the fiabb of CENERENTOL
Tant ma tant temp ago, in un Regn incantat lived
one sgnocched girl chiamed Cenerentol.
Il Regn was incantat but the vit of Cenerentol was one infern!
She vived infatt with a matrign and two sorellastrs
very ciofecons but that considered lor stess gran figons (qualcun, spiritoson,
dissed lor che eran really figons...) and quest rendeved Cenerentol's life 'na
vera schifezz.
Cenerentol had the obbligs of pulishing tutt
la vill, the giardins, making da mangiars (and the two maialons and the matrign
mangied com facocers), tening the contabilit and, pegg of all, making the dichiarations
of the tasses.
Infatt the two racchions non faceved one mazz
of nothing tutt the day, se non shopping, anch because eran very racchions e
SHOPPING was the massim to sperar...(neanch of talk of scoping, we have capit...)
Cenerentol domanded: "Mi
potet give a man, I'm scopping of lavor! Dev still prepar the meringates per
pranz, stir the camiciett of set (that, you know, son very merdous to stir)
and andar to the bank for the bonifics, talk with the direttor, trattar the
titles, the azions..."
"Ah ah!",
dissed and rised the two stronzetts, "Work, work
that makes you one sacc of ben..."
And Cenerentol, che was scoping com
one matt (making the pulizies! you pervert! what have you pensed...) pensed
one sacc of bad coses on the two bastardells that I sorvol now...
The mes of Magg, pien of flowers and sun,
was incantevol in the incantat Regn but, purtropp, in Giugn the King riscuoted
all the tass, and so the popols was non tropp content.
Tuttaway, the popols festegged the iniz of
Summer (the Estat, ignorant! Stud the lings!) con balls, fests, pranzs and cens
and a lot of trombing (no, not suoning the tromb... I will spieg it another
volt).
Ogn year, ogn Giugn, Cenerentols triboled
com one impazzed trottols to mett insiem the infamous and famigerate 740, the
dichiarations of the reddits, staying attent to pag the men tass possible!
She was brav, ma very brav in this. She was
brav in tutt, ma the compilation of the 740 was one capolavour.
The two sorellastrs and the matrign, sebben
very ignorant, sapped the importanz of paghing very little tasses and, mentr
Cenerentols prepared tutt the conts, comported one bit men of stronz (the stronzity
of the three was really tant, one little men non made nessun differenz...).
Cenerentols triboled but continued to sogn the Gran
Ballet in the Castell of the King, one event very pallos, but pien pien di Very
Important Gent! She sogned she arrived in the Castell and parled in mezz of
Finanziers, Banchiers, Imprenditors, Cavaliers, Faccendiers and cosi' way.
And parling parling, the Important Gent sarebbs
accorted of the talent and sgamatezz of Cenerentols in the affars, assumed Cenerentols
and paghed one bell stipend: other that pulishing the cacc of paviment!
But it was a sogn, and sogning (or dreaming!
you great rompiballs...stud the lings) non finished the long compilation of
the 740!
Inoltr the three sgrofolons non compred one
computer efficient (figur you!) but ricicled one schifous 486 lent as one lumac
(mort!) and so Cenerentols had to tribol the double and aspett as one pirlett
davant the screen of the 486...
One ser, Cenerentols rincoglionited from the
lavors com poch others, addormented on the tastiers of the (lent) 486.
Risveglied of colp (pensing "One
of the stronzetts have combined one of the solits") troved a
scritt on the monitor: "Hey Cenerentols! Svegl, it's
hour to go to the Gran Ballet!".
Cenerentols pensed:
"Ok, the 486 has gone to puttans (one technic mod of dir: prend the 486
and butt it to the ortics...) and is scriving for his fatts or is pensing it
is in Matrix..."
But the scritts continued: "Cenerentols,
dont' be tardons! The 486 is a merdacc, d'accord, but I'm the Fatin of the DOS,
and you dev andars to the Gran Ballet".
Cenerentols pensed: "Fatin
of the DOS? Yes, and I am the Principess of Unix... go and prend it in the port
serial...".
But the Fatin persevered (one little incazzed,
at this point...): "Cenerentols, you romped me! Go
to the Ballet or contin with the 740 and fikk it...".
"Ok, ok! Don't incazz,
Stregh of Windows, I ascolt you!", dissed
Cenerentols, a bit scorned.
"I am the Fatin of the
DOS, you rintroned! Adess lav, that is megl, prend the vestit in the armads
(it's a modellin of Valentin that I rubated online...) and esc and trov the
Mercedes (pien of benzin and autorad with CD inclus) and go to the Gran Ballet
and incontr The Azzurr Princip that is a gnoccolon and riccon! But you must
torn prim of mezzanott, altriment la poliz... the Mercedes torn one zucchin!"
"Ok, this is all very
bell.. but what do you vogl from me? Money, porn filmetts or dev make you the
740?"
"Mmmm Cenerentols, don't
preoccup, I'm not venal... magar the 740 the prossim year: quest'year I cred
I have fatt qualch error, ad esemp in the rig N21..."
"Scus fatins, adess I
scapp, magar another volt... the Azzurr Princip? Never sentited... fors one
Cavalier, mah! The solit young nobil spakkon and coglion...".
Cenerentols controlled the three zoccolons, uscited
for another ballet, semper spering in one (little) trombat (illus!), vested
and prended the Mercedes and corred ... to the pomp of benzins: the Mercedes
was not pien of benzins, pazienz: you don't look in the bocc of a horse donated?
(what cacch of proverb...)
Arriving to the Castells (a great figuron:
a figon with a rubated vestit, no cavalier, on a rubated Mercedes...) she entered
the Gran Salon of the Gran Ballet: what a meravigl! A sacc of riccons cadavers
with Madam: banchiers, finanziers, faccendiers, politicants and Velins (they
are dappertutt!).
She cominced immediately to parl in mezz of
the vecchions of titles, azions, saccs of solds and all methods of fotting tasses:
all very interesting arguments to the vecchions that ascolted the young gnocc
very arraped!
The old Madam Babbions detestated this impertinent
girl and proved to serv a portat of avariated gamberetts with Nutells spering
in one vomit and squaraus of the Eva: nothing to do! Cenerentols was very occupated
parling and risponding and ... sapeved the old trucc of the gamberetts (provated
with the three stronzetts: little scherzett, big soddisfaction!)
But, in the mezz of the serat the Azzur Princip
entered the Gran Salon of the Gran Ballet preceded by the Gran Fanfare: this
fests are a Gran rottur of balls...
Subit veded Cenerentols, anch because the
other were tutt old babbions, ma pensed: "What
a tronk of gnocc, but for sicur she's a gnoccon senz a neuron in the cranic
box... che peccat!".
The Azzurr Princip was very sensible to gnoccons
but wanted neurons in the cranic box: just to chiacchier of qualch argument
between one trombat and the other...
Avvicinating Cenerentols (she was pensing:
"What a figons, but sicurament cretin...")
the Azzurr Princip was presented by the Grand Ciambellan, who was semper in
mes ai ball, chieded her name and Cenerentols inizied chiacchiering:
"Come vedete Voi, Principe, la svalutazione del dollaro nel contesto macroeconomico
attuale? Ritenete opportuna la politica di intervento nel debito pubblico in
atto in Messico? Alla luce della teoria keynesiana...".
The Azzurr Princip sbaved com one lumac: she
was the girl of his sogns, gnoccolon and a lot megl than one bocconian (nothing
to do with Lewinski...).
He comincied to chiacchier amabilment and
they continued fin 23.58 when Cenerentols ricorded the parols of the Streg ...
ops, the Fatin and dissed the Azzurr Princip: "Scuss
me! I dimentiched the caponate on the fire, must schizz!". The Azzurr
Princip, sbigotted, risponded: "One moment, where
are you scapping (before scop...ops)! Com ti find? Where do you abit? In which
contrad? The numer of your cellular?".
Cenerentols corred away griding: "I
will mand you a cartolin, don't preoccup, bel bigulun!" (a simpatic
nomignol, because anch Cenerentols was innamorating of the Azzurr Princip) but
... meravigl and stupor, corring like a ladr lasced a 5" 1/4 (vecch, quadrat,
flessibil) dischett (casualment ported to the Gran Ballet) with the 740 of the
stronzs and an etichett "386 - lent com il lat ai ginocch", the Azzurr
Princip raccoglied the dischett and sospired: he corred un sacc and had the
fiaton, maybe megl far un bit of footing in futur...
Naturalment the Stradal Poliz troved the Mercedes
at mezzanott precis, and so Cenerentols decided for 4 o 5 passes lontan from
the Stradal Poliz... but the Castell was a casin far from the Vill and so Cenerentols
decided for autostop.
At the quart camionist (TIR lungh 46 meter,
adesiv dappertutt, fognesque alit) trying to ingropp her, she decided to cammin
that is better...
She arrived at the Vill at 5.00 AM, just in
temp to cominc to stir (what a bott of cul!).
The Azzurr Princip was nervosissim! Inkazzed like
a procion, chiamed all Ciambellans and Cavaliers of the Regn (fin that moment
only a mass of inutil and magnons rompicoglions) and ordined to trov the little,
carin delicat fanciull that used a vecch 386. The Azzurr Princip was so rintroned
by the innamoration that did not pensed to look into the dischett, anch because,
who cavol uses ancor the 5" 1/4 dischetts?
Naturalment no one of the skazzed Ciambellans
was capac of troving a girl with a 386, they troved (and trombed) a lot of girls
but not the one that the Azzurr Princip was cerching: inkazzed as 200 procions
(inkazzed procion, I intend) he condanned them to ascolt Victor Sgarbs to life
(a terrible condann, some of the Ciambellans and Cavaliers fugged urling "This
is trop!").
"Who makes for se, makes
for 3", dissed the Azzurr Princip, "Adess
I vu' and trov 'sta girl, look a bit!".
And in men than you can dic (anch men) using
the principesc culaton, he troved Cenerentol (the Regn was not China, four cats
after all!).
The Matrign and the two racchions esulted
when the Spider carrozz of the Azzurr Princip stopped di front of the Vill.
The Matrign pensed: "It
is the good volt that we tromb!".
But the Azzurr Princip urled: "You
3 are only (non-trombing) racchions! You are so imbecill but you are paying
very little tasses in a legal manier! There must esserc some other under!".
(he finalment guarded the dischetts... and now are bitter dicks!)
The door of the cess opened and, sudated as
a bergamasc murator, appeared Cenerentols! (who was pulishing the cess of three
cagons).
The Azzurr Princip pensed: "Beh,
better after a good docc with a lot of sapon, but she is the girl of my cuor!
(and other parts...)".
"I will regal you the
life of a principess, luxury, money, respect and pan and Nutell (senz gamberett)
all day!", declamed the Azzurr Princip,
"And we will chiacchier un sacc of new economy, tasses
(com make pay this stronzs evasors) and so avant..." and Cenerentols
asked timidly: "... and no trombing???".
The Azzurr Princip sorrided from one orecch
to the other...
"Vien with me in my camer
that I mostr you my 386" (not the collection
of farfalls, strange!)
The three zoccolons, in the frattime, have
schiatted in the salott... megl.
"Ok, I really desider
to see you mentr you compil a 740!",
the Azzurr Princip wasn't staying more in his pell.
She compiled a 740 domanding 2 o 3 cosettins
to the Azzurr Princip: how many castells, navs and barchetts, Porschs and Rolex,
conts in Svizzer, black fonds...
When she lanced the calcol of the 740, she
chieded: "The 486 is VERY lent, when I'm da sol,
I go to pulish some stanz or stir, but now that you are qui, how can we ammazz
the time?".
They troved the mod of ammazzing the time.
And ammazzed even the lett and the materass,
and the paviment and the lavatric (centrifug, 60 grads)...
"Oh, my love, I will
spos you! and I will compr you a Pentium 9 veloc com one agent of the tass (very
veloc in the Incantat Regn)! Never never attes lung davant al computer..."
But then the two pirlons guarded ciascun other
and pensed insiem: "No long attes, no ... Mmmh non ci sound benin"
Cenerentols and
the Azzurr Princip vived felix and content, and to stay more tranquill butted
out the 486 and prended from a robivecch a 386, more lent quind more...
(Ah, Cenerentol condanned the Minister of
Finanz to decapitation and to listen to Mike Goodday and metted new tasses,
the popols ringrazied...