They tell me the panther is buying a scorpion round for Panther

work:

1. I wrote.

 

2. I have recorded a cassette.

 

3. I have made two CDs.

 

4. I made a video (VHS).

 

5. I did a Pepsi ad with a soccer player.

6. I died at the age of 65 from kidney carcinoma.

Last tweet:

"Remember this. You gave me everything. Thank you for your resistance."

most important:

I am Argentine.

 

I was an actor.

 

I was a cumbia singer.

 

I was the author of 'El son de cuca'.

 

I was a student of Theology and Geology in Córdoba.

 

I became an actor, and then a musician.

 

I knew both Gladys 'la bomba' and Gilda, fat cumbia dancer.

 

What is my name?

 

¿Qué celebridad española muerta soy?

Mi

3. (They)

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• Living in:

   

  Switzerland: Pontresina (+40 km) Graubünden; Champagne (+40 km) Vaud, France: Ille (+40 km) Languedoc-Roussillon; Castres (+40 km) Midi-Pyrénées; Coudekerque-Branche (+40 km) Nord-Pas-de-Calais, Italy: Emilia-Romagna; Milan (+40 km) Lombardia, Lebanon: Zefta (+40 km) Nabatieh Governorate, Mexico: Mexico City (+40 km) Distrito Federal or South Africa: Soweto (+40 km) Gauteng,

   

  Interests:

   

  Country music, Heavy metal music, Jazz music, Pop music, Rock music, Pizza, Tablet computers, Smartphones, Televisions or Mobile phones

   

  Age: 13-31,

   

  Gender: Female

   

   

Blessed with tequoniam we came to the alliance.

 

I heard about you, you have the gods, and his knowledge and wisdom are found in you.

 

I will return to you, so that it is more than that of the last of you?

 

Ahh. 

 

easy flow, molest me.  

 

To me, My treat he's glad you sew 

 

I grant it to you, I will add unto thy servants twisted by the word of the Island and of Bela

 

however, the question  put among  Jeans Outlet.

 

woof?

 

net anxiety

 

  reality?

 

And the Blue hat at that, spinning.

 

Know've end?




 

• ''It's not my responsibility to answer to those people,'' he said in a recent interview, referring to people who have began to question the substantive nature of his recent efforts in the music business. ''This is a private business,'' he said with a confident smile.

Here is another one I bought blind.

I'm in a thrift store for battered women, digging through the records and checking out the chicks (no no no no no give me a god damn break.

It was just too horrible of a joke to pass up).

I find this little thing in a tattered cover.

Look at the cover and see two guys sitting in a car.

Look at the back, two guys are still sitting in a car, and they have kinda long hair, and there is a little state of Louisiana circled below.

Label says 1982.

Record is beat to shit.

Awww what the hell.

At the very worst it will be a bad spend of a buck.

I walk to the counter, lay my dollar down and tell the girl, "There's more where that came from..." and slither out the door.

I go home and slap this puppy on the turntable.

Oh my god! Distorted guitar and stand up bass, no drums and it is a raw, smoking rockabilly tune worthy of Cramps/Hasil worship.

Second song is a slow one and damn it if this couldn't be the Gibson Brothers.

Look at the label again.

1982.

Shit, this predates the Gibs by five or so years.

Flip it over and weirdness crawls out of the groove.

Some kinda reverb flooded, bell soaked creepiness about the Atlanta Child Murders oozes out of the speakers! Now I am really excited.

Really really excited.

And the ep ends with some kinda Modern Lovers meets the Only Ones meets Alex "Flies on Sherbert" Chilton power popper.

Artist: Our Favorite Band Title: Pink Cadillac Format: 7" Sleeve Condition: GOOD Vinyl Condition: VG+ Color of Vinyl: BLACK Label: Praxis Records Year: 1981 praxis-001 TRACK LIST: SIDE A.

1.

Pink Cadillac 2.

When am I Gonna Win? + SIDE B 1.

Praeceps Lascivus (Atlanta) 2.

Saturday Nights And Sundy Mornings Cassette 12 Songs 1.

Lost And Lonely 2.

Exile On Main Street 3.

Leavin' Louisiana 4.

Saturday Nights...sunday Mornings Co, W/ Michael Stipe, Jason Ringenberg, Doug Easley, Etc.

Saturday Nights...sunday Mornings Lp + Cdr Copy: Ex Co, W/ Michael Stipe, Jason Ringenberg, Doug Easley, Etc.

What would shock Kafka is the real-life nightmare that he had imagined and deftly written, whose story excerpted here finds another man not born in Kafka's day who like his protagonist Gregor, wakes to find, not that he has metamorphosed into 'vermin,' but that his metamorphosis has done triple-duty and has  transformed him from a Man to a Possum to a Duck to an Old Man, and on top of this, he has one epic cocaine habit to support,  not through toiling away  as a scrivener, but through an endless night of  lonesome highways which deposit his disoriented brain with an IQ of 80 at one squalid honky-tonks after another with his band, where every night he sings the same songs, all sentimental, but some nights with preternatural perspicuity, as luckily, his bass player 'feeds him the lyrics'  directly into his ear during the performances --  his adoring audience, attention on him, seems immune to what some would be a sign of early onset alzheimers or a severe frontal cortex insult from a serious head injury, but if he has been hit by anything, it is just the 'Love Bug,' or a couple of grams of Nashville's finest cocaine to aid him through the arduous journeys similar to another tribe whose stamina is aided by the plant and its magical alkaloids, the Peruvian Indians who never 'stop' ingesting it in its pristine form of mascerating the leaves from the coca tree, packing a wad between cheek and gums like a baseball player and his chaw and then letting it sooth and ameliorate everything that Machu Pichu has to offer at heights far above what any other humans would find tolerable to stand still, and would be carted away should their livelihood involve hard toiling in the thin air on the cloud dwarfing mountain they call their farmland.

His lush mezzo-soprano buttery lows are base for twangy highs which escape in high-pitched yelps contraposed with the bottom cleft origin of their rocketing, orotund bottom and disintegration in pleasing effervescent eructation, similar to certain NASA spacecrafts, or  that which emanates from asylums, a cacophonous wreck of spastic hiccoughs and ululating bleats and bahs,  enjoined by  choral padding and unscored chaotic blats, glottal tics whose  turgid  excrescence one might find entertaining in private, or reading from the published letters of certain rough speaking authors, published exactly as the model described (in perverse dirty talk, but only as James Joyce to his 'come receptacle,' Nora create); excremental, florid movements defying peristalsis, and 98% of the population of Ireland, with the exception of the personage of -- and God, I know it's true -- scion of great PC Computer Virus Killer magnate turned lambing toilet bowl receptacle, John  McAfee, whose father (Grandfather?) was surely very likely bumping into Joyce at the time, whose son now bumped with a Belizian girlfriend surfeit -- only few might have afforded the opportunity to reject, this filthy oral contract, in which many states in America, the instructions alone would still violate some of the outlier 19th Century Blue Laws on the books as Class 'C' Felonies.  He took pleasure in blocking the performance of this coprophagic play, including  actor  marks and prop-ready hammocks, only requiring the 'actors' in a rarely necessary demonstration of 'The Method,' which Dustin Hoffman is famously remembered in an anecdote Sir Larry lived off of on the Late Night Talk Show circuit of the 1970's, as related by the same Laurence Olivier, of the absurd and treacherous senior greatest classic actors of all-time greatly enjoying a rare chance for him to trivialize and scoff at one of the very 'hot' acting methods then practiced by many US celebrity actors, and also here in their scenes together for "Marathon Man":  where regarding Hoffman's breathless entrance due to having sprinted before a scene which required him to 'act' winded, Larry had remarked something to the effect of him 'just acting' instead -- to bulk, or not to bulk with fiber, that was the question at Chez McAfee Finca en el Belize, just don't call old  Mac late for dinner.

When time to assume the position of diacritic's marking letters pronounciation and such, so his 'u' under the umlaut was just about right, arms gesturing up for support and maw fully open for its umlaut to rain down all good lovin', etc.

'to sup from under whingeing bed no siesta's movement above ... it must be love.'

coprolalic interjections of the most obscene and irrational juxtaposition, neither contextually intelligible, more vile and lascivious taboo,  titillation, provocative unseemliness, and purposeful indoctrination whose reaction the poor dullards, not too few beatings from shocked, censorious street mobs, if they, poor epileptics, were ever let out of the house -- had they one, at all.

Neither ruled by reason, anger, nor provoked by a motive whose only possible understanding would begin to explain the necessity of the outbursts in surprise, subject matter, and volubility, especially should one find oneself within the normal distance one allows for polite cohabitation and social gathering; but except for those two cases, and in the fact that those cases had nothing at all to do with what was heard, and only one other which could be responsible in polite supposition as to the calls, that of the duty to communicate danger or warning.

relief exists for a few seconds before he is captured in one or more of a volley of reprises and encores.

😈 🐍 🌸 🌸

George Jones (now Dee-Doodle Duck, now DD Old Man) had never once yet been ill.

Dee-Doodle Duckweed?" That gentle voice! George Jones was shocked when DD heard his own voice answerin', it could hardly be recognized as DD voice DD had had before.

His father went back to his breakfast, but his sister whispered:

 

"George Jones open DD door, I beg of you."

 

George Jones , however, had no thought of openin' DD door, and instead congratulated himself for his cautious habit, acquired from his travellin', of lockin' all doors at night even when DD was a ho.

George Jones had wanted to give a full answer and explain everythin', but in DD circumstances contented himself with sayin': "Yes, mother, yes, thank-you, I'm gettin' up now." DD change in George Jones 's voice probably could not be noticed outside through DD wooden door, as his mother was satisfied with this explanation and shuffled away.

And even if DD did catch DD train DD would not avoid his boss's anger as DD office assistant would have been there to see DD five o'clock train go, DD would have put in his report about George Jones 's not bein' there long Dee-Doodle-ago.

Dee-Doodle Duckthin' that can't be done in bed", George Jones said to himself, "so don't keep tryin' to do it".

Dee-Doodle Duckmbers of DD family aware that George Jones , against their expectations was still at ho.

From DD room on his right, George Jones 's sister whispered to him to let him know: "George Jones , DD chief clerk is here." "Yes, I know", said George Jones to himself; but without darin' to raise his voice loud enough for his sister to hear him.

"George Jones , George Jones ", DD called, "what's wrong?" And after a short while DD called again with a warnin' deepness in his voice: "George Jones ! George Jones !" At DD other side door his sister ca.

And what's more, would DD have been entirely wrong in this case? George Jones did in fact, apart from excessive sleepiness after sleepin' for so long, feel completely well and even felt much hungrier than usual.

George Jones only needed to hear DD visitor's first words of greetin' and DD knew who it was - DD chief clerk himself.

Dee-Doodle-plaintively: "George Jones ? Aren't you well? Do you need anythin'?" George Jones answered to both sides: "I'm ready, now", makin' an effort to remove all DD strangeness from his voice by enunciation' very carefully and puttin' long pauses between each, individual word.

His fall was softened a little by DD carpet, and George Jones 's back was also more elastic than DD had thought, which made DD sound muffled and not too noticeable.

What Gets Me Hot.