Frases soltas

"O Governo até pode mandar as chaimites, é livre de fazer o que quiser."

- Manuel António dos Santos, presidente da Casa do Douro, hoje, in SIC Online.

Foda-se! Nunca mais dormirei descansado!

Democracy, the greatest game of all!

Por falar em partidos bicéfalos, hoje, ao efectuar o download mensal de pornografia a fim de escoar a elevada produção de langonha, dei de caras com um título suis generis: “Bi-cock fucks teen in the pussy and in the ass at the same time!”. “Bi-cock?!?” – pensei. Confuso, visionei e investiguei. E o conteúdo do ficheiro fez jus ao epíteto. Mas que ode à devassidão! E não é que existe um sujeito que tem a sorte de ter dois piços com os quais pode realizar a improvável proeza de foder um cu e uma cona ao mesmo tempo? Fantástico! A perplexidade inicial deu origem a fabulosas analogias políticas. Felizmente, a pornografia tem o dom de me transmutar num Ser com um apurado sentido estadista.
Na semana em que se discute o Orçamento de Estado para 2008, são altas as expectativas no que ao regresso de Pedro Santana Lopes à política activa diz respeito. E se José Sócrates não se põe “a pau”, arrisca-se a apanhar com uma dupla penetração não desejada por parte de Santana Lopes e Luís Filipe Menezes. Todavia, a julgar pelas intervenções de Santana Lopes, ontem, no Parlamento, Sócrates não tem muito com que se preocupar.

Santana Lopes: “E tal! Porque é jovem!”

José Sócrates: “Oh Sr. Deputado... Sim, ainda temos um défice público elevado, mas o Senhor Deputado repare: o Senhor tem um défice mental ainda maior!”

Santana Lopes: “Essas críticas são injustas e demagógicas! O feto já saiu da incubadora!”

José Sócrates: “...Pois... E pelos vistos, ao contrário das previsões, é acéfalo...”


À saída do Parlamento, Sócrates revelou-se satisfeito: “Foi porreiro, pá!”.
Já Santana Lopes não escondeu o seu descontentamento: “O gajo tinha 30 balas, um lança-rockets e mil minas anti-pessoais debaixo dos meus pés! E eu só tinha uma pequena naifa! Como é que eu havia de ganhar esta batalha?”.

Seven Drunken Nights - The Dubliners

Estou fascinado com a clarividência destes tipos...


As I went home on Monday night as drunk as drunk could be
I saw a horse outside the door where my old horse should be
Well, I called me wife and I said to her: Will you kindly tell to me
Who owns that horse outside the door where my old horse should be?

Ah, you're drunk,
you're drunk you silly old fool,
still you can not see
That's a lovely sow that me mother sent to me
Well, it's many a day I've travelled a hundred miles or more
But a saddle on a sow sure I never saw before

And as I went home on Tuesday night as drunk as drunk could be
I saw a coat behind the door where my old coat should be
Well, I called me wife and I said to her: Will you kindly tell to me
Who owns that coat behind the door where my old coat should be

Ah, you're drunk,
you're drunk you silly old fool,
still you can not see
That's a woollen blanket that me mother sent to me
Well, it's many a day I've travelled a hundred miles or more
But buttons in a blanket sure I never saw before

And as I went home on Wednesday night as drunk as drunk could be
I saw a pipe up on the chair where my old pipe should be
Well, I called me wife and I said to her: Will you kindly tell to me
Who owns that pipe up on the chair where my old pipe should be

Ah, you're drunk,
you're drunk you silly old fool,
still you can not see
That's a lovely tin whistle that me mother sent to me
Well, it's many a day I've travelled a hundred miles or more
But tobacco in a tin whistle sure I never saw before

And as I went home on Thursday night as drunk as drunk could be
I saw two boots beneath the bed where my old boots should be
Well, I called me wife and I said to her: Will you kindly tell to me
Who owns them boots beneath the bed where my old boots should be

Ah, you're drunk,
you're drunk you silly old fool,
still you can not see
They're two lovely Geranium pots me mother sent to me
Well, it's many a day I've travelled a hundred miles or more
But laces in Geranium pots I never saw before

And as I went home on Friday night as drunk as drunk could be
I saw a head upon the bed where my old head should be
Well, I called me wife and I said to her: Will you kindly tell to me
Who owns that head upon the bed where my old head should be

Ah, you're drunk,
you're drunk you silly old fool,
still you can not see
That's a baby boy that me mother sent to me
Well, it's many a day I've travelled a hundred miles or more
But a baby boy with his whiskers on sure I never saw before

And as I went home on Saturday night as drunk as drunk could be
I saw two hands upon her breasts where my old hands should be
Well, I called me wife and I said to her: Will you kindly tell to me
Who owns them hands upon your breasts where my old hands should be

Ah, you're drunk,
you're drunk you silly old fool,
still you can not see
That's a lovely night gown that me mother sent to me
Well, it's many a day I've travelled a hundred miles or more
But fingers in a night gown sure I never saw before

As I went home on Sunday night as drunk as drunk could be
I saw a thing in her thing where my old thing should be
Well, I called me wife and I said to her: Will you kindly tell to me
Who owns that thing in your thing where my old thing should be

Ah, you're drunk,
you're drunk you silly old fool,
still you can not see
That's a lovely tin whistle that me mother sent to me
Well, it's many a day I've travelled a hundred miles or more
But hair on a tin whistle sure I never saw before

The Pogues - Streams Of Whiskey

A Wiki ensina: The Pogues are a band of mixed Irish and English background, playing traditional Irish folk with influences from the punk rock movement. They reached international prominence in the 1980s and 1990s before breaking up in 1996. The band began performing together again in 2001, though they have yet to record new music. They merged traditional Irish music with the energy of contemporary punk, essentially inventing Celtic punk. They were also highly influential on the larger Celtic Fusion scene. Frontman Shane MacGowan described their style as "playing Irish music to a young rock audience". The music press at the time dubbed their style as "Punk Céilidh" due to the energy of the frontman and the prevalence of pogo dancing at their earlier gigs.

The Pogues were founded in King's Cross, a district of North London, in 1982 as Pogue Mahone—pogue mahone being the Anglicisation of the Irish póg mo thóin, meaning "kiss my arse". The band specialised in Irish folk music, often playing with the energy of the punk rock scene from which several of the members had their roots.

Their politically-tinged music was reminiscent of The Clash, with whom they played (Joe Strummer produced one of their albums and even joined the group briefly), and used traditional Irish instruments such as the tin whistle, banjo, cittern, mandolin, accordion, and more. In the later incarnations of the band, after the departure of Shane MacGowan, rock instruments such as the electric guitar would become more prominent. The first of The Pogues' albums, Red Roses for Me, borrows much from the punk tradition of MacGowan's previous band The Nipple Erectors (later dubbed The Nips).

Esta música em especial diz muito acerca da nossa malta! Dedico-a hoje ao David! Esta é a tua onda!


Antentai na letra!!!
Last night as I slept
I dreamt I met with behan
I shook him by the hand and we passed the time of day
When questioned on his views
On the crux of lifes philosophies
He had but these few clear and simple words to say

I am going, I am going
Any which way the wind may be blowing
I am going, I am going
Where streams of whiskey are flowing

I have cursed, bled and sworn
Jumped bail and landed up in jail
Life has often tried to stretch me
But the rope always was slack
And now that Ive a pile
Ill go down to the chelsea
Ill walk in on my feet
But Ill leave there on my back

Because I am going, I am going
Any which way the wind may be blowing
I am going, I am going
Where streams of whiskey are flowing

Oh the words that he spoke
Seemed the wisest of philosophies
Theres nothing ever gained
By a wet thing called a tear
When the world is too dark
And I need the light inside of me
Ill walk into a bar
And drink fifteen pints of beer

Iam going, I am going
Any which way the wind may be blowing
I am going, I am going
Where streams of whiskey are flowing

I am going, I am going
Any which way the wind may be blowing
I am going, I am going
Where streams of whiskey are flowing
Where streams of whiskey are flowing
Where streams of whiskey are flowing

Bob Dylan