As veces tes que facer estas cousas...
Long time ago...
Ala pola temporada 88-89 un rapaz delgadiño (a mala vida) correteaba polo campo de terra do campus de Santiago. As suas fazulas inzadas de capilares cheos de sangue, como bo galego, demostran que a sua competitividade foi, é e será.
¿Recoñecedes a un dos responsables da Anglo-Galician Cup?
Have you seen this man?
Encadramos esta entrada de blog na seccion Good Old Times... ala a percurar fotos doutros tempos e lugares, cando eramos mais inocentes (ou non).
9 comentarios:
O comentarios.........tendreis los santos cojones de preguntaros por qué
Los protozoos de lo que dicen llaman Birras que fue los longriders que fue las almas malditas que fue otra cosa y acabo siendo el Birras Klav que luego se internacionalizó y se llama Porcos Bravos,barra-guión:Hueste,Camada,Agreste Grey,Causa,Hato,Horda,Grupo Salvaje,La Cosa,vete a saber.
unicelulares eucariotas; heterótrofos, fagótrofos
un mundo sin delfines ni pingüinos ni ciervos ni cerdos.
Un mundo feliz.
Si te matas a consumir soma.
En la foto no se distingue muy bien a la gente,pero lo ke si se distingue es ke el campo de rugby sigue de tierra-lija en la actualidad.
Por cierto, para los ke no saben sumar, cuando hay 0 comentarios y se escribe uno, hay un comentario. Es básico de Barrio Sésamo.
El uniforme es horrible.
La exhibición impúdica de bandullos, muy del ¿deporte? del rugby.
Todo un cuadro bajalibidos.
Que los pantalones blancos no mariden con las camisetas es lo peor.
El lorzismo propio de la dieta gallega, se suponía, como el valor.
Siento una necesidad de venganza como un hombre cansado siente la necesidad de un baño.
El rugby y la ronda nocturna.
Menudo cuadro.
Un tipo aburrido y con una corbata me dijo una vez en un despacho: “La dignidad está sobrevalorada. Es poco pragmática y no da de comer”
She chugs my cock at the Mariott Champs-Elysees, which is good. We played billiards, went shopping. I think she gave me mono. Drove a Ferrari that belonged to a member of the Saudi royal family. Made out with a Dutch model in front of the Louvre. Saw the Arc de Triomphe and almost became road-kill crossing the street... "Oakie" invites me to Dublin, so I catch an Aer Lingus flight and stay at the Morrison. Dublin rocks like you can't imagine. Oakenfold lets me spin some discs with him. Irish girls are as small as leprechauns. I swap hickeys with a drunk woman. After groping my abs and calling me "Mr. L.A.", she strips for me in the bath room of the club. Sneak into the Guinness factory and steal some stout so good my dick goes hard... I fly to Barcelona, which was a low-rent bust. Too many fat American students. Too many lame meat markets. I dropped acid at the Sagrada Familia, which was a trip to say the least. Cruise up the coast to the Museo Gala Dali, but had no more acid, which sucked. Some girl from Camden calls me on my cell, so I let her listen to the church bells in Cadaques. Canta Cruz is beautiful, but there are no girls here, just old hippies... So, I went to Switzerland where I, ironically, couldn't find anyone who had the time. Took the Glacier Express up the Schilthorn, which is beautiful in a way I can't describe... Euro Pass into Italy and ended up in Venice, where I met a hot girl who looks like Rachael Leigh Cook and speaks better English than I do. She's living for a year on only five dollars a day. We gondola around, buy some masks. She think's I'm a capitalist, because my hotel room costs more for one night than she's spending her entire trip. But she doesn't mind it so much when I pay the bills... I ditch her and hook up with a couple who obviously want a 3-some. Too much tension there, but the doofus offers to drive me to Rome, an offer I jump at. Traffic is bad and we're stopped for hours without moving. The wife turns out to be a freak. The guy starts to wig out on me. It's like a Polanski film... We stop for a while in Florence, where I see some big dome. A bomb goes off and I lose the weird couple, which is probably for the best... Ended up in Rome, which is big and hot and dirty. It was just like L.A., but with ruins. I went to the Vatican, which was ridiculously opulent. Stood for two hours to get into the Sistine Chapel, which - now that it's been cleaned - looks fake. I meet two under-age Italian girls who I try to talk into fucking each other while I jack off onto them.
Bored, I buy them some ice cream instead. My hotel has a gym, so I work out. I bump into some guy from Camden who says he knows me, but I'm sure that he's a fag, so I lose him. I try to fart and instead shit my pants. Back in my hotel room, I masturbate and have a pain in my groin. That night, I dream about a beautiful girl, half in water, stretching her lean body. She asks me if I like it and I tell her she can clean fish with it. I don't know what it means, but I wake well-rested, masturbate in the shower, and check out...
Luego os quejáis de la ceremonia de la confusíon
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