Good morning everyone and welcome back to these pages. This morning, riding my steel horse, I had to improvise a new Tomba, playing video games worthy of the best in slalom racing, no, I was not going around the potholes, bumps and rocks present on the Laurentina (an approval body maintenance roads), but the incredible amount of black ... sorry, people of color ... in short, "unlike whites," (for use a politically correct term) gatherings around the traffic lights in an attempt to sell some dickhead mimosa trees torn out of the EUR. All this because, again, today we celebrate "International Women's Day", or the tragic-comic encounter between banality and idiocy. Now every year ... put a post (!) Which clearly explains my thinking. I will not be outdone this year, still hoping to reach as many hearts as possible.
Goodbye.
Ale
Here is a new, tragicomic, March 8, where hordes of maidens sexually repressed spilling on the streets of the capital in search of the legendary Roman male - if it were the only and 365/366 on the only day that make up the year in which these strange creatures can get out of their underground shelters and enjoy the sunshine.
This subspecies of the festival, second only to "Valentine" for aspects of consumerism, every year creates a monstrous traffic of money. I find it disheartening that so many girls and women throw on the premises where there is' some male strip tease, or force their partner to dinners in overcrowded rooms where prices are readily raised by 50%.
I hope that all the women belonging to the universe that goes through these pages, to reflect on one thing, before throwing in the celebrations.
E'bene borne in mind that the origin of this "party" goes back exactly 103 years ago when, in 1908, the workers of a textile factory of Cotton in New York, went on strike to protest against the difficult working conditions to which they were subjected. The strike continued for several days until, on 8 March, the owner had sealed the doors of industry to punish the 129 workers who had rebelled - closing them inside.
Subsequently, the entire building was set on fire (it has never been clear whether it was an accident or a malicious act), the fact is that for the 129 poor Christ in the factory, not there was no escape: died burned alive or suffocated by the smoke . In memory of those women who died bravely for their ideal, was introduced by the International Women's Day, taken UD (Union of Italian Women) March 8 and associated with the traditional mimosa.
So ... come to think ... there is' little to celebrate: 129 women died in the flames to defend what they believed and I think ... at least little respect to party ... to celebrate an event so heroically tragic.
Think before you pluck the restaurant.
Think before spending a few tens of euro in a plant that normally not give ever.
Think about it before choosing the more "cool", where they perform the Centocelle NightMare. (Scusate. mouth of vomit ... .. Ok, all right).
That said, I loose, I've got that by fax. Farewell
Ale
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