Lostinspace

These are hard days. The crisis reigns and seems endless. It has been incredibly discovered that football is all just nonsense. The crap, in its unstoppable and muddy advance, now grazes the windowsill of my outlook on a tomorrow full of questions and few certainties. My scrotum is often inflamed by the sweat that the rising temperatures mercilessly generate. Venaria will no longer host big concerts and rivers of madness. Then I open Debaser and see the review of the turning point. A tracbaitrac peeks out to alleviate my psychophysical suffering. I love the tracbaitrac. If it’s made with a globally famous Anglo-Saxon star plucked from vampire fiction, a tremor of pleasure shakes every part of me, lingering on the sphincter that often bursts forth in a rush of joy. Thank you, young Luigi. Thank you.

The album is great. The review is too. And then the tracbaitrac is legendary. It’s a genre that I love very much. Like fist anal. Second only to bukkake. Today the shit flows abundantly under my window. And just today, while I was reading this review (printed on recycled toilet paper) and gently tracing circles on the surface of this precious material, I understood many things. I will arrange my collection of coprolites in order of size and not in chronological order.

Beautiful review, instinctive, just the way I like it, for a niche album of which I know nothing. Intriguing. I also share your words and your feelings. I'm going in search. I will listen. Moreover, with these premises, dear Black Stardust, I would say that you shouldn't hesitate any longer: join me. I will know how to cradle you with the sweetest melodies.

The combination of Barman-Bono annoys me. I have to say it. Personally, I see no analogy to Tom's advantage. I too am nostalgic for the early dEUS, but although their recent work is definitely of a lower level, they are an incredible band. Especially live.

A subtly concealed tracbaitrac. Underground. But still a sparkling and juicy tracbaitrac. You know about my love for tracbaitrac. And if you don’t, that's your problem. Sparkling and juicy like a lit magnum shoved up your ass. In those moments, just before your sphincter shatters into a thousand pieces, you can read this enticing list of songs and comments. In those moments of anticipation and suspense before the explosion. After, nothing will be the same again. No more flaming fart competitions with friends. No more bubbles in the bath. No more nerve gas released before getting off the elevator with that mischievous smile. You will still have the memory of a nice tracbaitrac. That's something. (This is my thousandth comment on Debaser, today is a special day. Prot!)

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Unwrap my heart. Be with me.

Children will be happy, just like the bored drivers at traffic lights. From today, "nose-picking" is no longer a vice, but an excellent habit. This is supported by a well-known Austrian pulmonologist, Dr. Friedrich Bischinger, who works in the town of Innsbruck. Putting your fingers in your nose and then in your mouth to swallow the product of your body would benefit breathing and the immune system. In particular, the doctor claims that people who "pick their nose" are healthier, happier, and in tune with their bodies.
With your fingers - explains Professor Bischinger - you can reach areas that are impossible to get to with a tissue. Eating what you extract helps the antibodies. In fact, the nose is a true filter. It accumulates a large number of bacteria, and when we send them to the intestines, they act just like modern medicines available today to strengthen the immune system. It is completely natural and, moreover, free.
The doctor then invited families to allow their children to freely put their fingers in their noses, and if the issue becomes social, given that many people find the practice disgusting, there is a solution: "pick your nose" in private, protected by the walls of your home.

Geo@Geo you will never be second in my heart: be with me, now.

Prut!