Dear users, citizens, customers. La Tana del Grillo has learned the tragic news this morning where he was beaten dell'ignobile victim Angelino Lai. For those few who do not know Angelino (where the fuck you live on Mars?): Question of the owner of Big Bar, as well as official sponsor (the sponsor tarot mica) of the Tana, Tana Atletico Cricket, and the Pizzinni gantu Vinnie. A true pack leader, in fact. Well, dear friends: the night before yesterday, it seems about two in the manzano, Angelino was attacked and robbed the house. They've stolen the collection he had with him (one thousand Euros) and have tanned my skin for. A shame, with a capital. We have not yet New bed, but tells of various injuries and broken ribs. Cazzu, one might say, if we were still smarting from the incident. We promise, if possible, succulent background and first-hand news. In the meantime, I invite you (members, citizens, customers) to join the campaign "Hands off Angelino! ", organized by La Tana del Grillo from ABA: Comment on this post, vote in the poll which will appear in a few minutes , you hear all your solidarity to Angelino. Why such a thing should not happen again. Because we want our streets are safe again. That our children can run around and break my balls without worrying about the neighbors consequences. Angelino Why not be touched. And boh.
Other than holidays. According to insiders - ie the users who participated in the Tana spasmodic poll you see in the area - the return of Christmas will be anything but restful for JF Sebastian. Hordes of angry mothers, DNA tests, papers to sign, Dina and they go bye dreams of glory. And 'This is the scenario that lies ahead, at least in the coming days, ugly bastards. In reality, therefore, in Caramel is well characterized by other news, which obscures this miserable post obviously. See a few minutes above.
from what is expected on his return to JF Sebastian Street Caramel?
Rumors (but like, at the bottom right of the corridor) give a Mount Caramel Street caput mundi again from tomorrow. It tells of a person in JF Sebastian - news but 'not yet confirmed by official sources - about to cross seas, mountains and baguettes to settle back on the golden throne of Via Carmelo number five. However, as usual, against the forces of evil through La Tana, in the form of snow with casings (controfiocchi we felt bad) scheduled for the night. Will JF to take the midnight train (it 'shit, like Cinderella ), hoist himself over the Pyrenees and reach the aeropuerto in the morning, fresh as a rose just bloomed? To get this: stay tuned on La Tana del Grillo.
December incredible Via Caramel. It was not enough the introduction of two-way traffic , here is another novelty. Based on the votes of the members sparkling La Tana (to be fair few: NEGATIVE record of votes, cazzu diauru!) Who decided to take part in apocalyptic poll below, a quick rise from parts of our headquarters a new pearl. It does not pay the homage made through Trinity course , the local community decided to build a third skyscraper (those of S. Maria di Pisa do not) but which will enrich the skyline Turritano after becoming of the seventies that have indelibly altered the view of any passing between Mount Bianchinu and pallets. Moreover, it often happens that there is no threes, for example David Bowie's Berlin trilogy , RaiTre or Triple Alliance. How could Sassari lag behind the steady stream of contemporary life? He could not. For the planned opening of live music, gadgets La Tana and double drink at the bar: flock. And bring your spiaggine from home.
militants Dear users, you who follow international events of La Tana despite the weather and the weather (which we are historically enemies), here we are again at the helm After about a week spent mostly recover from Portuguese zone (well an hour). As promised, here served the vicissitudes of the Tana Atlantic: the smell of dried cod on the jacket it is an irrefutable testimony. And if you do not believe your eyes nor your ears, well, believe your noses. La Tana earth therefore trip Portuguese, through the London stage accompanied by the most classic of packed lunches and several benches to sleep on (keep in mind: will not be the last). For the record: Limoges abandoned at temperatures well below zero and the surrounding landscape monochrome whitish obtained by dixan. Obviously, we think Porto, which will offer an improvement: maybe there will be wind, but there will be the same mica cold, right? As is also obvious, the late arrival immediately shows the trend of the weekend: a cold cagarsi. Porto is brightly lit but despite being a Friday 'evening is not that there is any' people are around. The thermometer at about 6 degrees and the humidity to make the ball immediately understand why, but 'you are too tired to learn more. The next day he eats an impractical amount of food at breakfast and in part legs shoulder, bearing the hand of the young marmots, strictly in French. First, a clarification: Port and overlooking the river fucking Douro . This means that to get from the district of Ribeira , that is the old town, it drops a lot. It also means that to fit in the room, take the funicular. However the Ribeira is a wonderful place, with that melancholy throughout Portugal and the union at first sight disconcerting between baroque, colors, smells and churches every two meters, misery and decay. In addition, the Douro, which flows 4 km further west, bad breaks and it's huge. The first attempt to follow the advice of the young marmots turns ominous: half an hour hunting for a restaurant famed (for the French, anyway) that turns out not to exist anymore. Folds up for genuine Ziller local offering for cod and birroni ridiculous figure. The owner has the mustache and his wife cuisine: no objections. Next two Frenchmen, regardless of the dish of the day (guess which one), ordering two hamburgers. They leave the insults in Sassari. Upon the account owner is aware of the nationality of your flag and affectionate commentary, allisciandosi the mustache: "... nothing here macaroni." Time of orange juice (which is an institution here) and sweet and very good exploration continues in the afternoon, finishing with a washstand octopus with rice and a whip of salt cod (oh no?), Different from the lunch and equally level. This time promoted Young marmots. Sunday is the time to complete the tour in the rest of the city (whose center is small), to taste roasted bream rocking, drinking and so many doors to take a look to the surroundings. So 'obligatory passage the most important bridge, which offers spectacular views and - especially - boat ride (boat is actually a big word) along the Douro, and the speakers spread The Italian Toto Cutugno , remodeled in Portuguese. Finally the ocean. You get there by tram (not the bus, tram true, although it seems the stuff of museum rattling, with the driver who brought along his family and a string to request stop) in a few minutes, the time to understand that the passage is full of people. The view is magnificent and disturbing, although it seems to be at Porto Torres, perhaps because the end of the commercial port that is visible to the north. A memorable scene of two Portuguese, tanned as mondezzini (feature, alas, local) that would address two tizie probably Russian, who do not suck, and show that much of the attention like all Latin. The frame of events is even more intense cold of the previous days, and is accompanied by unsettling habit of not using the heating in public places. What's more, the doors are always open, to come and go at will the friendly patrons. It should be said that the Portuguese are dressed (male) as if they were in late spring, but their kindness is a sincere and an amazing ability to speak French (after attempts to say three words in Portuguese that are usually "talking English ? "," speak French? "or even" speak Italian? , read directly from the dictionary pocket and handed in a horrifying). Unfortunately, the night falls, and with it a pleasant stay at the airport (the plane is strategically planned for the 6 local time). Another fantastic Ziller - dishes come from upstairs, fresh and beautiful all the beers have less than a mustache and look soccer championship on television - and on. Now, ' Porto airport is brand new, beautiful and one of the most modern in Europe. The dramatic gap is - now as you can imagine - it is heated. It follows a night spent in hell against swearing in Sassari cod, Cristiano Ronaldo and a cleaning man, who appears every ten seconds driving a mega scooter with brushes with the intent to make the floor that you have under your ass to the 4 in the morning bright like day. The benches, then, are not as comfortable as those of the Friday 'and the row that is created in a nanosecond for controls while trying to fight the headache with a galactic tea, make the mood, so 'to speak, changing. Fortunately, the inspecting officer, while you get up the belt of his trousers, and you'd need three more pairs of hands to keep everything under control, see the identity card, and exclaims, happy: " Italian! " " Oh yes' " Where? Milan? Rome? " No, Sardinia. "" Ah , Sardinia! Bella, Italy! . You see the face that does not even know where it is, Sardinia. Yet just to feel better. And to think - for the first and perhaps only time - comfortable seats on a Ryanair flight.
