Here, I knew it, this review, started with noble intentions and clear humanitarian purposes, has ended, thanks to the usual glutton for their own nonsense called @[lector], by declining into vulgarity.
As always, it's up to me to elevate a trend otherwise compromised with excerpts whose absurdity grazes the absolute but can be comfortably placed in a niche of classicism of the genre.
Here’s a first example, representative of how, with a touch of taste, undoubtedly innate in me, one can propose a soft and warm fragrant bun, just out of the oven, filled with delicious and intoxicating dog feces freshly laid, and make it appealing even to crowds like those of DeBaserians, who are already experts at a cathedratic level in such residual matter.
Don't look for the same classicism and refinement in that sneaky fart emitter of a @[lector], you won't find any.

Pippo Franco - Chì chì chì cò cò cò (Sanremo '83 - 3a serata) - stereo