#cerasa

[captain-kraken]

Meme Monday

I was tagged by @writernopal - thank you!! See her post here

no pressure tag for @sam-glade @fictionalbullshitter @lynnedwardswrites

Rules: Take a blank template meme and format it to fit your characters or WIP!

[fabriziosbardella]

L’Associazione ARTandCHARITY, in collaborazione con la Fondazione Jupiter ha annunciato Harpe diem, 6° Concerto di Reviviscenze Musicali a Galliate Lombardo #harpediem #letiziacerasa #federicodeconno #galliatelombardo #concerto #revivescenzemusicali #fabriziosbardella #inevidenza #primopiano,

[abr]

Anche Elon sa. Smammare evaporare, vermi statalisti provincial grullini che "l'avtonomia della mazistvatuva" (tipo il povero Cerasa).

[soldan56]

Cerasa però sbotta: “Mi scusi: pulizia etnica?” “Sì, potrebbe accadere”, risponde lo storico. Il direttore del Foglio rilancia: “Ma lei pensa davvero che Israele voglia uccidere i palestinesi in quanto palestinesi? Non pensa che la pulizia etnica sia quella che vogliono fare gli islamisti che vogliono uccidere gli ebrei in quanto ebrei perché negano completamente il loro diritto a esistere?”.

Kamel spiega: “La de-umanizzazione è un problema strutturale. C’è qualcuno che la vede solo da una parte, io invece l’ho vista coi miei occhi per tanti anni da entrambe le parti. Forse lei non ha prestato attenzione al fatto che questo è già avvenuto nel 1948. Al confine col Libano c’è il kibbutz di Sasa, che prima era un villaggio palestinese chiamato Sa’sa’: fu completamente spopolato durante la guerra arabo-israeliana del 1948 – conclude – Ci sono anche altre centinaia di villaggi palestinesi che sono stati spopolati, rasi al suolo e rinominati. E i palestinesi con la forza sono stati portati nella Striscia di Gaza. Quindi, se non si è vista questa pulizia etnica e questa violenza strutturale, è perché non si conosce la storia“.

Cerasa a pesci in faccia

[vintagebiker43]

Claudio Cerasa  

Al direttore - Vannacci considerato un estremista da Le Pen: what else?

Luca Marini

Sarà un fine settimana da incubo per il generale Roberto Vannacci. E non solo per essere riuscito a offrire al partito di Marine Le Pen una chiave per apparire per un istante moderato (Vannacci vicepresidente del nuovo gruppo dei Patrioti è troppo anche per i patrioti francesi) ma per tutto quello che vedrà nelle prossime ore tra l’Olympiastadion di Berlino, dove si giocherà la finale degli Europei di calcio, e il centrale di Wimbledon a Londra, dove si giocheranno le finali femminile (sabato) e maschile (domenica). Vannacci è stato graziato da Jannik Sinner, che avendo perso ai quarti di finale non ha offerto al generale nuove occasioni per dire quel che pensa sulle persone con i capelli rossi (secondo il generale, “non rientrano nella normalità”). Ma non è stato invece graziato dalla favolosa Jasmine Paolini, che ieri ha battuto in una partita epica al terzo set (10-8 al tie break) la croata Donna Vekic, che come Paola Egonu, negli standard di Vannacci sarebbe una delle tante sportive che, per le sue origini, “non rappresenta l’italianità”, avendo una madre per metà polacca e per metà ghanese e avendo persino la pelle non chiara come quella del generale. Spiace. Così come spiacerebbe molto se il generale Vannacci fosse costretto a vedere la finale di domenica sera, tra Spagna e Inghilterra, perché scoprirebbe che le stelle emergenti di questo Euro 2024, come ha notato sabato scorso sul Financial Times Gideon Rachman, sono, senza eccezioni, giocatori di razza mista o figli di immigrati. Jude Bellingham, Bukayo Saka e Trent Alexander-Arnold sono in parte di origine africana. Nico Williams, campione della Spagna, è figlio di richiedenti asilo, come lo erano anche il tedesco Ilkay Gündogan e il francese Eduardo Camavinga. Lamine Yamal, campione spagnolo che domani compie 17 anni, è di origine marocchina ed equato-guineana (Guinea Equatoriale) Ilkay Gündogan, capitano della Germania, è nato a Gelsenkirchen da genitori turchi. Spiace per Vannacci, ma il mondo al contrario è quello suo, non è quello che vedrà tra il centrale di Wimbledon e l’Olympiastadion di Berlino.

[henrywintersdearestgirl]

Cerasa et vinum

The first smut is here, doves! :) Have fun.

warning: sexual content

For the life of her, she couldn’t sleep.

She liked summer. The fresh fruits from the market, dresses everyday, warm nights, and just killing time away in the country house with her dear friends doing all kinds of things. It was heavenly, really. Having to go nowhere, drinking out of tea cups and smoking cigarettes all day. This was her favorite thing in the whole world, well… Almost. If she was honest, her favorite thing in the world was a certain person, with the name Henry Winter. The group altogether was really close, but her and Henry had a different type of bond. It was precious, really. Everyone saw it, but nobody ever said anything, there was no need to. 

But back to that certain summer night, she was tossing and turning for what it seemed like hours. She thought that the drinking card game they played a few hours prior would guarantee her a good and long night of sleep, but to her disappointment it didn’t. She sat up  and checked the time on her watch that was placed on the nightstand, 2 AM. She was used to sleepless nights, so she got out of bed and headed down to the country house’s library. It had plenty of good books and a nice book always relaxed her mind, if she cannot sleep a relaxed mind will do. As she walked across the huge hallway, looking at the paintings and as a routine admiring the gothic style of the mansion, Francis’s ancestors certainly had divine tastes. The hallway was dimly lit and the moonlight also gifted it a bit more light thanks to the large floor to ceiling windows, everyone else was out like a light, Everyone got stupid drunk, at least they got their beauty sleep, she thought. This house could never scare her, she had so many good memories in this house that she could not be afraid of the dark parts. 

The library of the country house was one of the greatest thing she had the pleasure of seeing, it was huge. It even had little secret spots, that was her favorite, she had found a quiet hidden corner of the library. It had comfortable armchairs and a huge vintage desk, that she used for studying when they came up here on the weekends.

Her first stop was the kitchen, she didn’t plan on leaving her spot for a few hours so she needed some sort of snack. She found some sweet and plump cherries that she bought with Richard from the farmers market the previous morning, and an unopened bottle of red wine also caught her eye, it would be a shame to leave it in the kitchen all alone. Now with her sweet cherries and wine, she headed to her original destination. She must have looked like some ethereal spirit haunting the walls, with her hair sprawled freely across her back and her silky nightgown lightly jostling with the warm summer breeze that managed to sneak into the house. 

In the back of her mind she expected that she was not going to be alone in the library, and she didn’t mind at all. In fact, it made her heart happy. If there was something small she really cherished, it was the intimate moments between her and Henry. The hour long talks they had, sometimes they talked without any words said, their eyes told it all. And of course, let’s not forget about their very sexual affairs. As she was wondering about him, she barely realised that she made it to the corner of the spot. Just like she expected, many candles were lit in a very warm and comfortable light. 

There he was, in black trousers and a white shirt, reading a book as usual. At the noises of her arrival he lifted his head up in her direction and let out a warm boyish grin that only a very few people saw.

“Hello, melilla.” he said, looking up at her.

She flashed a smile to him as a response and put her treasures on the desk beside him. When she turned back to him he was shamelessly getting lost in her figure, so she did the same. His hair was looking perfect, as always, what was quite unlikely of him was that his shirt was rolled up to his elbows and the first two buttons were unbuttoned, making his collar loose, and was he looking divine. He lifted his wrist up and motioned her to come to him wiith two fingers, and who was she to not listen to him. He uncrossed his legs from their previous crossed position and she stood between his spread legs. She put one of her hands on one his broad shoulder and let the other get lost in his hair, while she did that he ran his hands up from her bare thighs to her waist and caressed her silk covered body.

“Can’t sleep?” she asked him while her eyes roamed all around his face, he shook his head in answer.

“You neither?” she did exactly what he did seconds ago, she shook her head. 

He gave her a gently smile, his fingers crawled over to the small of her back and he suddenly pulled her body close to his. His head was resting against her stomach, she loved these soft moments with all her heart, she soothingly began to stroke his hair,

After a few moments, he pulled his head back and spoke while diving deep into her eyes.

“You are the most divine little thing, do you know that?” he never failed to make her feel like a goddess, she replied with a nod and a shy smile.

“I mean it, Y/N. Tu divinissimus es, et meus es adorare.” 

“Scio, me tuum adorare in aeternum.” he slowly stood up and towered over her. He took a hold of her hips, like a predator with precise movements he started pushing slightly at her, which made her walk backward. Blindly listening to his silent command, when her lower back met the desk, in a smooth movement he dipped his palms under her thighs and lifted her up to the desk as if she was only a feather. Not many would assume how strong the once injured classics student is, but she knew it. 

His fingertips were either caressing her features or stroking the hair away from her face. 

“Tell me, who got you this nightgown?” the bastard, he already knew the answer very well.

“You did, Henry.” she was drunk on this whole scenario. She had flashbacks about how she got this nightgown. One sunday dinner Francis overpoured the alcohol in her drink, and she accidentally overshared that she finds it hard to see how someone could see her in an erotic light. The next night a big box was in front of her door, full of silk and lace with a note. 

To my sweet goddess, and the nymph to all my desires - H.W

“And how happy I am that I did, you look absolutely ravishing in silk, melilla.” a certain look in his eyes and his words were making her clench her thighs together, but she failed considering that his hips were between them. When he realized what she tried to do, a smirk sat on his lips. “What is it, darling?” as if he hadn’t known. “You love it when I tell you how beautiful you are? How I think that you must be Aphrodite’s favourite? How I could just eat you up right here and now? Oh, right. I can do that, because you” he leaned closely into her ear “are mine to please.” he whispered to her, in her ear and pressed a long kiss on her temple, then her forehead. 

His movements went from slow to impatient. He captured her lips between his own and gripped her hair, the suddenness of it all made her heart beat faster, or maybe it was just him. 

When she pushed back into their kiss, all hell broke loose, he pulled her hair a bit, just enough to make her gasp and when her lips opened a bit, he let his tongue explore her mouth. 

Then he went to her neck and collarbones. Kissing and sucking love marks into her soft skin. The scent of her made him a starved and impatient man, he was starving for a taste of her, he knew that he would starve for her taste for an eternity, and he would be happy to if at the end of the day he could get it from her. 

His fingers took a hold of the straps of her silk gown and pushed them down her shoulders, exposing her now bare breasts. “Beautiful, my prettiest girl.” He sponged kisses to every inch of her chest, he looked up at her and when their eyes met he pressed a kiss to her throat. After this little moment he leant down and went straight to her nipples with his mouth, his other hand was preoccupied with her other breast, massaging it. She tried to keep her moans down, but he made it very very hard for her to do that. After he was satisfied with the amount of bite marks on her breast he went lower and lower, kissing her stomach are through the silk. He was looking at her when he slowly went down on his knees in front of her, as if he was about to pray to her. He smoothed his hands under the lacy bottom of her nightgown and him palms nearly covered all of the soft skin of her thigh, they slipped to the insides of her thighs and spread her legs ever more apart, now revealing her lace underwear.

“Will you let me, my sweet goddess? Will you let me taste and please you in a way that you should be?” she nearly moaned out at his sentence, he already knew that he would, even though he was the one on his knees he was still in charge, it made her dizzy with desire. She nodded eagerly and at that he chuckled and went straight in. At first he pressed a few kisses to her crotch through the lace, then he hooked her fingers into the band and pulled it down her dove legs, to her surprise he just stuck it in his trouser pocket. He slowly leaned in and deeply inhaled her scent. “Divine.” he whispered to her. He ran his tongue all the way from her slit to her clit, he stopped at her pearl and went from kissing to sucking and back and fourth. He went back down to her slit and opened her up with his thumps, and when she was wide open for him he stuck his tongue into her. Boy, he really knew what he was doing, always the right amount of tempo at the right spots at the right time. After a few minutes, he teased his middle and ring finger at her opening, gathering her wetness and pushing them in and out at a light pace. 

“Oh, Henry, oh.” she couldn’t keep herself up, her back arching off the dark wood desk, her fingers gripping at his hair. They were far away from the others and they were out like a light so she was not holding her breathy moans down, and it was the most beautiful music to his ears. He even fastened his pace up, moved his fingers at a rapid pace and his mouth on her clit was working magic. He knew she was close, her walls were closing on his fingers and her moans turned to breathless gasps. 

“Come on, darling. I know you are nearly there, let go. Let go, my sweet girl. She let go and made a spasming movement, he slowed down to really savor her high. When her breathing got even again he stood back up, leant down to her laying body and kissed her open lips. She hummed pleasatly at her own taste on his tongue.

She let her hands wander across his chest, her fingers unbuttoned the rest of his buttons, smoothing his skin up and down.

“I am aching for you, Y/N, I really am.” He stood up straight and she could see the tent in his pants. It made her smirk at him, she knew that she was the only one who could get him going any second she wanted to. “Oh, don’t you get evil with me, help me out.” he had her chin in his palms. She reached down and unbuttoned his pants, he pushed it down his legs along with his underwear, it always surprised her how big he was, I mean, down there. She looked deep into his eyes while she spread her legs for him, an invitation only for him. He felt like he was on fire, he needed her, so he didn’t spare a second and stepped closer, his length was right at her opening, twitching and pulsing to feel her warmth snug against him. 

“Go on, Henry, I am yours, make us one.” She whispered, he leaned down to devour her lips and suddenly snapped his hips forward in a sudden movement, entering her and even the desk creaked at his sudden move. They both gasped, and he didn’t go at a fast pace right away, he really savored the movements of his hips. 

One of his favorite feeling was making love to his muse, his everything. Holding her tightly in his arms, feeling her warmth all around her, hearing her cries of pleasure for him, caressing her face and her soft locks. He loved her, he would do anything to protect the girl that he was making love to. As the minutes went by, his pace fastened, his drawn out movements went to rather impatient ones. 

It was a heavenly sight to see, two ethereal creatures, who loved each other so much that they would be willing to die for the other, now being one. Her nails were clawing at his back, the pain made him even more excited and motivated in fucking her. He was either kissing her lips or her swan neck. 

“Damn right you are mine. You like that don’t you? That you belong to me, that I am the one that gets to fuck you.” he didn’t swear much, but when he did it made her blood heated. 

“Yes, yes I am.” she whispered in an out-of-breath tone. She loved it when he claimed her like that, both with his words and actions.

“Of course, and the others think you’re so innocent, well well well. They don’t know how many times you climbed into my bed, letting me worship my goddess. My sweet sweet girl.” he was near his high, and so was she, again. He could feel her walls grip him and she could feel his hot member pulsate inside of her, he could feel her up so very perfectly, the perfect angle of his hips hitting every dear spot of her. “Let me tell you a little secret, I am yours too. My soul and heart is yours, only yours for eternity, no one will ever live up to you and I don’t want anyone else other than you. Everytime I lay eyes on you, I thank the Gods for gifting you to my life. I love you.” 

“I-I love you, Henry. I love you.” it made him truly smile, and then he reached down and started rubbing at her clit to get her closer.

She threw her arms over his neck, her legs closed at his waist and she pulled him close to her. With his free arm he reached under her arching back and did the same as her. Suddenly he came to a halt and she felt his hot thick seed spill into her, moaning out of ecstasy 

As they reached their own highs in their loving embrace, and held it until their hearts stopped beating so fast and they could breath properly again. 

He kissed her on her forehead and rest his own on hers. She sat up and he slipped out of her, he watched as his creamy load dripped out of her.

“Hm, you really did fill me up.” she softly laughed.

“Only for you, my darling.” 

He helped her put her nightgown back in place and he gave his shirt to her, so she would be nice and warm. Pulled his trousers back up and got her panties out of his pocket, he held her waist as she got back on her wobbly legs, she held on to his shoulders as he pulled her lace up her legs. They got some tissues and cleaned up.

He sat down back into the armchair where he originally sat before she came here, she got the cherries and the wine from the table and made her way to him. He pulled her in his lap and she rested her head on his chest, his heartbeat soothing her. 

Henry fed her a few cherries, so she could get some of her energy back and ate some himself. While he read his book he caressed her hair, he looked down at the nearly sleeping goddess in his arms and pressed a kiss to the top of her head.

“Sweet dreams, my love.” and with a smile, she fell asleep in her lover’s arms, in the country house’s library.

[anchesetuttinoino]

Il Foglio lancia appello: "Nobel per la Pace a Zelensky"

Con un articolo del direttore Claudio Cerasa, Il Foglio lancia un appello per assegnare al presidente ucraino Volodymyr Zelensky il Nobel per la Pace. Cerasa ricorda come "negli ultimi dodici anni, il comitato norvegese ha spesso compiuto delle scelte coraggiose, premiando personalità, individui e soggetti in grado di testimoniare, con la forza della propria storia, del proprio esempio, del proprio eroismo, del proprio lavoro, un aspetto che l’opinione pubblica internazionale non sempre riesce a collegare alla parola pace: la libertà”. Fonte

La vedo dura. Mi pare molto più plausibile di lui El Chapo, per quel Nobel.

Del resto Zelensky sta al Nobel per la Pace come Cerasa sta al Pulitzer.

Segui ➡️ 🌐  t.me/ArsenaleKappa 🅰️ 💥💥

-----

Beh, ma se l'ha vinto Obama c'è ancora speranza...

ㅤ

[tempi-moderni]

LA LEGGENDA DEL SANTO CORRUTTORE

di Marco Travaglio

Agli innumerevoli delitti commessi da vivo, B. ne ha aggiunto un ultimo da morto. Il più imperdonabile: averci lasciato questa corte di vedove (non le due vere e quella finta: tutte le altre), prefiche, leccaculi, paraculi, piduisti, terzisti, parassiti, prosseneti, camerieri, servi sciocchi e soprattutto furbi che da due giorni lacrimano per finta (solo lui riusciva a piangere davvero a comando) a reti unificate, devastando quel po’ di informazione e di dignità nazionale che gli erano sopravvissute.

Il giorno di lutto nazionale e i sette di lutto parlamentare, più che a B., sono un omaggio a Fantozzi e ai funerali della madre del megadirettore naturale conte Lamberti, immaturamente scomparsa all’età di 126 anni. Ora mancano solo la Coppa Cobram di ciclismo da Arcore a Pinerolo e la statua del de cuius all’ingresso del fu Parlamento, con inchino forzato e craniata incorporata per i cari inferiori.

Le cascate di saliva che tracimano da ogni canale tv e da ogni giornale regalano perle inimmaginabili persino nei suoi anni d’oro. L’ex conduttore Mediaset intervista su La7 il suo editore ex Mediaset su quanto era buono e democratico l’editore precedente che stipendiava entrambi prima che lo mollassero perché era troppo buono e democratico. L’ex direttore del Corriere Paolo Mieli si pente in diretta dell’unico scoop della sua vita, sull’invito a comparire del ’94 a B. per le mazzette alla Guardia di Finanza, accusa i pm di non averlo torchiato a dovere per estorcergli le sue fonti che lui avrebbe senz’altro spiattellato in barba alla deontologia professionale, e comunque si scusa pubblicamente per aver pubblicato una notizia vera. Renzi, un Berlusconi che non ce l’ha fatta, saltella da una rete all’altra per leccare la bara a distanza, sperando di ereditare qualche briciola dal desco del caro estinto, peraltro invano (a parte i processi). Il rag. Cerasa, un Sallusti che non ce l’ha fatta, dipinge sul Foglio col pennino intinto nella bava il leader più estremista e populista mai visto in Europa come “argine all’estremismo e al populismo” e, siccome era culo e camicia con Putin, pure come “seduttore atlantista”. Attori, registi e soubrette “de sinistra” spendono capitali in necrologi piangenti per l’amico Silvio, sperando che pure gli eredi si ricordino degli amici. Francesco Gaetano Caltagirone svela finalmente chi fa i titoli e gli editoriali del suo Messaggero, firmandone finalmente uno al posto dei soliti nom de plume: “Un uomo che ha lasciato un’orma profonda”. Più che altro, un’impronta digitale. E un vuoto incolmabile nelle casse dell’Erario.

Il Corriere fa rivoltare nelle tombe Montanelli, Biagi e Sartori col titolo cubital-vedovile “L’Italia senza Berlusconi”, presidiato da una schiera di lingue erette sul presentat’arm e seguito dalla doverosa intervista all’editore Cairo, che parla alla sua tv ma anche al suo giornale, casomai qualcuno pensasse che il berlusconismo è morto con B.. La Moratti assicura che la sua Rai del ’94 era liberissima perché B. l’aveva nominata presidente, ma poi non fece mai pressioni (non ce n’era bisogno), così lei poté nominare direttori i berlusconiani Rossella, Mimun e Vigorelli a sua insaputa. Le Camere Penali smentiscono persino Coppi (“B. perseguitato dai pm? Mai pensato”) e piangono comprensibilmente il cliente più illustre e munifico della categoria, “oggetto di una aggressione politico-giudiziaria che non ha precedenti nella storia della Repubblica”, visto che ha subìto “decine e decine di indagini e processi, con accuse fino alla collusione mafiosa e al ruolo di mandante di stragi, conclusesi con una sola condanna per elusione fiscale”. A parte il fatto che non fu per elusione né per evasione, ma per una frode fiscale pluriaggravata da 368 milioni di dollari, di cui 360 prescritti (come altri nove processi per gravissimi reati accertati, ma rimasti impuniti perché l’imputato aveva dimezzato i termini di decorrenza, senza dimenticare i fedelissimi finiti in galera al posto suo e i soldi alla mafia consacrati dalla sentenza Dell’Utri), le Camere Penose potrebbero vergare una nota identica per Al Capone: perseguitato con accuse di mafia, ma condannato “solo per elusione fiscale”.

Un solo beneficato, Vittorio Feltri, ha il coraggio di dire la verità: “Non posso parlarne male perché mi ha fatto ricco”. Tutti gli altri ammantano le pompe funebri di “rivoluzione liberale” che “ha cambiato l’Italia”, anche se si scordano le 60 leggi ad personam e non riescono a citare uno straccio di sua riforma che abbia migliorato la vita di qualcuno che non fosse lui. Infatti vanno forte le corna a Caceres, il cucù alla Merkel, lo sguardo lubrico alla Obama e la spolverata alla sedia, come se uno statista si misurasse dal numero di guittate. Ma il ridicolo eccesso santificatorio non si deve solo al fatto che B. s’è comprato mezza Italia che conta e l’altra mezza avrebbe pagato per vendersi. Chi ha retto il sacco a un bandito per decenni ora deve dimostrare che era cosa buona e giusta. E chi vorrebbe delinquere anche lui in santa pace, avendo perso il grande alibi, cerca almeno un lasciapassare e un santo patrono. Oscar Wilde diceva che “certi uomini migliorano il mondo soltanto lasciandolo”. Ma, ora che ha raggiunto il paradiso (fiscale), possiamo dire senza tema di smentita che il padrone morto era molto meglio dei servi vivi.

Il Fatto Quotidiano

[paoloferrario]

Israele difende anche noi, Editoriale di Claudio Cerasa, in Il Foglio - 23 novembre 2024

Il Foglio – 23 novembre 2024Israele difende anche noi, Editoriale di Claudio Cerasa

[joridiegocherubini]

26/11/2024

[antro-dei-fumetti]

Ash e Goh, avanti tutta! Avventure a Galar

Ash e il fedele Pikachu hanno una straordinaria possibilità: diventare assistenti del Professor Cerasa, l’ambizioso fondatore di un laboratorio interamente dedicato allo studio dei Pokémon di tutto il mondo. Presto il ragazzo si ritrova così a collaborare con Goh, che fin da bambino sogna di fare la conoscenza degli esemplari più rari, in particolare dello sfuggente Mew. Pur essendo molto diversi…

[captain-kraken]

Pocha: What’s up? I’m back. Cerasa: I literally saw you die. You died. You were dead Pocha: Death is a social construct.

[poetrificationfestival]

Ecco i nomi dei 16 progetti semifinalisti alla quinta edizione del 𝗣𝗿𝗲𝗺𝗶𝗼 𝗥𝗼𝗯𝗲𝗿𝘁𝗼 𝗦𝗮𝗻𝗲𝘀𝗶 di poesia in musica:

Martina Bernocchi, Bruna Cerasa, Tobia Davico, FINIX, Libellule, Laura Grecale, Silvia Guzzi, Lesta Sinutre, Marge, Marko Miladinovic, MORA, Mattia Muscatello, Palestina Mon Amour, Danilo Paris, Mattia Tarantino, Mirko Vercelli + Maltempo Collettivo

La giuria emerita composta da Federico Sanesi, Wu Ming 2, Barbara Giuliani, Simone Biondo, Elena Cappai Bonanni, SOFIA_ e Somma Zero è all'ascolto per scegliere i 4 progetti finalisti che accederanno alla finale del 21 Settembre 2024 allo sPAZIO211

[brunopino]

Frutta di stagione, per Geniale ci vuole il provologo

Frutta di stagione al supermercato | Mi dice Geniale Adacquacerze che secondo lui, dopo aver comprato frutta al supermercato, e non sapendo di niente, è necessario istituire la figura del provologo che assaggia la frutta e se sa di acqua mbischcata ccu zucchero, intima ai gestori di orbicarla come fumíeri. Se invece i cerasa sano di cerasa, e priccocche di priccocche e via di seguito, allora si…

[unbelievabledisaster]

heia! sunt cerasa!! 🙌