El Santo against culture

El Santo was shaving his pub(l)ic hair because his white plasticky pants gave him an unconfortable rash, when he suddenly realized what was one of the causes of the evil of modern life. Culture! Weren't we happier when we could not read, write, make 5+6 (unless we had 6 fingers on 1 hand) and crack our brain cells with amenities such as philosophy, matalinguistic and geometry (euclidean or else)? After this revelation, he went to the pub(l)ic library to burn some books. After he got in, he figured out that he had thrown away all his lighters and matches trying not to smoke anymore. Ahh, what was he supposed to do now?? "Never mind" he thought "fighting evil will burst my creativity". He resolutely went to the first shelf, saw a book Dr Spock ("bastard, you and your theories about you shouldn't limit your kid otherwise he won't express his full potential! Now my little El Moro is playing with Barbies! The only son of El Santo!!"), jumped on top of the book and started pushing. After 3 hours, he managed to make the book crash on the ground. This stirred some attention, and the library clerk came running at him. Well, running, not really: she was wearing 15cm heels. And a leather corset. And a see through mini skirt. "What the hell are you doing? Do you want me to get fired? I am trying to straighten up my life, after years of playing cheap tricks on sailors in the harbour!" "Excuse, my lady," said El Santo "I certainly did not intend to cause so much distress. As a compensation for my unexusable behaviour, would you come get a tequila with me?" "Get off, you moron" said the insensible lady "and come down the shelf that you are drawing too much attention!" El Santo stumbled down the shelf, his white pants felling all of a sudden too tight. He shouldn't have shaved, now his bare pub(l)ic parts were scratching painfully on his white outfit! When he reached the ground, he also had to start running, chased by the angry boyfriend of La Marquesa, the library clerk, who was waving a machete to his pub(l)ic parts. After running for 2 km, El Santo could eventually take a breath. "Evil woman" he wispered "you nearly got me to break my resolution not to drink anymore" And off he went, waiting for the next chance to fight evil.

wildschwein

cari miei, I cooked some wildschwein (aka wild boar aka cinghiale). His name was Jack. It was very good, and the sauce was even better. And I could show off my new set of porcelan. Very nice. Now I don't know where to put it anymore. hmmmmm

velvet underground

the velvet underground are a favorite of mine. sometimes i dont listen for months on end and then all of sudden they come back. like tonight. it is great music. it is a great group.
i used to listen to them a lot in university, they were weird whereas me, the little engineer, thought i was predictable and squared.
after some years i figured out that i AM predictable and squared, that's why i am an engineer
but you know what? dont care, it's not that i'm writing without capital letters because i am trying to follow some the dummy's creative writing. i assume that's the beer. and, kids, the germans know how to brew, hail to thee, earl of brewery!
well, back to my friends the velvet underground. tonight i was saying this story of when i went to pittsburgh to the andy warhol museum (andy wa.rho.oo.ll, look at me... grande bowie) and it was one of best things i did while in the usa and about the guy who made the vases in the floor below the top floor, the guy was great, if i was less engineer i would get all the vases and dedicate a room to him.her. well, that's not related to engineering but to money. and actually it's related more to not remembering what the guys name was, scheiße. well, i will figure it out
now i go to bed to avoid having all nasty wrinkles sarting from my eyes in 2 years what the hell.

El Santo against alcohol

One day El Santo decided to fight against the evils of modern life. This happened one Saturday morning when he received a raging phone call from his ex-wife, La Santa (this is what he called her, all the others called her La Putanona, he could never understand why...). He had gotten drunk like a piece of crap with his friends the night before, somehow managed to get home and had overslept, forgetting to go pick up hos son for their 1-weekend-in-a-month appointment. While he was brushing his teeth and burping tequila, he looked at himself in the mirror and noticed that the night before he had been sick like a dog, unfortunately on his white mantel, which now was kind of greenish. "That's enough!" he said "Humanity can't go on like this!!". He called his ex-wife and told her that this weekend he couldn't go pick up El Moro (his son, who strangely was afro-mexican). He had to change the world! He put his white mantel in the washing machine, and while scratching his balls in front of the tv waiting for the washing machine to finish, he saw an advertisment for liquor. "This is where I will start!" he thought "what better start than destroying alcohol! Noone should forget the appointment with their sons anymore!". And off he went, looking for some alcohol to fight. Well, that was idea, then he had to rush back in in the house since he had forgotten that he was naked and he nearly had his neighbour dying. Not from terror, from laughing (now you can understand why the ex-wife called him El Santino). Anyway, after wearing his second mantel, he went downtown to the bar in which he got wasted the night before. He saw the bottle and, in an athletic burst, managed to throw it on the ground after pushing it for 3 hours. He was going for the other bottles when the bar-keeper, El Tequilaro (brother of the El Tassinaro, they emigrated from Roma), cracked a chair in his ass. The blow was so strong that El Santo ended up in a pile of rubbish in the street. He woke up when a cat peed on him: "You won't stop me, evil Tequilaro!" he shouted "but now I have to go home that I stink of cat's piss" "Not that usually you smell any better, you moron!" replied El Tequilaro "Ma va a morì ammazzato, va!" El Santo sneered at him and off he went.

La historia de El Santo

Once upon a time there was a lucha libre warrior. His name was El Santo. We will tell his story of passion and struggle against the evil forces of modern life.

WANTED! (2)

This happened after Carlo, Alberto, Mariella and I left Giulia's house (see other post). We got to my poor stickered Jean Jacques (I told you to read the other post!) and, while we were laughing like hell thinking about the moron that goes around at midnight placing stickers, a police car stops in front of us. I was already cursing all saints in heaven and politicians in hell because I thought that the bastard who put the sticker on Jean Jacques had called the police to punish me of my unforgivable crime, when a policeman, very nicely, barks at Carlo telling him to take his hands out of his pockets, while another policeman tells something similar to Alberto. After some miscommunication caused by our poor proficiency of the German language, the policeman eventually tells us (in English) that 2 guys with a black jacket had been seen destroying a geld automat (an ATM) and requests, still extremely kindly, that Carlo and Alberto give him their ID cards. Yes, you are not color blind: the 2 guys had black jackets, and now look at the color of Alberto's coat. Whatever. Then they jump into the car and off they go, carrying our criminals' ID cards with them. For the next few seconds, we stare at each others like a group of cows watching a train pass by. After we recover from the shock, we start wondering: is it normal, in this country, that 2 guys that destroy a geld automat then stroll merrily on the same street with 2 girls,singing the song from Profondo Rosso? And where the hell did Alberto put his black coat? And, especially, where the hell did we put the money???? Oh, the policemen are coming back! No, wait, they just went straight. Where are the ID cards?? After the second time that they pass in front of us without stopping, we figure out that, being sooo intelligent, perhaps they simply don't see us. We see them coming for a third time and we start waving our hands like mad. Finally they stop, say that we are OK and give the ID cards back. Sorry, it was a mistake? Forget it. It's perfectly normal and essentially right that you can get stopped in the middle of the street at night, your ID card is taken away and you have to stay there like an idiot while they go up and down with the car. Yes, you are a good citizen and this is what is expected of you. So forget that we tell you sorry, we have nothing, I mean, n-o-t-h-i-n-g to apologize for. Whatever. We take the car and I bring Carlo and Mariella home. At a traffic light, we see our favorite policemen taking people out of a car. Guess what? They didn't look exactly German, more like Turkish, in this nice white BMW with an Offenbach licence plate. Because, again, around half an hour after destroying the geld automat, these genius criminals were at less than 5 minutes by car from the place where they committed the crime. Whatever. I am speechless (and this, coming from me, is truly exceptional).

WANTED! (1)

We were at Giulia's house for the cineforum (by the way, tanti auguri Giulia!!). This time we watched Profondo Rosso and concluded that our friend Dario Argento no ga tute le fasine a cuert - that, in my dad's dialect, means "he hasn't got all the grain under the roof", i.e. he's not really normal. But, my kids, the lady in the mirror is scary like hell, and the soundtrack by the Goblins is reaaally nice. Anyway, since I couldn't find any parking place close to Giulia's house and I was already late, I decided to use my Italian-plate-immunity and park on the bycicle lane. For info, the bycicle lane was as big as a highway lane, you could have parked 3 cars easily on it. After the movie I went back to the car and found that someone had stuck the sticker on the picture on the window: translated, it means "do not park on our lanes". Apart from the fact that, as said, the whole bloody tour de france could have passed without problems, what I was wondering is: do you think it's normal that in this country you find people going around in the middle of the night in a completely deserted street carrying this kind of moronic stickers? What about getting a life?? And, since German superior quality is known in the whole world, the glue of the sticker was obviously super strong, so it left a nice sticky patch on my window when I took this thing away. This call for retaliation: please guys send me ideas of stickers we can make and then stick to the bycicles all around town.

Milano

Yes, this weekend I was back in Milano. After arriving more than 1 hour late (thanks a lot Lufthansa), I went "home", had lunch from 4 to 6, slept a bit trying to get over the 2 bottles of wine and then off we go to the concert of the Nuovi Orizzonti Artificiali. The singer, Paolo, is the boyfriend of a friend of mine from university, la Giò, and this night gave us a great opportunity to a) listen to the brand new CD that NOA managed to publish after years and years playing in stinky cellars b) find out that, despite nearly 3 years far from Milano and some sort of break in communication here and there, it takes less than 2 minutes to start chatting and bullshitting as if we never went away, and, kids, it looks as if they are having greeeat fun in Milano... c) when you ask for gintonic in Milano, they do put some gin inside (bloody suckers from Mainz, learn, you morons!) d) my pick up can easily take 2 chicks in the trunk without any problem e) as usual, a lot of police at 11 and none at 3 - thanks god otherwise I would have spent my weekend in San Vittore playing strip pocker with some lesbian bulldog prison guards f) Milano is big and changing and full of places I have never seen g) blabla
On Saturday night we decided to take it easy and went for a couple of drinks in a bar close to the Colonne - OK, this hasn't changed that much, still packed with all sort of humanity drinking, smoking and playing. It was the birthday of Alina's Maxican boyfriend, who had just come back from Mexico full of presents, including the lucha libre mask of the picture, with which I amused the bystanders...
Very nice weekend, and I also have a lot of dvds for the cineforum:-)

Borat

Yes, we did it. We went to see the Borat movie. I mean, this guy is a genius. He managed to create such a huge hype for a movie that, yes, it IS funny, but honestly I have seen better. I have never seen such a queue at the Turm Palast, the last one was in front of the thai restaurant at the corner. I assume that I am a bit disappointed because I had seen the dvd at Randy and Heather's place and that was much much more sarcastic. And apparently he will also make the Brüno movie, which I am now saying that I won't go see but of course I will be there the first weekend that they show it. Ahhh, the power of marketing... By the way, we eventually managed to go visit Vincenzo in Bacolsbach (actually it is Niederhochstadt, but since he comes from Bacoli...): he is living on the top floor, Deniz+wife are living one floor below and on the ground floor there a deaf 90-something years old lady: what better set up for a massive party? Stay tuned for the invitation:-)

that's the way, ah ah, ah ah, I like it, ah ah, ah ah

This Saturday we all got invited to Mainz by Luke to celebrate his birthday. The party was in a bar/pub in Mainz, theme of the night "the Seventies". In the afternoon, Yara, Simone, Gaborno and I decided to try and get some appropriate attire. After a while, we figured out that we have completely different understanding of how people used to dress in the seventies. Well, who cares, worst case scenario we pretend we thought it was a Halloween party. I decide to opt for the "Mina hosting Studio Uno" style (or any other program of the seventies where Mina hosted): black dress, white stockings and black boots (thanks Yara!). Very optical. And last week I also went to the hairdresser, and by chance he cut my hair seventy style. So we meet at Yara's place, get dressed, figure out that we haven't done this for tooooo long and off we run to the S-Bahn. We arrive in Mainz, manage to find the place, and wait until the alcohol kicks in. Which, to be honest, doesn't take too long, apart from the fact that the bastards didn't put gin in the gin tonic, so that after 6 of them I was way too sober: shame! As you can see from the picture, Carlo got the prize as "best dressed man", he really looks like a cop out of a seventies b-movie. At 3 something we decide to somehow go back home. We manage to get some more beers and some croissants (ahhhh, hungryyyy) that we swallow waiting for our S-Bahn. On our way back, we freak out when we figure out that Yara went off at the airport, but apparently she did it on purpose. And the best thing is that we watched her getting out of the train and noone said anything until the train had already started again. Well, whatever. Too bad next weekend I am in Milan, otherwise we should have done it again. Disco baby!