Ó pá, isto é que é animação!
Outra coisa, pela quantidade de comentários, andamos mesmo tipo 4 ou 5 a (ainda) dar alguma importância a este blog.
Por mim tasse.
A mega produção "Steinz" que será levada a cabo pela BxL Home Made, Jacaré Films e Tito_C Trust irá entrar na fase de pré-produção a partir do próximo fim de semana. Andei a fazer uma pesquisa na net e temos adversários fraquitos. Tirando a saga dos "Balas e Bolinhos" ainda não vi nada que me enchesse o olho. Mãos à obra rapazes, vamos procurar patrocinadores e mobilizar voluntários para ajudar (que iamgino não irão faltar). Objectivo, criar cinema de elevada qualidade Made In Valverde. Mai nada!
Abraço
segunda-feira, 8 de maio de 2006
sábado, 6 de maio de 2006
Proposta à Ajuval
Venho propôr ao membro activo deste blog que faz parte da Ajuval que promova um intercâmbio entre jovens portugueses e russos. Este filme prova que há muito de comum entre os dois povos.
A história é a seguinte: Num acidente numa indústria russa houve vítimas mortais e supôs-se, na altura, que o consumo de àlcool estivesse na origem da fatalidade. O entrevistado jura à repórter que nunca uma gota de álcool foi bebida ali...
Burro, tinhas razão! Está na Rússia o povo irmão!
A história é a seguinte: Num acidente numa indústria russa houve vítimas mortais e supôs-se, na altura, que o consumo de àlcool estivesse na origem da fatalidade. O entrevistado jura à repórter que nunca uma gota de álcool foi bebida ali...
Burro, tinhas razão! Está na Rússia o povo irmão!
quinta-feira, 4 de maio de 2006
Palavras para quê?
São artistas portugueses concerteza!
Isto é só o início de uma super produção que está para nascer na nossa terra!
Aquele abraço
Isto é só o início de uma super produção que está para nascer na nossa terra!
Aquele abraço
Gulosos e Gulosas!!!!!
Olá gulosos e gulosas do blog, esta semana resolvi trazer-vos um docinho para adoçar a vossa boca durante o fim de semana.
Espero que experimentem e que seja uma sobremesa bem gostosa.
Peço desculpa por ter escolhido receitas afrodisíacas mas penso que até na cozinha deve existir um pouco de Desejo e Paixão.
Morangos com Molho de Chocolate Branco
Ingredientes:180 g de chocolate branco ralado;
1 chávena de chá de natas;
0,5 dl de sumo de limão;
2 chávenas de chá de morangos fatiados;
1 colher de chá de raspas de limão;
3 colheres de sopa de açúcar (fac.).
Para a decoração:
120 g de chocolate branco ralado;
1 colher de sopa de manteiga derretida;
25 morangos grandes.
Confecção:
Leve ao lume num tachinho a aquecer 1/2 chávena de chá de natas, o sumo e a raspa do limão. Reduza o lume e adicione o chocolate ralado.
Misture bem e mexa até o chocolate derreter.
Retire do lume e deixe arrefecer um pouco, mas sem deixar endurecer.
Bata a restante nata com o açúcar em chantilly e junte ao preparado, envolvendo bem.
Ponha os morangos em copos altos e finos mas só até ao meio.
Cubra com o molho.
Ponha as taças no frigorífico durante +- 3 horas.
Entretanto prepare a decoração:
Lave muito bem os morangos e seque-os.
Leve a derreter em banho-maria, e mexendo sempre, o chocolate com a manteiga.
Mergulhe metade dos morangos no chocolate e ponha-os numa folha de papel de alumínio untado com óleo de amêndoas doces até que endureçam.
A seguir ponha-os num prato (não os ponha no frigorífico).
Sirva as taças com um morango no topo e os restantes no prato.
Acompanhe com um bom champanhe.
Desejo-vos boa sorte na cozinha e depois de experimentar digam-me se vale a pena .
Ás meninas do blog lanço um pedido para serem elas a dar a sugestão para a semana.
Abraços e até pá semana
quarta-feira, 3 de maio de 2006
monologue in front of bathroom mirror
"Yeah, fuck you, too.
Fuck me? Fuck you. Fuck you and this whole city and everyone in it.
No, no, no, no, no.
Fuck the panhandlers grubbing for money, smiling at me behind my back.
Fuck the squeegee men dirtying up the clean windshield of my car. Get a fucking job.
Fuck the Sikhs and the Pakistanis bombing down the avenues in decrepit cabs, curry steaming out their pores, stinking up my day. Terrorists in fucking training. Slow the fuck down! ...getting one of those operations that elongate your penis.
Fuck the Chelsea Boys with their waxed chests and pumped-up biceps, going down on each other in my parks and on my piers, jiggling their dicks on my Channel!
Fuck the Korean grocers with their pyramids of overpriced fruit and their tulips and roses wrapped in plastic. Ten years in the country, still no speak English.
Fuck the Russians in Brighton Beach. Mobster thugs sitting in cafes, sipping tea in little glasses, sugar cubes between their teeth, wheelin' and dealin' and schemin'. Go back where you fucking came from.
Fuck the black-hatted Hasidim strolling up and down 10th Street in their dirty gabardine with their dandruff, selling South African apartheid diamonds.
Fuck the Wall Street brokers. Self-styled masters of the universe. Michael Douglas-Gordon Gekko wannabe motherfuckers figuring out new ways to rob hardworking people blind.Send those Enron assholes to jail for fucking life.You think Bush and Cheney didn't know about that shit? Give me a fucking break.
Fuck the Puerto Ricans. Twenty to a car, swelling up the welfare rolls. Worst fucking parade in the city. And don't even get me started on the Dominicans, 'cause they make the Puerto Ricans look good.
Fuck the Bensonhurst ltalians with their pomaded hair, their nylon warm-up suits, their St. Anthony medallions, swinging their Jason Giambi Louisville Slugger baseball bats trying to audition for "The Sopranos."
Fuck the Upper East Side wives with their Hermes scarves and their Balducci artichoke. Overfed faces getting pulled and lifted and stretched all taut and shiny. You're not fooling anybody, sweetheart.
Fuck the Uptown brothers. They never pass the ball, they don't want to play defense, they take five steps on every layup to the hoop, and then they want to turn around and blame everything on the white man. Slavery ended years ago. Move the fuck on.
Fuck the corrupt cops with their anus-violating plungers and their shots, standing behind a blue wall of silence. You betray our trust!
Fuck the priests who put their hands down some innocent child's pants.
Fuck the church that protects them, delivering us into evil.
And while you're at it, fuck J.C. He got off easy...a day on the cross, a weekend in hell, and all the hallelujahs of the legioned angels for eternity. Try seven years in fucking Otisville, J.
Fuck Osama bin Laden, Al Qaeda, and backward-ass cave-dwelling fundamentalist assholes everywhere. On the names of innocent thousands murdered, I pray you spend the rest of eternity with your whores roasting in a jet-fuel fire in hell. You towel-headed camel jockeys can kiss my royal lrish ass.
Fuck Jacob Elinsky. Whining malcontent.
Fuck Francis Xavier Slaughtery, my best friend, judging me while he stares at my girlfriend's ass.
Fuck Naturelle Riviera. I gave her my trust, and she stabbed me in the back. Sold me up the river. Fucking bitch.
Fuck my father with his endless grief, standing behind that bar, sipping on club soda, selling whiskey to firemen and cheering the Bronx Bombers.
Fuck this whole city and everyone in it, from the row houses of Astoria to the penthouses on Park Avenue, from the projects in the Bronx to the lofts in Soho, from the tenements in Alphabet City to the brownstones in Park Slope to the split-levels in Staten lsland, let an earthquake crumble it, let the fires rage, let it burn to fucking ash, and then let the waters rise and submerge this whole rat-infested place.
No. No. Fuck you, Montgomery Brogan. You had it all, and you threw it away, you dumb fuck!"
from "25th hour", a spike lee joint
(monologue by edward norton)
Fuck me? Fuck you. Fuck you and this whole city and everyone in it.
No, no, no, no, no.
Fuck the panhandlers grubbing for money, smiling at me behind my back.
Fuck the squeegee men dirtying up the clean windshield of my car. Get a fucking job.
Fuck the Sikhs and the Pakistanis bombing down the avenues in decrepit cabs, curry steaming out their pores, stinking up my day. Terrorists in fucking training. Slow the fuck down! ...getting one of those operations that elongate your penis.
Fuck the Chelsea Boys with their waxed chests and pumped-up biceps, going down on each other in my parks and on my piers, jiggling their dicks on my Channel!
Fuck the Korean grocers with their pyramids of overpriced fruit and their tulips and roses wrapped in plastic. Ten years in the country, still no speak English.
Fuck the Russians in Brighton Beach. Mobster thugs sitting in cafes, sipping tea in little glasses, sugar cubes between their teeth, wheelin' and dealin' and schemin'. Go back where you fucking came from.
Fuck the black-hatted Hasidim strolling up and down 10th Street in their dirty gabardine with their dandruff, selling South African apartheid diamonds.
Fuck the Wall Street brokers. Self-styled masters of the universe. Michael Douglas-Gordon Gekko wannabe motherfuckers figuring out new ways to rob hardworking people blind.Send those Enron assholes to jail for fucking life.You think Bush and Cheney didn't know about that shit? Give me a fucking break.
Fuck the Puerto Ricans. Twenty to a car, swelling up the welfare rolls. Worst fucking parade in the city. And don't even get me started on the Dominicans, 'cause they make the Puerto Ricans look good.
Fuck the Bensonhurst ltalians with their pomaded hair, their nylon warm-up suits, their St. Anthony medallions, swinging their Jason Giambi Louisville Slugger baseball bats trying to audition for "The Sopranos."
Fuck the Upper East Side wives with their Hermes scarves and their Balducci artichoke. Overfed faces getting pulled and lifted and stretched all taut and shiny. You're not fooling anybody, sweetheart.
Fuck the Uptown brothers. They never pass the ball, they don't want to play defense, they take five steps on every layup to the hoop, and then they want to turn around and blame everything on the white man. Slavery ended years ago. Move the fuck on.
Fuck the corrupt cops with their anus-violating plungers and their shots, standing behind a blue wall of silence. You betray our trust!
Fuck the priests who put their hands down some innocent child's pants.
Fuck the church that protects them, delivering us into evil.
And while you're at it, fuck J.C. He got off easy...a day on the cross, a weekend in hell, and all the hallelujahs of the legioned angels for eternity. Try seven years in fucking Otisville, J.
Fuck Osama bin Laden, Al Qaeda, and backward-ass cave-dwelling fundamentalist assholes everywhere. On the names of innocent thousands murdered, I pray you spend the rest of eternity with your whores roasting in a jet-fuel fire in hell. You towel-headed camel jockeys can kiss my royal lrish ass.
Fuck Jacob Elinsky. Whining malcontent.
Fuck Francis Xavier Slaughtery, my best friend, judging me while he stares at my girlfriend's ass.
Fuck Naturelle Riviera. I gave her my trust, and she stabbed me in the back. Sold me up the river. Fucking bitch.
Fuck my father with his endless grief, standing behind that bar, sipping on club soda, selling whiskey to firemen and cheering the Bronx Bombers.
Fuck this whole city and everyone in it, from the row houses of Astoria to the penthouses on Park Avenue, from the projects in the Bronx to the lofts in Soho, from the tenements in Alphabet City to the brownstones in Park Slope to the split-levels in Staten lsland, let an earthquake crumble it, let the fires rage, let it burn to fucking ash, and then let the waters rise and submerge this whole rat-infested place.
No. No. Fuck you, Montgomery Brogan. You had it all, and you threw it away, you dumb fuck!"
from "25th hour", a spike lee joint
(monologue by edward norton)
terça-feira, 2 de maio de 2006
Reabertura do Concurso Fotográfico!
Pois é, alguns de vós devem ter estranhado não ter sido publicado o resultado do grandioso concurso deste blog. A verdade é que ninguém apareceu na "gala", eu também não mas por motivos de força maior (vulgo: ressaca), mas também ninguém se queixou aqui no espaço. Das duas uma, ou os valverdenses são desprovidos de memória, ou então cagaram no assunto. Por isso decreto a reabertura do Concurso Fotográfico! Ou então vamos todos jantar, apetece-me beber socialmente. E que tal? Digam qualquer coisa. A data limite... que se lixe a data limite! Vamos jantar ou não?
Subscrever:
Mensagens (Atom)