In Angola they feel prisoners political accused of any crime. They say that it is a democratic regime that it is in the middle of the joy of their functions. The democratic potencies close the eyes and they point that it is like this that it is good, that it is like this that it is made the stability in Africa. Here is the income of the terrorism of which Europe is not gotten to loosen. Who supports the corruption and their dictatorships, in the bottom it is also terrorist without the knowledge.

quarta-feira, 16 de setembro de 2009

The Epic poem of the Darkness (24)

The Orphans they made fun of the sermons, of the poverty’s sufferers' exalted desires. In an apex they were. Tangles televisions, fans, sound equipments, money. A mammy was faced and she took hill of having plated. Furious it walled in:
- Crooked of shit, they will steal the rulers of the Politburo, they have everything!
- There we will arrive.
- When?!
- A notion of time.

Sneaking out, a small beauty stole the fence of the Orphans. She seemed a fairy that hovered smoothly in the race to the squad of the police. She arrived slightly. Then it left in a car patrols with six police of looking heavy, and loaded siren. They recuperated, an official descends with pitch glasses. Zorro and members disappeared close, disguised of street salespersons. The products of the fiscal contribution were taking away from Customs in a vehicle of sales of pieces of furniture to the home. The official he plan, underlined:
- Time for disorder, time for order! My wanted… home!
- More home?! Don’t we have anything for us to comb!

The metal jingled in the loyal triggers of the weapons of the duty. Dogs, catnip, mice, serpents… and butterflies, were sheltered in the roundness as witness of the occult. The unhappy that the History attracted uncovers the sad soul.
- Orphans… they are all zebras, logs, trunks of the same branches. They lost the shady souls, nothing else remains them.
- It folds again the deceptive, the sharp posture. My glacial uniform officiates the judgement inside and out of him.
- Hum! Common Politburo, soviet.

The Orphans calculated that the Politburo toasted lively fear of them. They credited the confusion in his bill, they climbed the walls of the huts, they unmasked the sunny roofed zinc coating, they drilled, they kicked about the Juliet’s. Clever in the natural selection of the species, they feathered the female’s bird-pity-paradise, those that they burned them, insisted in the pleasure of the denial of the courtship. They fled with them, and for the adventures of the going astray they distributed damages more than six cars the. They guaranteed the final peacefulness with many shots for the air, of putting fear. The official of the police Politburo offended great without reason to their concepts, precepts of the turbulent maintenance without flag. They left him weak, without flask. He motivated to the side of the weakness:
- Arrest them… they call truck for the devil that carries them!
He stands out a more grown that miraculously accessed academicals jurisdiction. She pleads the Natural Right:
- Are you done with the Orphans it is not?!? Will you already see!
She celebrated voice of command Latin.
- Argumentum baculinum. I want to say: enough of conversation, club in them. It will be worse than Thermopiles. My ladies… TO THEM!!!
And a shower that flooded the dear policemen with having plated fell. The official, the main enemy, was the elect of the discord. They pulled down him beating thunderstorm and beaten. Policed her failed to protect it manoeuvred the hands, he defended for instinct. To appeal to the weapons turned impossibility, because the squadron feminine blanket guard. Sincerely unarmed for the courageous ones, bent down and covered with earth requested forces to the inferior members. When getting up for us to flee, the jurisdictional invoked the voice of the woman of the French Revolution:
- Only one more! Only one more!

Image: Angola em fotos

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