trucks and rivals 
Today, more than usual at the mall and then a little 'everywhere, I stopped to look at women from a objective point of view, saying in silence that God has truly made man and the woman for a reason: there are things women can do and we do not. As I relax, as I enjoy to go shopping I adopt the well-known technique common to all men, ACDC, che non è la mitica band ma un format preciso: A Cazzo Di Cane. Consiste nel cercare alla cazzo di cane appunto, ogni genere di schifezze senza un ordine preciso spesso non collegate tra loro in un ipotetico pasto, omettendo di guardare la data di scadenza, l’effettiva convenienza ed ovviamente l’ignobile sconosciuto: il prezzo. Ogni uomo, con suddetta tecnica, si ritroverà quindi fiero in fila davanti a carrelli abnormi spinti da altri uomini radiocomandati da altre donne e ghignando, sbircerà il suo umile cestino fatto di piccole cagate, godendo molto subito dopo nel sentire la cassiera pronunciare all’ uomo radiocomandato: “sono 169.80 signore, carta fedeltà bollini quante buste?” Il ghigno scomparirà instantly when the next moment however, the same cashier (more resentment, because men without women in the cashier's stand on the balls) will ask 35 euro less for a basket of crap mixed. From a distance, then attempt to understand how this woman, now standing in front of the window with only Intimissimi Miu Miu bag resting on the forearm, was able to buy food for 6 months with almost the same amount of half your meal crap, trying to a glimpse of what happened to the man with SUV-truck last seen gasping with 18 bags on each arm, two baskets and a water dish.
The women do their shopping as they make love. They love the preliminaries (the shopping list), fondling the goods, want to know the duration (expiry date), they want to compare prices and then pronounce the man that RC is not "buy a whole pig for a piece of salami" (this is not mine Luciana Litizzetto). And then when they shop, women are beautiful, are concentrated, have the skin stretched because they are really in their universe, are already imagining the cake for the children or making impossible algorithms on the numbers and the ingredients of a recipe by Benedetta Parodi. Yet even the women in the supermarket, even those in career and X5 with iPhone headset without even caring to those with the shirt once in the hands of health for on 'son, have rivals and pretenders. Police performed on minors are unmatched by the Presidency of the Council are unmatched in all the tv desperate for her cousin disappeared and a clear conscience fuck under the pillow, are unmatched anywhere, and again, fading those beautiful women with sandals and a pair of jeans, who do not need anything else to be so deeply desired females. The solution to the dispute, however, the next installment of the women on the podium, ends at a gas station with the same woman in front of the machine that asks me bewildered: "Sorry, help me, not I understood what the pump ..."
"You say ? Mica am not so sure. "
