Autor Tema: Tengo una pregunta genuina y de buen rollo.  (Leído 25012 veces)

Bestiajez

  • Visitante
Re: Tengo una pregunta genuina y de buen rollo.
« Respuesta #120 en: Julio 24, 2011, 12:36:04 am »
Esto deberia ir en el hilo "hestoy volbiendo a casa con una ggopita de mas y foreo dezde er artobux", pero bueno, ahi va: Se que JM cuenta con apoyos porque lo conoceis personalmente y tiene pinta de ser muy majo. Ademas cuenta con la ventaja de que es del gremio... Pero foreramente es un tio bastante inane y lento de reflejos y considero que como moderador seria una perita en dulce para cualquier troll que se precie. Es por ello que solicito que el pack de nuevos moderadores de apoyo sea un tandem. JM a los mandos tecnicos y Tejemaneje en la direccion.


_Amazonia_

  • Visitante
Re: Tengo una pregunta genuina y de buen rollo.
« Respuesta #121 en: Julio 24, 2011, 12:38:02 am »
Esto deberia ir en el hilo "hestoy volbiendo a casa con una ggopita de mas y foreo dezde er artobux", pero bueno, ahi va: Se que JM cuenta con apoyos porque lo conoceis personalmente y tiene pinta de ser muy majo. Ademas cuenta con la ventaja de que es del gremio... Pero foreramente es un tio bastante inane y lento de reflejos y considero que como moderador seria una perita en dulce para cualquier troll que se precie. Es por ello que solicito que el pack de nuevos moderadores de apoyo sea un tandem. JM a los mandos tecnicos y Tejemaneje en la direccion.


-

Eso, y tu introducido como topo....

ENNAS

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Re: Tengo una pregunta genuina y de buen rollo.
« Respuesta #122 en: Julio 24, 2011, 12:50:34 am »
Cuán grande es el Areópago y por extensión, la vida, que te sorprende a cada instante con una nueva maravilla.

Really don't mind if you sit this one out.

My words, but a whisper. Your deafness, a shout.
I may make you feel, but I can't make you think.
Your sperm's in the gutter. Your love's in the sink.
So you ride yourselves over the fields
and you make all your animal deals
and your wise men don't know how it feels
to be
thick as a brick


Incluyendo, estoy en éxtasis, a los ombliguistas que sólo buscan el reconocimiento fácil metaforeando.

Incluyendo incluso, estoy que lo tiro, a ese par de fichajes de invierno del Club Deportivo Tropezón de Torrelavega que nos hemos echado.

Hola _Amazonia_, hola Barry, debéis ser brillantes, pues me produce epilepsia visual leeros.

And the sand-castle virtues are all swept away
in the tidal destruction, in the moral melée.
The elastic retreat rings the close of play
as the last wave uncovers the newfangled way.
But your new shoes are worn at the heels
and your suntan does rapidly peel
and your wise men don't know how it feels
to be
thick as a brick


Ésta la aprendí­ hace poco de Mr. Calamardo. Y es un pasote.

And the love that I feel is so far away:
I'm a bad dream that I just had today
and you, shake your head and say
it's a shame.


Y así­ durante tres cuartos de hora:



Spin me back down the years and the days of my youth
Draw the lace and black curtains and shut out the whole truth
Spin me down the long ages: let them sing the song

See there! A son is born. And we pronounce him fit to fight
There are black-heads on his shoulders, and he pees himself in the night.
We'll make a man of him
put him to trade, teach him
to play Monopoly
and to sing in the rain.

The Poet and the painter casting shadows on the water
as the sun plays on the infantry returning from the sea
The do-er and the thinker: no allowance for the other
as the failing light illuminates the mercenary's creed.
The home fire burning: the kettle almost boiling
but the master of the house is far away
The horses stamping, their warm breath clouding
in the sharp and frosty morning of the day
And the poet lifts his pen while the soldier sheaths his sword

And the youngest of the family is moving with authority
Building castles by the sea, he dares the tardy tide to wash them all aside

The cattle quietly grazing at the grass down by the river
where the swelling mountain water moves onward to the sea.
The builder of the castles renews the age-old purpose
and contemplates the milking girl whose offer is his need.
The young men of the household have all gone into service
and are not to be expected for a year.
The innocent young master (thoughts moving ever faster)
has formed the plan to change the man he seems.
And the poet sheaths his pen while the soldier lifts his sword.

And the oldest of the family is moving with authority
Coming from across the sea, he challenges the son who puts him to the run.

What do you do when the old man's gone?
Do you want to be him?
And your real self sings the song
Do you want to free him?
No one to help you get up steam
and the whirlpool turns you away off-beam.

I've come down from the upper class to mend your rotten ways,
my father was a man-of-power whom everyone obeyed.
So come on all you criminals!
I've got to put you straight just like I did with my old man
twenty years too late.
Your bread and water's going cold.
Your hair is too short and neat.
I'll judge you all and make damn sure that no-one judges me.

You curl your toes in fun as you smile at everyone. You meet the stares.
You're unaware that your doings aren't done.
And you laugh most ruthlessly as you tell us what not to be.
But how are we supposed to see where we should run?
I see you shuffle in the courtroom with
your rings upon your fingers
and your downy little sidies
and your silver-buckle shoes;
playing at the hard case
you follow the example of the comic-paper idol
who lets you bend the rules.

So! Come on ye childhood heroes!
Won't you rise up from the pages of your comic-books,
your super crooks,
and show us all the way
Well! Make your will and testament. Won't you?
Join your local government.
We'll have Superman for president,
let Robin save the day.

You put your bet on number one and it comes up every time.
The other kids have all backed down and they put you first in line.
And so you finally ask yourself just how big you are
and take your place in a wiser world of bigger motor cars.
And you wonder who to call on

So! Where the hell was Biggles when you needed him last Saturday?
And where were all the sportsmen who always pulled you though?
They're all resting down in Cornwall,
writing up their memoirs for a paper-back edition
of the Boy Scout Manual.

See there! A man born, and we pronounce him fit for peace.
There's a load lifted from his shoulders with the discovery of his disease.
We'll take the child from him
put it to the test
teach it
to be a wise man
how to fool the rest.

We will be geared to the average, rather than the exceptional.
God is an overwhelming responsibility.
We walked through the maternity ward and saw 218 babies wearing nylons,
cats are on the upgrade.
Upgrade? Hipgrave. Oh, Mac.

In the clear white circles of morning wonder,
I take my place with the lord of the hills,
and the blue-eyed soldiers stand slightly discoloured (in neat little rows)
sporting canvas frills
with their jock-straps pinching, they slouch to attention,
while queueing for sarnies at the office canteen,
saying "how's your granny?"
and good old Ernie... he coughed up a tenner on a premium bond win.

The legends (worded in the ancient tribal hymn) lie cradled in the seagull's call
and all the promises they made are ground beneath the sadist's fall.
The poet and the wise man stand behind the gun,
and signal for the crack of dawn.
Light the sun

Do you believe in the day? Do you?
Believe in the day! The Dawn Creation of the Kings has begun.
Soft Venus (lonely maiden) brings the ageless one.
Do you believe in the day?
The fading hero has returned to the night and -fully pregnant with the day-
wise men endorse the poet's sight
Do you believe in the day? Do you? Believe in the day!

Let me tell you the tales of your life
of your love and the cut of the knife:
The tireless oppression.
the wisdom instilled.
the desire to kill or be killed.
Let me sing of the losers who lie in the street as the last bus goes by
The pavements ar empty; the gutters run red, while the fool
toasts his god in the sky.

So come all ye young men who are building castles!
Kindly state the time of the year and join your voices in a hellish chorus.
Mark the precise nature of your fear.
Let me help you pick up your dead as the sins of the father are fed
with the blood of the fools
and the thoughts of the wise
and from the pan under your bed.
Let me make you a present of song
as the wise man breaks wind and is gone
while the fool with the hour-glass is cooking his goose
and the nursery rhyme winds along.

So! Come all ye young men who are building castles!
Kindly state the time of the year and join your voices in a hellish chorus.
Mark the precise nature of your fear.
See! The summer lightning casts its bolts upon you
and the hour of judgement draweth near.
Would you be the fool stood in his suit of armour or
the wiser man who rushes clear?
So! Come on ye childhood heroes!
Won't your rise up from the pages of your comic-books,
your super-crooks, and show us all the way
Well! Make your will and testament.
Won't you? Join your local government,
We'll have Superman for president,
let Robin save the day.
So! Where the hell was Biggles when you needed him last Saturday?
And where were all the sportsmen who always pulled you through?
They're all resting down in Cornwall, writing up their memoirs
for a paper-back edition of the Boy Scout Manual.

So you ride yourselves over the fields
and you make all your animal deals
and your wise men don't know how it feels
to be
thick as a brick


Ian Anderson, 1972.

_Amazonia_

  • Visitante
Re: Tengo una pregunta genuina y de buen rollo.
« Respuesta #123 en: Julio 24, 2011, 12:53:57 am »
Cuán grande es el Areópago y por extensión, la vida, que te sorprende a cada instante con una nueva maravilla.

Really don't mind if you sit this one out.

My words, but a whisper. Your deafness, a shout.
I may make you feel, but I can't make you think.
Your sperm's in the gutter. Your love's in the sink.
So you ride yourselves over the fields
and you make all your animal deals
and your wise men don't know how it feels
to be
thick as a brick


Incluyendo, estoy en éxtasis, a los ombliguistas que sólo buscan el reconocimiento fácil metaforeando.

Incluyendo incluso, estoy que lo tiro, a ese par de fichajes de invierno del Club Deportivo Tropezón de Torrelavega que nos hemos echado.

Hola _Amazonia_, hola Barry, debéis ser brillantes, pues me produce epilepsia visual leeros.

And the sand-castle virtues are all swept away
in the tidal destruction, in the moral melée.
The elastic retreat rings the close of play
as the last wave uncovers the newfangled way.
But your new shoes are worn at the heels
and your suntan does rapidly peel
and your wise men don't know how it feels
to be
thick as a brick


Ésta la aprendí­ hace poco de Mr. Calamardo. Y es un pasote.

And the love that I feel is so far away:
I'm a bad dream that I just had today
and you, shake your head and say
it's a shame.


Y así­ durante tres cuartos de hora:



Spin me back down the years and the days of my youth
Draw the lace and black curtains and shut out the whole truth
Spin me down the long ages: let them sing the song

See there! A son is born. And we pronounce him fit to fight
There are black-heads on his shoulders, and he pees himself in the night.
We'll make a man of him
put him to trade, teach him
to play Monopoly
and to sing in the rain.

The Poet and the painter casting shadows on the water
as the sun plays on the infantry returning from the sea
The do-er and the thinker: no allowance for the other
as the failing light illuminates the mercenary's creed.
The home fire burning: the kettle almost boiling
but the master of the house is far away
The horses stamping, their warm breath clouding
in the sharp and frosty morning of the day
And the poet lifts his pen while the soldier sheaths his sword

And the youngest of the family is moving with authority
Building castles by the sea, he dares the tardy tide to wash them all aside

The cattle quietly grazing at the grass down by the river
where the swelling mountain water moves onward to the sea.
The builder of the castles renews the age-old purpose
and contemplates the milking girl whose offer is his need.
The young men of the household have all gone into service
and are not to be expected for a year.
The innocent young master (thoughts moving ever faster)
has formed the plan to change the man he seems.
And the poet sheaths his pen while the soldier lifts his sword.

And the oldest of the family is moving with authority
Coming from across the sea, he challenges the son who puts him to the run.

What do you do when the old man's gone?
Do you want to be him?
And your real self sings the song
Do you want to free him?
No one to help you get up steam
and the whirlpool turns you away off-beam.

I've come down from the upper class to mend your rotten ways,
my father was a man-of-power whom everyone obeyed.
So come on all you criminals!
I've got to put you straight just like I did with my old man
twenty years too late.
Your bread and water's going cold.
Your hair is too short and neat.
I'll judge you all and make damn sure that no-one judges me.

You curl your toes in fun as you smile at everyone. You meet the stares.
You're unaware that your doings aren't done.
And you laugh most ruthlessly as you tell us what not to be.
But how are we supposed to see where we should run?
I see you shuffle in the courtroom with
your rings upon your fingers
and your downy little sidies
and your silver-buckle shoes;
playing at the hard case
you follow the example of the comic-paper idol
who lets you bend the rules.

So! Come on ye childhood heroes!
Won't you rise up from the pages of your comic-books,
your super crooks,
and show us all the way
Well! Make your will and testament. Won't you?
Join your local government.
We'll have Superman for president,
let Robin save the day.

You put your bet on number one and it comes up every time.
The other kids have all backed down and they put you first in line.
And so you finally ask yourself just how big you are
and take your place in a wiser world of bigger motor cars.
And you wonder who to call on

So! Where the hell was Biggles when you needed him last Saturday?
And where were all the sportsmen who always pulled you though?
They're all resting down in Cornwall,
writing up their memoirs for a paper-back edition
of the Boy Scout Manual.

See there! A man born, and we pronounce him fit for peace.
There's a load lifted from his shoulders with the discovery of his disease.
We'll take the child from him
put it to the test
teach it
to be a wise man
how to fool the rest.

We will be geared to the average, rather than the exceptional.
God is an overwhelming responsibility.
We walked through the maternity ward and saw 218 babies wearing nylons,
cats are on the upgrade.
Upgrade? Hipgrave. Oh, Mac.

In the clear white circles of morning wonder,
I take my place with the lord of the hills,
and the blue-eyed soldiers stand slightly discoloured (in neat little rows)
sporting canvas frills
with their jock-straps pinching, they slouch to attention,
while queueing for sarnies at the office canteen,
saying "how's your granny?"
and good old Ernie... he coughed up a tenner on a premium bond win.

The legends (worded in the ancient tribal hymn) lie cradled in the seagull's call
and all the promises they made are ground beneath the sadist's fall.
The poet and the wise man stand behind the gun,
and signal for the crack of dawn.
Light the sun

Do you believe in the day? Do you?
Believe in the day! The Dawn Creation of the Kings has begun.
Soft Venus (lonely maiden) brings the ageless one.
Do you believe in the day?
The fading hero has returned to the night and -fully pregnant with the day-
wise men endorse the poet's sight
Do you believe in the day? Do you? Believe in the day!

Let me tell you the tales of your life
of your love and the cut of the knife:
The tireless oppression.
the wisdom instilled.
the desire to kill or be killed.
Let me sing of the losers who lie in the street as the last bus goes by
The pavements ar empty; the gutters run red, while the fool
toasts his god in the sky.

So come all ye young men who are building castles!
Kindly state the time of the year and join your voices in a hellish chorus.
Mark the precise nature of your fear.
Let me help you pick up your dead as the sins of the father are fed
with the blood of the fools
and the thoughts of the wise
and from the pan under your bed.
Let me make you a present of song
as the wise man breaks wind and is gone
while the fool with the hour-glass is cooking his goose
and the nursery rhyme winds along.

So! Come all ye young men who are building castles!
Kindly state the time of the year and join your voices in a hellish chorus.
Mark the precise nature of your fear.
See! The summer lightning casts its bolts upon you
and the hour of judgement draweth near.
Would you be the fool stood in his suit of armour or
the wiser man who rushes clear?
So! Come on ye childhood heroes!
Won't your rise up from the pages of your comic-books,
your super-crooks, and show us all the way
Well! Make your will and testament.
Won't you? Join your local government,
We'll have Superman for president,
let Robin save the day.
So! Where the hell was Biggles when you needed him last Saturday?
And where were all the sportsmen who always pulled you through?
They're all resting down in Cornwall, writing up their memoirs
for a paper-back edition of the Boy Scout Manual.

So you ride yourselves over the fields
and you make all your animal deals
and your wise men don't know how it feels
to be
thick as a brick


Ian Anderson, 1972.
.

Poco clarificante, no se ingles

_Amazonia_

  • Visitante
Re: Tengo una pregunta genuina y de buen rollo.
« Respuesta #124 en: Julio 24, 2011, 12:56:37 am »

Ah vale, me llamas ombliguista y odias el metaforeo...pero vas y lo lees, curioso.

A mi el futbol no me gusta, y raramente me veras metida en ese hilo.

Quizas seas tu quien biusque reconocimiento metaforeando sobre los metaforeadores, no¿? (y lo que me ha costado escribir "metaforeadores")

Dolordebarriga

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Re: Tengo una pregunta genuina y de buen rollo.
« Respuesta #125 en: Julio 24, 2011, 12:33:08 pm »
Lo de os podéis pasar con todos, menos conmigo que soy el dueño, me ha parecido muy cutrefeo.
"Yo siempre documento lo que digo"

Tejemaneje

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Re: Tengo una pregunta genuina y de buen rollo.
« Respuesta #126 en: Julio 24, 2011, 12:58:17 pm »
Lo de os podéis pasar con todos, menos conmigo que soy el dueño, me ha parecido muy cutrefeo.

A mí­ también. Hay que reconocer que el Grillo ha hecho méritos suficientes, pero es triste que el propio administrador decida actuar cuando le sale de los cojones en el caso que le parece bien mientras deja a otros sujetos campar a sus anchas, otros foreros que han trolleado años o que hacen del insulto chusco su modo de actuar. Todos ellos, por cierto, vulnerando constantemente las propias normas pinchadas arriba del todo. Dicho de otro modo, el Grillo es lógico que esté en la lista, pero ni mucho menos el primero.

En las relaciones entre las aficiones de Bic y el foro se le ha ido la olla por supuesto, pero en lo siguiente lleva más razón que un santo:

deberia darte verguenza la que le esta montando a Baku mientras Redneck y tu haceis mutis por el for(r)o y mirais para otro lado dia tras dia
“Un caballero es un hombre que sabe tocar el acordeón pero no lo hace”.  Tom Waits.

yonnon

  • Visitante
Re: Tengo una pregunta genuina y de buen rollo.
« Respuesta #127 en: Julio 24, 2011, 01:25:12 pm »
Cuán grande es el Areópago y por extensión, la vida, que te sorprende a cada instante con una nueva maravilla.

Really don't mind if you sit this one out.

My words, but a whisper. Your deafness, a shout.
I may make you feel, but I can't make you think.
Your sperm's in the gutter. Your love's in the sink.
So you ride yourselves over the fields
and you make all your animal deals
and your wise men don't know how it feels
to be
thick as a brick


Incluyendo, estoy en éxtasis, a los ombliguistas que sólo buscan el reconocimiento fácil metaforeando.

Incluyendo incluso, estoy que lo tiro, a ese par de fichajes de invierno del Club Deportivo Tropezón de Torrelavega que nos hemos echado.

Hola _Amazonia_, hola Barry, debéis ser brillantes, pues me produce epilepsia visual leeros.

And the sand-castle virtues are all swept away
in the tidal destruction, in the moral melée.
The elastic retreat rings the close of play
as the last wave uncovers the newfangled way.
But your new shoes are worn at the heels
and your suntan does rapidly peel
and your wise men don't know how it feels
to be
thick as a brick


Ésta la aprendí­ hace poco de Mr. Calamardo. Y es un pasote.

And the love that I feel is so far away:
I'm a bad dream that I just had today
and you, shake your head and say
it's a shame.


Y así­ durante tres cuartos de hora:



Spin me back down the years and the days of my youth
Draw the lace and black curtains and shut out the whole truth
Spin me down the long ages: let them sing the song

See there! A son is born. And we pronounce him fit to fight
There are black-heads on his shoulders, and he pees himself in the night.
We'll make a man of him
put him to trade, teach him
to play Monopoly
and to sing in the rain.

The Poet and the painter casting shadows on the water
as the sun plays on the infantry returning from the sea
The do-er and the thinker: no allowance for the other
as the failing light illuminates the mercenary's creed.
The home fire burning: the kettle almost boiling
but the master of the house is far away
The horses stamping, their warm breath clouding
in the sharp and frosty morning of the day
And the poet lifts his pen while the soldier sheaths his sword

And the youngest of the family is moving with authority
Building castles by the sea, he dares the tardy tide to wash them all aside

The cattle quietly grazing at the grass down by the river
where the swelling mountain water moves onward to the sea.
The builder of the castles renews the age-old purpose
and contemplates the milking girl whose offer is his need.
The young men of the household have all gone into service
and are not to be expected for a year.
The innocent young master (thoughts moving ever faster)
has formed the plan to change the man he seems.
And the poet sheaths his pen while the soldier lifts his sword.

And the oldest of the family is moving with authority
Coming from across the sea, he challenges the son who puts him to the run.

What do you do when the old man's gone?
Do you want to be him?
And your real self sings the song
Do you want to free him?
No one to help you get up steam
and the whirlpool turns you away off-beam.

I've come down from the upper class to mend your rotten ways,
my father was a man-of-power whom everyone obeyed.
So come on all you criminals!
I've got to put you straight just like I did with my old man
twenty years too late.
Your bread and water's going cold.
Your hair is too short and neat.
I'll judge you all and make damn sure that no-one judges me.

You curl your toes in fun as you smile at everyone. You meet the stares.
You're unaware that your doings aren't done.
And you laugh most ruthlessly as you tell us what not to be.
But how are we supposed to see where we should run?
I see you shuffle in the courtroom with
your rings upon your fingers
and your downy little sidies
and your silver-buckle shoes;
playing at the hard case
you follow the example of the comic-paper idol
who lets you bend the rules.

So! Come on ye childhood heroes!
Won't you rise up from the pages of your comic-books,
your super crooks,
and show us all the way
Well! Make your will and testament. Won't you?
Join your local government.
We'll have Superman for president,
let Robin save the day.

You put your bet on number one and it comes up every time.
The other kids have all backed down and they put you first in line.
And so you finally ask yourself just how big you are
and take your place in a wiser world of bigger motor cars.
And you wonder who to call on

So! Where the hell was Biggles when you needed him last Saturday?
And where were all the sportsmen who always pulled you though?
They're all resting down in Cornwall,
writing up their memoirs for a paper-back edition
of the Boy Scout Manual.

See there! A man born, and we pronounce him fit for peace.
There's a load lifted from his shoulders with the discovery of his disease.
We'll take the child from him
put it to the test
teach it
to be a wise man
how to fool the rest.

We will be geared to the average, rather than the exceptional.
God is an overwhelming responsibility.
We walked through the maternity ward and saw 218 babies wearing nylons,
cats are on the upgrade.
Upgrade? Hipgrave. Oh, Mac.

In the clear white circles of morning wonder,
I take my place with the lord of the hills,
and the blue-eyed soldiers stand slightly discoloured (in neat little rows)
sporting canvas frills
with their jock-straps pinching, they slouch to attention,
while queueing for sarnies at the office canteen,
saying "how's your granny?"
and good old Ernie... he coughed up a tenner on a premium bond win.

The legends (worded in the ancient tribal hymn) lie cradled in the seagull's call
and all the promises they made are ground beneath the sadist's fall.
The poet and the wise man stand behind the gun,
and signal for the crack of dawn.
Light the sun

Do you believe in the day? Do you?
Believe in the day! The Dawn Creation of the Kings has begun.
Soft Venus (lonely maiden) brings the ageless one.
Do you believe in the day?
The fading hero has returned to the night and -fully pregnant with the day-
wise men endorse the poet's sight
Do you believe in the day? Do you? Believe in the day!

Let me tell you the tales of your life
of your love and the cut of the knife:
The tireless oppression.
the wisdom instilled.
the desire to kill or be killed.
Let me sing of the losers who lie in the street as the last bus goes by
The pavements ar empty; the gutters run red, while the fool
toasts his god in the sky.

So come all ye young men who are building castles!
Kindly state the time of the year and join your voices in a hellish chorus.
Mark the precise nature of your fear.
Let me help you pick up your dead as the sins of the father are fed
with the blood of the fools
and the thoughts of the wise
and from the pan under your bed.
Let me make you a present of song
as the wise man breaks wind and is gone
while the fool with the hour-glass is cooking his goose
and the nursery rhyme winds along.

So! Come all ye young men who are building castles!
Kindly state the time of the year and join your voices in a hellish chorus.
Mark the precise nature of your fear.
See! The summer lightning casts its bolts upon you
and the hour of judgement draweth near.
Would you be the fool stood in his suit of armour or
the wiser man who rushes clear?
So! Come on ye childhood heroes!
Won't your rise up from the pages of your comic-books,
your super-crooks, and show us all the way
Well! Make your will and testament.
Won't you? Join your local government,
We'll have Superman for president,
let Robin save the day.
So! Where the hell was Biggles when you needed him last Saturday?
And where were all the sportsmen who always pulled you through?
They're all resting down in Cornwall, writing up their memoirs
for a paper-back edition of the Boy Scout Manual.

So you ride yourselves over the fields
and you make all your animal deals
and your wise men don't know how it feels
to be
thick as a brick


Ian Anderson, 1972.

Ya estas tardando en escuchar el Aqualung.

Sobre el hilo en si, a mi me sorprende la capacidad de sentirse ofendido/molestado por cosas que escriben aqui gente que no has conocido en tu vida ni conoceras y que no sabes siquiera si son "personas reales" o poses de gente con ganas de hacer daño virtual (que no deja de ser "daño de mentirijillas"). Vamos, que lo que ha dicho Beria del Mise, que debe estar descojonandose al ver como saltan algunos con sus tonterias (lo de "reportado al moderador" es de un cretinismo infantil que tira de espaldas). Os quejais algunos de que no lo hayan baneado a el y que Bic se halla follado al Grillo al tercer strike. Pues yo aqui con Bic, pues el Grillo se ha pasado 3 pueblos saliendose con  temas que poco tienen que ver con el contenido del foro y buscando las cosquillas en asuntos externos. Se ha extralimitado.

A mi estas cuestiones me sorprenden. Tanto les afecta a algunos en su vida un simple foro de internet?
« Última modificación: Julio 24, 2011, 01:28:43 pm por Mr Calamardo »

Baku

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Re: Tengo una pregunta genuina y de buen rollo.
« Respuesta #128 en: Julio 24, 2011, 01:36:43 pm »

No es cuestión de que te ofenda o no, tienes razón en que eso serí­a absurdo. Pero es cansino y molesto ser objeto de una persecución. Más para el que la sufre, pero en general para todo el mundo.
It's very difficult todo esto.

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Re: Tengo una pregunta genuina y de buen rollo.
« Respuesta #129 en: Julio 24, 2011, 01:48:20 pm »

No es cuestión de que te ofenda o no, tienes razón en que eso serí­a absurdo. Pero es cansino y molesto ser objeto de una persecución. Más para el que la sufre, pero en general para todo el mundo.


Es cierto. Yo lo trato como "ruido de fondo". Incordia o molesta en mayor o menor grado pero puedes obviarlo. Es como en la epoca de los vinilos, que te comprabas un bootleg que sonaba como el culo pero tenia su valor porque a pesar de "las interferencias", el resto del contenido merecia la pena.

Yo creo que es mas simple. Si te agitan el trapo rojo, aun a sabiendas que simplemente es eso y entras en la dinamica de cojer el calcetin lleno de mierda y empezar a agitarlo por encima de la cabeza en plan "y tu mas" empiezan estas "guerras dialecticas de insultos tipo pedo, caca, culo, pis" que n o llevan a nada. Es lo unico para lo que sirven algunos por aqui, porque su nivel ¿cultural, emocional, [ponga aqui lo que se tercie]? no da para mas pero a pesar de ello siguen. Vamos, el niño tonto que solo sabe llamar la atencion escupiendote.
Basta,  simplemente, con pasar totalmente. El niño acabara cansado y aburrido de escupir.
« Última modificación: Julio 24, 2011, 01:51:38 pm por Mr Calamardo »

El Miserable

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Re: Tengo una pregunta genuina y de buen rollo.
« Respuesta #130 en: Julio 24, 2011, 01:52:22 pm »
Y aquí­ vienes tú a "pasar totalmente", ¿eh, Calamardo?

Je.

E.M.

P.D. "Coger" es con G.
Afortunadamente, me va regular.

yonnon

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Re: Tengo una pregunta genuina y de buen rollo.
« Respuesta #131 en: Julio 24, 2011, 01:58:03 pm »

El Miserable

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Re: Tengo una pregunta genuina y de buen rollo.
« Respuesta #132 en: Julio 24, 2011, 02:10:59 pm »
Jo, cómo pasas.

Totalmente.

E.M.
Afortunadamente, me va regular.

yonnon

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Re: Tengo una pregunta genuina y de buen rollo.
« Respuesta #133 en: Julio 24, 2011, 02:14:55 pm »
Pero que ingenuo eres, Mise.

El Miserable

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Re: Tengo una pregunta genuina y de buen rollo.
« Respuesta #134 en: Julio 24, 2011, 02:19:59 pm »
Yo soy muchas cosas, pero ingenuo me parece que no.

Vienes aquí­ a impartir cierta doctrina, al mismo tiempo que estás haciendo lo contrario de lo que predicas. "Pasar totalmente", je. Yo ahora podrí­a decir que me estás persiguiendo por los hilos, dado que no me he dirigido a ti previamente.

Y te respondo, y me contestas. Y te respondo, y me contestas -faltas de ortografí­a aparte-.

Con lo que se te podrí­a decir, finalmente: coge tus dos mensajes doctrinarios, y te los puedes meter por el culo, dicho sea con todo el respeto.

Ahora puedes contestar o no, yo voy a hacer otras cosas.

E.M.
Afortunadamente, me va regular.