The sad-laughable-stupidest accusation I have ever, and not infrequently, be is me in my life was that I wanted to pointlessly save the world.
Sometimes it was only Germany that was rubbed me in this sense, as supposedly helpless-dreamy Tropfe under the nose.
Well, folks, what should I else want?
About a Golf with 180 hp?
A private helicopter with three chicks drinne?
Money that even the Rothschilds are pale? (more ...)