puntiniCAZpuntini

Strangler, maybe there's a moron here. Here’s someone who can’t tell a joke from something serious. No, not that phrase nooo, no, not the whole review noo, just the entire site. Oh poor idiot, do you really think that someone named puntiniCAZpuntini is aiming for seriousness? Someone who does 80 reviews without even mentioning half an album is aiming for seriousness? I could very well be a rich kid. Let's say I am... so what? First you tell me: "listen with your ears" and then you conclude with rich kid. You know what the problem is? You’re serious. And you're putting yourself on my level while I’m here saying << Tell him Clito, you tell him how the hell my shirt is, you tell him... unbelievers. Here we talk about guitarists, about music, about CDs... but what about bleaching, huh? Who’s thinking about that? Do I have to do everything myself? This house is falling apart, and no one thanks me. Holy Ghidda Buttanazza. >> You’re so out of it that you don't understand that I will never respond to you. Not because I don’t know what to say, not because of that and not for any other reason. I just don’t give a damn about what’s written here. If you were to write it on my forehead, fine, but first of all, you wouldn’t manage to do it, and secondly, I’ll go to the bathroom, wash up, and the writing disappears. Get a job, make a life because you’re not doing well, my boy, if you seriously consider the Clapton Vs. Page discussions. And before you can talk seriously with me, you need to eat your beans. But not about music, huh, how the hell can you talk seriously about music? It’s nonsense, it’s a hobby, it’s a passion... and seriousness would kill it. If you want to talk about the rising cost of steel, I’m here. Just that you should turn on your brain first, you know?

and a little more... come on guys, coooooooompact, cooooooompact. But be more composed, come on, come on with those legs, come on, damn it, come on.

I Vote Penny Lane, Is in My Ear, and In My Eye.

And now enough, let’s leave this industrial area of tears. And I'm going to Nigeria. Here it is.

I also add to the list No One Rides For Free by Fu Ricchi Ma Manchu Poveri.

And at least today, huh? At least today... a damn mimosa, huh? But I'm leaving with the milkman, I'm going away.

And then never, I say never, have you taken me out for dinner. Or I don't know, a flower, a nice thought, but nothing, zip, nada, ics. You really don't understand what a woman needs, iprcazzotriplo.

Tell him, Clito, you tell him how the hell my shirt is, you tell him... unbelievers. Here we’re talking about Guitarists, about music, about CDs... but bleach, huh, who’s thinking about that? Do I have to do everything myself? This house is falling apart, and no one thanks me. Damn Ghidda Buttanazza.

They bought the rights for suffering 2005, those who want to suffer will have to wait until next year. So enough, damn enough, because you, you’re getting the bleaching wrong.

And my greeting at this moment goes to the Pope, poor thing, who is suffering. Just him, right? The others, no.