* El destino quiso que fuera yo, Sr. Bartolome sin las casas, siendo que los lunes es mi permanencia y por eso, los martes amanece el lugar con música en la entrada.
🎵Well i‘ve never been to Spain
But I kinda like the music
Three doG Knight
And, Mr. Bartolome, once you cross that UMBRAL you don’t Have to Worry about “the curse” of Babylon. Why just listen to The American Priest in Paris, because if Mr. Pérez was not hyperbolizing on the Soundtrack for last Thursday’s portrait session at Saint Estauche, then HIGHWAY TO HELL, yes, the same Highway to Hell that brought you Hells Bells, was blaring from the ENTRAÑAS of the Lord of Vandières and Cernay’s final resting place.
Sin Embargo, if you are not a regular none reader of this blog then YOU PROBABLY MISSED our exclusive coverage of, An American sermon on Ascension Day, at the end of May, then YES!, EWE would be forgiven because you would have no way of knowing that it was our very friend without the “D” (aka) an American Priest in Paris who invited Bon Scott and the Young’s to do a set at the Church of Commerce à Les Halles. JUST THE FACTS, and yes AFP—you may source that with the Church’s log.
For the record, —if you are in on the joke— there is a reason on my log for this obituary, which i reckon is going to rub some people in the wrong way. Without Mr. Bartolome’s “input” on a February morning, there would not be a trail of paperwork from Emmäus–to–Medicines San Frontiers–to–Amnesty International (Paris).
Ladies in Gemini, meet my Old Horse, Rocinante sans plomb.
Today, Rocinante Sans Plomo is a hearse, and Öüï is carrying a very special edition load to Hell, Welcome Pablo. Relax… i know this little bar in Austin that i know que te va a gustar.
De cualquier manera don Pablo Bartolome, you where parked on my number (33) which ( punctuation aside) is directly at 180° from The Guardian at the door that never opens, nº 15, —off course.