puntiniCAZpuntini

But isn't there a magnetic field in Rome that interferes with the memory of martial artists? But is this your doing? Do you place the satellite dishes on the Palatine? Are you serious when you come up with these nonsense from a telegatto? It should be posted on the walls of all the gyms where martial disciplines are taught, a nice banner that says "Mauro Dixit: You can study a martial technique for 40 years, but once you're out of the gym... you forget it all of a sudden, if you...". If you give me the copyright, I'll print it and we can split it; all the gyms in the world will want one. AND IN THE MEANTIME ZERO EMAILS; ZERO CONTACTS; ZERO REGISTRATION... Enough with the hide-and-seek Mauro, come on, let's play hot potato...

Alright, now I really understand, you’re really, really slow, you have some serious mental issues. I mean, I'm talking about fighting, and you bring up an ATHLETE? Do you have any idea how inferior Tyson is? ... really, I thought you were just ignorant, but I swear I didn't think you'd come up with the most idiotic example in the world, Tyson, the king of fools, a boxer. But a boxer, even if he’s the best in the world... where the hell do you think that gets me with Jeb-Direct-Hook-Cross? Yet in the meantime, not even a shadow of an email... but we also have pearls of wisdom like “really fighting on the street... there’s no technique, only nastiness, pain tolerance, and power." What’s that about? I know the techniques, I’ve been training twice a week since I was 13, but once on the street... am I supposed to forget them magically? Poof, suddenly the technique disappears, only to reappear magically once you step into a ring. Mauro are you serious? I mean, you’re saying that someone studies something for 10-20-30 years, and when they really need it, right at the crucial moment, when they’re thinking to themselves "I’m glad I studied fighting"... that person just forgets it and relies on "nastiness, pain tolerance, and power"? Look, this is one of the best things I've heard.

Mauro, come on, bring your friends, I reiterate and confirm that I am Flash Gordon, now it's your turn to show who you are, right?

And in the meantime, you don't give me your email. And in the meantime, you don't sign up. You know everything about me; you have the chance to send me an email while I don't. You know what I look like while I don't know what you look like. Who is hiding, in the true sense of the word? Do you want to experience the thrill of seeing how I immobilize you? The bigger you are, the better for me. Ever heard of Valetudo? Watch a Pride, an underground circuit of meetings in South America, and you'll notice that among the top 10 in the world, there's not one who exceeds his ideal weight by more than 5 kg. You exceed it (according to the data you provided) by 25 kg; you're easier to beat than a 14-year-old child, and your ligament mobility is comparable to that of a hippopotamus. But why talk about it? Give me a contact, and let's test it in reality. I know why—I studied it, and I would be happy to teach you, if you give me the chance.

Mauro, haven’t they taught you the first rule of the fighter in boxing? Do you know what it is? "Never challenge someone you don’t know." I know you’re a fool because if you weren't, by now I would already have your address, your phone number, and even your tax ID. Unfortunately, I know violent people well, and they can’t believe their luck when they find an idiot willing to challenge them (including me)... you're just a poor lost child, that's all. But I insist because maybe you'll bring your friends, so I can tie you all up in a circle and defecate in the middle, leaving you there for two days to smell my gentle stench, you idiot. I really will do it, you know. You're still stuck in punches and kicks; there are legal consequences for these things, you know? Meanwhile, try to report me because I took a photo of you naked with an apple in your mouth, then let’s see at trial when the photos are presented in court... how good you’ll feel, you moron. Oh, Flinstones, we’re in the 2000s now. Come on, Mauro, come on... make me laugh, give me the chance to get to know you.

Come on Mauro, come on... at least sign up, so I can write to you. This is a possibility, right? You sign up, so I know where to contact you. When I come to Rome, I’ll tell you “I’ll be in such-and-such place at such-and-such time”, and then if you want to come, great, if not, oh well, it’s not like I’m going to go to the area just for you. Bring all the friends you want, absolutely no problem. Come on, you idiot... don’t you feel like playing? Come on... why did you bother going to the gym if you’re not gonna put it into practice?

Yes, but it’s pointless for you to insist. I CAN'T COME ON SATURDAY, BUT I WANT TO SEE YOU as soon as I'm in Rome. Damn, I'm not joking Mauro, I’m serious. I understand you might think I'm bluffing behind the computer, but I swear on my mother, my father, and my brother that I’m not joking. I want to photograph you naked with an apple in your mouth, piglet.

Come on, imagine your mother's face when she opens an envelope and there are photos of you at a 90-degree angle with a stick up your ass and "DUX" written in shaving foam on your fucking forehead. Come on, feel the thrill of fighting someone serious, not the little punks you talk about. Aren't you tired of easy wins? Come on... give me a contact, think how cool it would be... come on Mauro, I’ll make all my friends laugh for a few months... I’ll put you in a framed picture in my room, you’ll become famous Mauro.

Woof... woof. Let me explain again: oh poor idiot, I can't come on Saturday, okay? BUT I have to go to Rome in a couple of months, alright? When I go up, I want to meet you, okay? So, if you could tell me where the hell I can contact you outside of this review, that would be good. What do they care about you & me? Want to show off so strong and untamed? Then why do you need a crowd of spectators? Come on, now I'm starting to get serious, give me a contact so we can meet, I’m too curious to see you, and I’m also anxious to photograph you hanging from a gate, tied up with a Lazio scarf, the only piece of clothing a picture of the Duce slapped on your forehead. I won’t meet you in the city, I don’t want to hit you, I’ll just immobilize you and photograph you naked, and then I’ll publish the photos online, and I’m not joking, idiot... how much do we bet that on Lazio.It you’ll be the fan of the month? How much do we bet that as a deep dive on Burzum on de-baser it will be you with the shriveled little dick from the cold of the Roman countryside? Bruises go away, but screw-ups don't. I won’t hit you too hard, just enough to immobilize you and take some nice photos of you, and I’m not joking, idiot, wanna bet? You wouldn’t be the first or the last; I’m tired of hitting, it’s too easy and not artistic enough. I want to humiliate you to the limits of possibility. You know how cool it is when I take your ID from your wallet, write down your address, and send the photos to your mother? Come on, idiot, let’s play for real, contact me and maybe we can even bet some money, that way I can pay for my trip with your expenses. I repeat, idiot, I'm not joking at all, I’m very serious.

Well, then the Vanzina Brothers are a huge part of the history of Italian cinema :)). We have a different view of rock history, mine is very narrow, and yours is much broader. Let's do this, take 10 bands, no more than that, to put in the history of rock, can you place the Nirvazzi? :D I meant that, anyway I understand you and I agree, at first not only because I had a more focused view of the matter, taking it quite generously (very :D) I agree :)