Already said the great seer, and source of inspiration for the horoscope guarrete, Rappel: “all things can happen, or not”. Yes, my children, the plans of the oracle ‘codigonovense’ are complex and go beyond the understanding of a few mere mortals who only claim to know if this weekend will cast a powder or eat a large M. Thus we have wrung our privileged brains to translate the babbling of the great oracle-fellow and what we’ve embodied in a few lines that could well change your future for the rest of your existence. Leed, follad and enjoy and that the astros dealt luck MUAJAJA!!!
What smell? It is the aroma of your virginity, who is reluctant to leave you, like the smell of your tortillaca in the armpit on the day that you forgot to wear deodorant Dove and more than 40 degrees. We will, this weekend, don’t eat or a Calipo (as much conformate with a Frigopie). Next!
Tell your churri to stop to buy yogurt passion fruit super. Yes, child, yes… the passion fruit in English is passion fruit and you ‘re more left than the peak of an iron. So this weekend, cut a hair, and those shown with a missionary and watch an episode of Game of Thrones.
Taking into account that the partial eclipse of the sun will be on the 21st of August and that day in particular the distance between the Moon and the Sun will be of 151,3 million kilometres, we have calculated that your odds of catching chub this weekend are the 1%. Let you sign up to PornHub but already.
Oh great oracle codigonovense! We ask that you give to our readers a good nordic (or an aunt, or, made to order, the two at the same time). In the end, that although I have a VERY CRAPPY we want this weekend dips with a demigod (demigods or-goddesses).
You have less glamor than some panties of esparto in a parade of victoria’s Secret. If you’re in a lost town in the Pyrenees of Huesca, there are things that never should neglect, and one of them are your manners, that you spend the week wondering why they don’t return to call you. We invite you to this weekend to read all the articles of Relations and of New Code. You will be the gentleman/mademoiselle of the people.
Asúmelo: among you there is more tension between Jon Snow and Daenerys Targaryen. Although you do the hard and don’t want to give your vidriagón, you know that you can not resist the day you leave your pride and key to their knee (and another thing) and to recognize you as the queen of the Seven Kingdoms.
Eye findes romantic have more danger than Kim Jong-un at work in a Mac Donalds. It is perfect that you and your ‘cuki’ os you mount a weekend to plan little candles and a bottle of wine (the rioja El Coto de Mercadona not going to happen and you know it), but a lot of care with fliparos because then September comes and the romance you keep in the cupboard of tupperware.
Okay, you’ve just passed the winter in the gym to get ‘to deposit’, you have made 20 eurazos in the hairdresser to make you a toupee ‘to handsome’ and you’ve shaved the eyebrows that neither Cristiano Ronaldo. Very good champion, what happens is that when you open your mouth, you have less grace than a sandwich of bologna and la peñita passes of your face. This weekend you can eat a torrao.
You bleed eyes to read your spelling mistakes in WhatsApp and you chirping in your ear with your voice memos drunk at fucking three in the morning. Yet, you you love. You consider yourself to be a supreme being who has decided to share her time and her fluids with you and that’s cool. Well, nothing, this weekend compartiréis fluids like crazy. Yeah.
Do you know where is Mordor? Well, more or less in the place you’re going on vacation. But let’s see, the soul of pitcher: there wasn’t a place more sad and desolate in the Universe to spend the summer? At this pace, the cobwebs that you have down there are going to become the apartment of Peter Parker, better known as Spiderman. It wakes up!
Yes aunt, yes. You take a few weeks that your WhatsApp is more saturated than the central claims of Iberia and you can spare suitors buenorros to spend the next 63 summers to Raffaella Carrà. We’re not telling you to become a nun (of course not, alive your body), but cut a bit because in this step you just went out on Telecinco or worse. Yourself.
Mmmmm… we just dropped the WiFi in the wording and the message of Hope, Grace us not just reach. As it is Friday and some of us want to pillarnos vacation (ahem, ahem!), we tell you that the world is a place of fantasy, fairies and lollipops, and, that this weekend, you’re going to fuck with the one who quit the magic wand. Is it what you wanted to hear, isn’t it? For ale, enjoy.