Have you ever wondered where you come from? What are your origins? No? Well you should. Let me talk a little about me and more you better pay attention. My mother was a delicious Iberian pork sausage raised from acorns in the English plateau. Plump, juicy and very sweet, mom always said of the belly dance leaves . Since then I never do anything if I have not filled before the crop is that an empty stomach is bad business. My father was a change German Bratwurst more stretched than a broomstick, a Bavarian Salchichen gross and hard to teach me what is the discipline and art of the leak. He himself escaped with a slim chistorrita, thin and oily, that always smelled like angels bitch. It was the temptation in the form of sausage and myself, even if it was just a sad hint of sausage, I dreamed chistorriles savoring their juices. I left my mother and so I called Long. The day dad ran away with the sausage I knew that mine would leak. There are those who have no vocation or who can not find it. These sausages usually tend to be very unhappy, go back and forth not knowing what to do with their lives until they end on a plate either, without passion, and are eaten by any gualtrapa in a wretched roadside bar. I was not going to be. With his escape, Dad gave my life meaning and that when Mom met a Catalan sausage and plump arrejuntarse , I fled for the first time. That was the first flight of longan. Pd .-
sure you want to know how I managed to run away from the planet of tin murderer wanted to kill me right? ... as you remain disappointed.
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