Chicken Broth Unopened

my barbie too.

There is a kind of magical aura that covers such a figure, born Sigmund Freud, for me, basically, Froid. This

hovers above (tt) in the departments of psychology. Here, the particular cosmogony of Native causes them to idolize this important figure and symbolic totem erected in his honor.

Their love often causes them to take at face value and sell for its true any statement (the Oedipus complex generalized to all possible forms of social mankind? But come on, froid!). Ok, admittedly, not much esteem this figure (yes, it is a challenge for you, lame! PS, I am referring to the etymology of your own name), but had a brilliant intuition (okay, I grant, more than one). This is the theory of transference.

I quote:

'Whenever we treat a neurotic with the psychoanalytic method, occurs in the so-called phenomenon of patient transfers : he poured out on that person to the doctor a considerable rate of tenderness and affection, often mixed in hostilities, that is not based on any real relationship, but you have to be traced, in all material respects with the old wishful fantasies of the patient became unconscious. Consequently, every fragment of his love life, which can not be recalled mnemonic, is experienced by the patient in his relationship with the doctor, and it is only because returns to relive in the transference, he became convinced of the existence and strength of these unconscious sexual excitations'.

Well, if I had not stumbled several times in this phenomenon, I assure you that I would not have even graduated. Why are my constant and cyclic transferts that allow me to get interested in the study.

This time it's up to my professor of social anthropology, which perfectly embodies the stereotype of the arrogant professor, know-all, asshole, stupid but sharp irony, that there throws his line in the middle of a serious conversation, using the same tone you would use to read the boredom of Moravia before an audience of old and decrepit retired professor of Italian literature and you remain fascinated, impressed, enchanted. And you realize that it's him, Nanni Moretti of the anthropology department of Venice (which does not exist, I know, but do not be picky). One able to connect to literature, cinema, anthropology, art, making connections and deliberately absurd pompous with a naturalness so embarrassing to make you feel guilty for not having ever read the paths in the ice Werner Herzog (and did not know who I miss was, ca va sans dire).

And so it happens that the height of its cultural orgasm his sagacious and penetrating eyes meet yours. And you can not help but think that, yes, oddiomio in the middle of a class of forty people, He has chosen you, just you, and that certainly will ask you to do the thesis with him in the community vattelappesca Papua New Guinea , and eventually fall in love and you settordici million children.

Then, for the avoidance of doubt, the right to take possession of the evidence once and for all, begin to turn around slowly while your smile perfect idiot starts to mutate into what cos ... e.. There it is : barbie Padua.

A mega blonde who exudes sex from all the hair follicles that have.

So you realize, God only knows how bitterly you do, that your first realization was just (as usual):

fuck- .