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I feel like a Jacques Dutronc's song. I want to swear like a Christmas tree in February. İt's been all over now. The dwarf who act like he run the country has almost shuttered its hope to look forward while the ghost of Victor Hugo took a holiday from the Romans, their nightlife & eventual remarquable pantheon.
He's been wandering a little while in the Arabian sea. Go & get lost with it... man !
But my dog's vet still bark at the facts. The guy isn't that blind and the dog is worth a million. İt's an Afghan Hound & for some reasons he (h)ate(d) Hungarian stuff when a puppy & still fancy the flesh.
What can I do ? İ kinda dislike dogs anyways. And my vet said : "the nation(s) seethed with anger over the allegations. Telling the French they're like nazis equal insulting the German !"
I propose a divorce. Something fair & made of wood. A ply to refurbish a bit the descending swerve of an UN-natural disaster + to consider MONEY for what it means.
My vet isn't finnish but he likes pastrami & always said I should get married with a swede.
