Whenever I hear Prokofiev, Mozart and other phrases of Shakespeare sweetly pronounced in advertisements, comes in the second a feeling of disgust quickly followed by a sterile internal revolt. This grater masterpieces is ultimately a confession of absolute mediocrity. The confession of the authors of this recycling moldy who have talent than that of theft. Motherfuckers enclose geniuses in boxes of ravioli, and offer Picasso for the purchase of a gasket, run Van Gogh sliced ham. They are thieves, sunbathers first class. With impunity, they crush and mix the material with their noble crap plastic shits their industry. They dare amalgam to create the desire, the impulse purchase. And it all works. They are not afraid of ridicule for their ridiculous way guarantees the end: This barge cunt will pay. And after all, so much the worse for his mouth ... It became swollen, he bought a false, fake, yogurt His allegations do not play the violin.
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