We were really expecting yours and a young girl in sportswear at the crosswalk the other day, her athletic training interrupted by road traffic. “Chochooooooooooo!” the man behind the wheel of the shuttle van shouted as he leaned dangerously out of the opposite window. Her scream was so loud that her companion traveling in the passenger seat had to straighten the steering wheel with a blow, preventing her from climbing the pavement, occupying the garden, and colliding with a nearby lamppost. “Oh, your hair. What a pity isn’t it?” said the girl, winking at me. “You’re right. Natural selection of species doesn’t always work,” I replied, watching him continue the race. It would be nice if the machirulo explosion had ended with a beautiful chestnut. No victims, but with a safe piece, waiting in the sun for a few hours, attractive, the boss’s anger, his daughter no longer the murderous stares of her colleague who didn’t come to pick her up from the nursery and a half-dozen angry customers. Without your repairs, she would of course invent something like ‘overlooked’ to explain an accident and never tell the truth: it happened to her because she was an invading chatter. But poetic justice is just as good as any. So he went on, feeling like a lucky man overflowing with grace, generously dispensing wit and flattery. Why waste time explaining to an endangered species that compliments belong to the poor perpetrator?
The mainstream far-right, in its nostalgia for all things musty, justifies Esteso and Pajares, as well as Franco, as the Spaniards who tortured us on black and white television. In its unstoppable progress, feminism is responsible for the fact that in the time of carajillo ladies no longer receive compliments from piers and terraces. Confusing speed with bacon, Vox MP Carla Toscano only spoke in Congress while discussing the content of the yes law—the norm aimed at stopping sexual assaults against women. “It saddens me not to hear ‘tell me your name, I’ll ask you for kings’ or ‘this is a corpse, not the body of the civil guard’ on the street. It is a pity that their hatred of beauty and humanity causes them to lose this example of admiration.” It’s too bad to dedicate and belittle the pain of their peers. In a job like this, no one looks in the mirror and sees themselves as scary, full of free radicals and covered in epidermis, and doesn’t want a stranger to lift their spirits by heroically shouting at them on public roads. , because you’re not always lucky enough to run into a philologist. There are other ways to evoke ‘spectacles’ without reviving macho patriarchy. Abandon fascism as a way of life. If the MP tries, he may have an ole tu conscience he won’t even need, because he’s already mambo She will feel like her queen.