Ay Cucumber, Pepiño, PPete

I cry by the cucumber, so reviled. Cry for the Spanish Garden, that me mola, and by Cornelia Prüfer-Storcks, the Senator who spoke of the bacterium of evil with a such ignorance, which leads me to the penalty to a sentence of condemnation. Is why, Cornelia, the emprendiste with the cucumber, which both joy we came without having been prudent? What you went through the mind?

I cry for cucumber, José white López - Pepe, because it has no equal, do not have repeatability. I weep for ignorance and I do not understand the time crossed Rubalcaba when he said "Cucumber, this ends". What will be our target? It will end in something so Spanish, like being on Mondays in the Sun?

And I weep for the PPete, which is always with the "go". I cry by a party that will come to power without even knowing if there something to do or if it's better emigrate to anywhere else. I cry without live in me, and as high life hope, die because I'm not dying.

Bad times for the lyric, bad for the optimism, a Spain who looks with fear to the bailouts of others, with a map policy of changing colour and a political class enzarzada in the MicroWorld and unable to illuminate the tunnel so that we find the exit and, worse still, in a Europe led by a Germany that seems leery of the Spaniards. Of the cucumber is not more than to confirm that the Spanish proverb is wise: A skinny dog fleas are around. The outraged in this Maremagnum of anxiety is the standard citizen, which until now used the cliques to show their outrage but that he has found a wider forum where, at least, share feelings. Of cucumber, PPete, the PPPoE said of Amaral, do something to fix, exceded the limits of your MicroWorld and eliminate to the outraged by removing the outrage.