Anyone who rests on his laurels, contributing to the wrong body position.

What actually .... Today: BAP

It should be verdammp long ago that an idea or about BAP into my brain has lost. Has the chapel around the krüssellockigen largest Dylan admirer north of Bonn to me but to date very rarely inspires moist eyes and ears caused tingling.

And before I even could ask, "what do BAP really so today?" , Said meterbreite me a poster series in the rail underpass: BAP go on a greatest hits tour. So far, so very surprising. Stirnrunzelschmunzelnde moves into the face conjured amazed me the realization that the tour of the wolfstatzigen Überlebenskunst-Ausstattern of "Jack Wolf Skin" is presented. My presumption that the concerts during such a sponsor then maybe between Birkenhainen in muddy bog, menschenverlassenen, mückenübersurrten lakes or in secluded Bergklüften-at least under the open sky would take place, the wagon seems my imagination but in a very muddy path directed to .

Mr. Wulnikowski makes career. He was a great honor, now in its third edition of the magazine of great Any preserved the broken toe of a cat vermaledeiten shoplift to leave.

Umgeschnitzt he flew back to the floor. Once here in June on the spot something very similar, only with the book version, made the rounds, I mean, Morgenstern's ongoing now with a slightly modified Stöckchen beschmissen, with a sheet wrapped was asked of me: 'Take 5 23rd sentence from your blog entry. " The dashing Please come now, I want to have hard from the rear to the front and counted myself have wondered what I had not been reported and were astonished that my 23rd Even contribution (style), 23 Released in July, then:

"Naked men Adonis body with hats and hunting wild bommelndem Freiluftschniedeln in Robin-Hood- or Amor-Posen were still immensely far less wistful dream for me-not to say that the bean (beans)."

I put the stick here otherwise simple. Who likes, it may like to carry, and thus make that the mood precisely.

No night for no one.

Jörgen

"Jörgen!" . The name exfoliate on her tongue like a verwelkte tea rose. Two weeks ago, they groan, shrieked and anger trembled as the narrow wooden bridge in front of her house when the milk truck bollernd it goes.

"Hau simply," she whooped. After only one of the dried mett taken from the hook behind him hergeschmissen and following the kitchen chair against the wall cracked, in its fragmented parts. He went easy. With kaltfeuchten eyes. Shaking, shrugged, dumb. Behind him, she hollered her. The chair was later repaired, but something they had done wrong; It is something different now than before. Jörgen is not returned. Weggeblieben. She had him not even to speak. Maybe they had indeed made a mistake? Maybe he did not ...? Not to if.

All new

Börp. Chrrrrrrwk. Ppah. Bittergallisch crackles of the throat. Body mass with mustache claps against the traffic light at my window, in this difficult dustbin of the plate and can be again the previous evening by the head. Rewind. Stückchenpfütze on the Waschbetontrottoir. Bratwurst likely. And little coward. And beer. Ne crowd. Maybe Cola Korn.

"Boah Willi, mach hinne times," mumbles his pal.

"Hatred even in well. But was cool, or age? Was really cool! "

Willi spits again. Börp. Chrrrrrrrrwk. Ppah.

"Joah. Unnnnächsses year. "

Then rotate both of Schalalalalalala "to" We wolln seeehn the pugs, we wolln the Möpse seeeehn "and schlangenliniiert lurch in the direction of Bremen. Still a while and blow schlager- schnapstrunkene slogans by early Sunday morning. Willi and his pals were not alone. Micky Krause has since demolished the hut. It is five o'clock in the morning. It is over, "the largest cone Party Europe" in the Münsterland hall, a stone's throw from my apartment. The party's seems to have liked. They were probably there, too.