirical vehicle toward personal exhaustion. Later, you fell off the bike. Experienced, lied, and reached the twenty, twenty-some years. Those were different. Did not follow your own pace, and fell asleep with the light on. You were good girls, you wanted them. But it was not thirty / forty. No. Sexually those pooled the best of each. Had the effect of adolescent girls and the experience of the twenties, which eventually turned out to be vague. The fragile marriage would come thirties What was needed? What were you looking at? Nothing more, nothing less than a change of pace. Sex after forty is better not to tell: they would like Godfather III : not that it is worse than previous releases, but it is worse than previous releases, but we need to solve it by saying it is different : sex after forty is the same: only a euphemism. (There's a shagging degeneration called 'sex with love. "Well, this is something else. There is a specific rate for sex with love, which is multiple and changing, and depends largely on the animal. In sex with love not affected by age, theoretically, until they no longer influence, because not all lovers can fuck forever as if they were in love. would be a pig! occasionally get out of the script, and that's when the ages involved. Sometimes, even, come to stay for good, happens when love has ceased to matter, or when no longer in love. When the fault is theirs.)
Let
to job. At the gigs everything is rhythm. Entiéndanlo: work in newsrooms. Staplers, rattles, computers, photocopiers. And the pages. How I love the sheets. Whether clean or rough, traditional or recycled. Only if one is able to detach while working can read between the lines as and adapt to the ecosystem, because adaptation is pick up the pace. This brings us to the next point: drugs. The drugs slow down or speed up the body and the mind and human deformities to achieve the purpose of socializing or work surprising tenacity. The drug makes the most dull dull, the Ready smarter and more gross gross. We are shifting gears, but not the engine. It is a false mezzoforte.

We talked about life, let's talk about art. The culture has historical significance to pro-rate precision. To break out of an artistic movement in panties must leave after a new style that amaze the respectable, and that there is nothing better than change, there is nothing better than pace. The ancients were deficient contemplative pace that they did not care for an egg, and as far carved their deities in theatrical gestures of descacharrada vibrance perhaps offered some misguided sense of movement but are far less a precedent to be account. The pace began to be the medieval art and its puppet-very clever, the medieval-and his devilish cartoon scenes of violence made. Movement, rhythm, art. The paintings, pictures and all that, beh!, Is art for the weak. Clowns, mimes, circus. That began to understand the human being the importance of silences, the hosts and changes of pace (the unicycle to the elephant), or what is, not to confuse speed with bacon in the most literal sense can be repellent applied to this phrase.

We missed the theater. It has been a conscious oblivion. The theater is overacted literature, and literature handles pace through the style. There have been major stylists of rhythm, and even writers who happily reified the pace, if Jack Kerouac. Capote said of On The Road was only typing. But Let us place ourselves: who was Capote? A snake Errol Flynt applauded enthusiastically when he played the piano with his dick. From this we can extract that Capote was a frivolous imperturbable rhythm did not understand, only glory, mud and menthol cigarettes, busy as he was rummaging through his tormented hedonism seedy glamor. Ladybugs, beh! Not keeping pace: they fucked up the ass. Then came the film. The cinema is rhythm. Bum, bum, bum, action, cut, positive. Have you seen any movie by Howard Hawks, John Carpenter, Brian de Palma, Martin Scorsese? Have you seen any movie of Martin Scorsese?! That's rhythm. In music I do not go, because I can not imagine the music if not in a movie, whether real or fictional product of my imagination or that of another sick mind. I need to put pictures to what I hear, identify all with pieces of my life and shameful desires primary depraved character, and binding all in one sensory puzzle that will satisfy my instincts. Everything has to do, as you can see, with the rhythm. Because the pace is everything.

Still in doubt? Normal. The new generations are going to the floor raw dispense rate, are simplified in a dull prose, as if having a good ear was a concession to the father. They are deceived. Believe they already have their rhythm. They believe they will survive the editors, real or figurative, that are ahead. That will remain intact. But it's all a fat lie to be believed by the innocent or conceited; still do not know that, sooner or later they will spoil the style, rhythm, love and life, and they will be so deaf, dumb, blind and naked as at birth, with no one to protect or cure them failures, because they run more and more, times the hows cannot before, and they ignore it, I guess happy, guess living.

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rate sentimental memory Nudity

nudity as such should be an invention of priests, as everyone knows thanks to this macabre adventure book called the Bible that God brought us into the world devoid of clothing, which follows that the nudity was invented before the clothes and therefore you are naked without clothes in the same way that I would not be if the clothes did not exist, or is the beginning of time, so no nudity naked and vice versa, thus completing a vicious circle similar to that of yin and yang, good and evil and making us understand in a way that nudity sick painful originally was not such but that was the original nature of man and animals made us free, unprejudiced and very sexual, at least until the shit Eve eating forbidden apple tree snake and doomed to spend the rest of existence outside the Garden of Eden (which by then was more elitist than the stately home of Meir and Pasha together), where cold and yes it does need protection, ie, shelter, ie, clothing, and where you begin to create the first modesty giving walk to the Church to justify, years later, the ruggedness of Nudity with unanswerable arguments based primarily on the threats and terror, and symbiosis emotional priests, of whom we know are treacherous chilly addition, they felt the biblical origins and intricacies of the bedroom, that is, to indoctrinate humanity of divine punishment to the opposite sex is condemned by the rest of his days as punishment for his recklessness historic eating the wrong tree, going down to posterity as sex objects in the hands of generations of idiots eager to stamp his (allegorical) nudity in elegant posters hanging on the walls of his greasy workshop favorite mechanical parts while in the pulpit is denounced by the terrible priests, who of course like to dress with fun skirts reminiscence clearly feminine aesthetic (There must be some metaphysical roll escapes me), in a gesture of contradictory moral challenge should not be surprised to us, dresses, modest and ordinary mortals miserable, because as we said the priests are the first suspects to advertise the same legend about nudity prevents us today riding a ball down the street without getting the attention no civil authority bureaucrat with furrowed brow and the stick (yours) gracefully tapping the horny palm of your hand.

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offline for a while that Opposites attract. Thanks

The license of DC Comics most satisfying to me in recent years was Batman. Batman Animated Sea, his subsequent films or the same The Batman, the issue is that they have exploited this character very well. Then to imagine a possible Japanese version of a comic emblem of American is another matter. Bruce Timm, is that Batman is a character well suited to Japanese animation since its dark character with the idea fits with the anime antihero. It was so wrong.

'Batman: Gotham Knight' is a series of six animated shorts that take place after 'Batman Begins' and before 'The Dark Knight' and were already published in Argentina on DVD. There is a two-disc American version that is not here. And yes, bam!





Led by writers such as Brian Azzarello, David Goyer and others, the six chapters of no more than 10 minutes are very entertaining, and at the end, is the feeling that went too fast and wanted more.

The segments were directed by:
Yasuhiro Aoki - "In Darkness Dwells"
Futoshi Higashide - "Crossfire" Toshiyuki
Kubooka - "Working Through Pain"
Hiroshi Morioka - "Field Test"
Jong-Sik Nam - "Deadshot" Shoujirou
Nishimi - "Have I Got a Story For You"

Sallu!