Fratelli d'Italia, l'Italia s'è desta, dell'elmo di Scipio, s'è cinta la testa. Dove'è la Vittoria?
Uhm, I think Silvio Berlusconi found it up his fucking nose. Forza Italia! My nation, the the beautiful and fertile meadow that bred half of my genetic material (the better half, according to some Anglophobes) is considering making him Prime Minister once more . . . FEB, who if he's serious is coming here soon, said he got me a deck of cards in Bologna produced by Berlusconi as a campaigning tool. As soon as he said that, of course my mind leapt to the possibilities of seeing Silvio's sweet physique gracing the face cards in various sultry poses, in greater and greater degrees of undress. My panties feel funny just thinking about it. Because, you know, whenever I watch romances, pornography, or men nailing me, I always try to imagine Silvio Berlusconi in the lead role.
Merciful god, I'm making myself nauseous. Yet strangely aroused . . .
Speaking of men I have a hard love on for, remember when I was getting all pissy about Morgan Spurlock in January? Turns out I should have got pissier. Please, enjoy the letter of explanation in which he defends himself by saying a foundation member has a McDick's franchise, as if he was viciously sticking it to the man or something. And yet the fucking bourgeois shithead was so fucking irresponsible about labour issues, which just makes me want to slap him stupid considering McDick's employees are waaaaaaaay more victimized by the franchise than some pasty-ass dillweed with a vegan chef girlfriend. Oh fuck, that little shit pisses me off.
Finally, in non-hot man news, I've been given a raise. It's a shitty raise, but it's a raise, and the director agreed to schedule an extra-contract pay review in September as well as to jack up my RSP contributions. All of which means . . . not much. I'm still waiting for Silvio to come and take me away from all this. Or at least mime humping me on the hood of a car; that'd probably be enough to get me off if I could just smell him. Oh man! Why am I teasing myself with these sweet, impossible dreams?
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You've got Berlusconi, for me it's Yulia Tymoshenko, Ukraines answer to Princess Leia...
Yulia, Yulia, Yulia . . . her name sounds like a noise Chris Martin would make when he wanted to communicate emotional distress.
She's back, Yulia is. Yanukovich, the man defeated in the Orange Revolution, got the most votes, but only because the non-crazy person vote got split between Yulia and Yushchenko. But Yulia got more than Yushchenko so she'll be prime minister again, unless he forms a coalition with Yanukovich, and theoritically with the people who gave him the poison that made him ugly.
Oh Ukraine.
If I have to read five newspapers a day SO DO YOU, gentle readers.
In slightly less crazy-making news, I can also tell you after today's newspaper reading that Roman centurions used nipple peircings to help keep thier capes in place.
If I had my way, Chris Martin (and simpering Gwyneth) wouldn't be able to make any noise whatsoever. As for the nipple piercing information, that hadn't occurred to me before, but it certainly expands my winter wardrobe options for this year.
Welll . . . Gwyneth was fine in The Royal Tanenbaums, but honestly they could have had Jessica Simpson doing her role in that movie and it would still be one of my favourites.
WHAT?? YOU TAKE THAT JESSICA SIMPSON CRAP BACK RIGHT NOW.
Gwyneth was awesome in that movie. boooo hissss jessica simpson.
grr.
I won't take back a word of it. If you think that movie wouldn't have rocked even with Jessica Simpson in Gwyneth Paltrow's role, I think it's time for a
HO-DOWN!
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