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Rating: I strongly believe in the power of subliminal messages that emanate from the shitty reading of certain texts. Especially in this shitty book, one can discern nuggets of crude thought that rise from the bottom (and I won't specify the shitty area) to the top, in a catastrophic eruption of shitty concepts that are bleak, vulgar, idiotic, and born from the worst of what a shitty human mind could ever conceive.
A chapter like "Fighe" which begins with "I have my own magnetism. I look at a woman and immediately after I'm there, doing her" or continuing with "plainly and directly I tell you that in Italy there is no more handsome man than me" is as shitty and absurd as possible from a bleak figure like this multi-convicted individual, criminal, blackmailer, fraudster, and whatever shitty else could be published.
And I am also ashamed of a publishing house (?) like shitty Mondadori which gives space to such individuals in the name of a greater profit in the number of copies sold.
But even more, I despise and internally self-vomit at the mere thought that, still in Italy, this bully nearing shitty old age, could manage to have this book (160 pages written in large) purchased by someone shitty which then are hundreds or even thousands of brain-damaged individuals with serious psychiatric problems shitty.
Now, if you haven't figured out how I rate this shitty book, if you haven't, I invite you to reread the shitty article and grasp the little subliminal messages scattered here and there.
Rather, devote yourself to Marco, who perhaps holds up the Crown better than this former paparazzo.
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