Oh my mom!
Books - dust, ticks and allergies, drinking - OV, snack - carcinogens, allergens, cholesterol and again OV, grandmothers - it is terrible to think, what a blow to the immune system, the psyche and life...Music ears spoils, readers - eyes, puff in the nose prevents living....What do you suggest? Prayer and fasting? In a sterile climate-conditioned cell separately carved in the rock? If you go there sooner, please isolate yourself, let people enjoy life...good books, good grandmothers, good food and good weather!

The speed of a material point in a moment of time is derived from what?
From the way.
and Nippu.

XX: Comfortable probably in the house of foam. You take a cubic of foam, put on the site, cut out any layout within yourself. Tired - melted it, pulled a new one.
YY: Oh, and at the first wind, you fly to the smaragd city and become a towshka.

Blocking the entire resource that provides access to billions of media files because several of them violate copyright is equivalent to total destruction of a country with its multi-million population by hydrogen bombs, just because there were several terrorists among them. Bravo human rights defenders, there was no such unconscious cynicism even in Hitler.

Yacht forum, discussion of the photo of the female tattoo under the truss in the form of a ship:

REV222: Yes, it’s a good thing!
Lovely kiss me!
Where to?
In the crusade...

Not good for the crawl camera.

Paper books are printed from files, and copying is not a problem. And scanning a paper book is the job of a low-paid girl per day. This is an obstacle for pirates.
I read more on screen than on paper. Even if the book is on the shelf - it is faster for me to find it in electronic form, the font can be displayed that which will be convenient for me without points, to find the right place - a matter of a few clicks.
A waste of resources on the manufacture of a paper book, delivery to the store, recycling or long storage of excess copies - actually, and increases the price. And all this - so that then it will stand on the shelf for decades in case the owner comes to the fantasy to read it a second time.
I need a text. I can get the text without that cost. If I need a shell of pages, a smell of leather, an autograph of the author, or Leonardo’s personal notes on the first hundred pages, I’ll pay, let the bouquiniers’ shops stay. I welcome a new business - to choose a book, to specify a design option, to pay - it will be printed, wrapped and delivered. Most of the books are interesting to me.
By the way, the author receives a single-digit (rarely two-digit) number of rubles from each copy. I would gladly press the button to delight the author with a penny, so that he receives for his work no less than from the publishing house. It is only a pity that most good authors do not need this for a long time.

XXX: Guys, what can you advise to straighten your back? by Z-

YYY: speak help procedures of immersion for 2 meters in the mineral environment

Crocodiles Eat Priest Who Shows Jesus Walking on Water
Yyy: It is disgusting. Crocodiles urgently need to be attracted for insulting believers' feelings
Is it possible to pray to crocodiles?
The Holy Spirit, all that.
yyy: I think the crocodiles were somewhat more efficient on the water than the priest, so you shouldn’t rule out their divine principle.

Masochists are punished only in heaven.

I always thought that the main content in the book, not the carrier.

My Uncle Fedor.

Yuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuu!!! The man was driving the car!!! You are a pedestrian fuck!!! to

xxx: If I were the creator of this virus, I would do a random generation of the domain name and if it went, then generate 10 different domain names of 20-30 characters in length, if everyone responds positively, then 100% that the sandbox, if at least one fails, begins to encrypt.
YYY: If I were the creator of this virus, I would have been sitting somewhere in the Amazon jungle and not lighting up. The next ten years. But judging by the release of fresh options, the guys with courage are okay. Let’s look at debilitating.

Give you peanut seeds? Going in the garden...
You are... :D
That is why she is... :D

Okay to you.
As a child, I was fascinated with burning and evaluated everything I saw from the point of view - it can be burned on the board or not.
Accordingly, Dürer and the cartoons were good, and all the painting and doll cartoons were shit.
Then, of course, everything changed.
Everyone has their own assessment system. Sometimes quite deliberate.

What my husband and I thought about yesterday.
XXX is a poppy.
XXX: After our training reports
xxx: will scream not "Piastra!" a "Fibroblasts!" there
XXX: Come and play with a puppy on your shoulder
XXX: thank you for your attention
xxx: and a parrot such: "Fibroblasts!"
xxx: "Erdotheliocytes!"
xxx: "Thousand percent collagen in my aorta!"

The electronic reader cannot be used when taking a bath. But here is an ordinary book - as much as you want, unless you dive into the water.

Why is impossible? High humidity and wet hands. Paper books are not very useful.

The more I look at our officials, the better I understand the personnel policy of I.V. Stalin!

My sweet puppets.

Once, very long ago, the Dean caught me out of my ashes at the moment of my resurrection.
I turned into ashes by bringing my friend Serzhou N-va into the army.
I have already told this shameless story, which perfectly characterizes my destructive influence on all aspects of the lives of the people around me.
I will briefly remind.

Sergey and I lived in the same dormitory. And symbolized the two poles of one refrigerator "Pole". His father worked as a director of a large pork complex.

And I lived on my own in grapefruit and peanut concentrates. Serjozh had breakfast with two slices of pork, which, because of the knowledge of community customs, he roasted right away, in our room, delicately drawing the curtain from me.

Serjozh also ate something very dietetic on the basis of snails and smoked foods, the dinner I usually did not observe, because I ran through the corridors of the hostel number two with a crazy shackle, mad from gastronomic nightmares.
Everything in our room was gone with food: his stuff, his stuff, my stuff, pillows, blankets, textbooks, and I was also gone with the food.

The disgusting habit of smelling fingers, hallucinations, nonsense became my constant companions.
He locked his refrigerator on an elegant chain with a lock, which his mother brought from the pork complex. At the same time, she brought another five kilos of smoked salad and two banks of marinated peppers.

I think that as a child Sergey had fun toys, and his child was beautifully decorated with pig heads and garlands of sausages over the bed in the shape of natural leather pigs. Serjoja loved these marinated pitaches very much and, crushing, snacked them with a vodka, which, of course, with such a diet did not ruin him, but made everything more beautiful and more beautiful.

The man in front of my eyes was filled with physical beauty not by days, but by hours.
Orders from the military came to us. The motherland insisted on calling us into the army, welcomingly indicating the number of the article of the Constitution. More serious agenda did not come and did not come.

On the lines of the recruitment of some other lucky Serjozh said that he would not serve at all. He said loudly, the times were still decent socialist. But in Seroj’s eyes stood the unwavering blue lake of understanding of life.
That same night, I sat down at the desk, took a fading pork paper, a sticky pen and wrote a letter to the Red Star between fat divorces.

In the name of N-va. In the letter it was stated, in particular, that the Baltic grandfather and the Pacific father of Sergei look with condemnation at him, who has not served until now, and as a military officer of the district, Lieutenant Colonel B. Gusev under fictional excuses denies Sergei his right to defend our country.

“Under fictional pretext,” I emphasized twice. The letter ended with a request to send Serjozh to serve in the fleet, preferably on a nuclear submarine. Signed by Sergey N-v.

I dropped it down in the mailbox.
I did not expect this letter to be published in the "Red Star" in the "Meeting the congress of the VLKSM".
They came straight to the lecture hall. Colonel B. Gusev and two captains came.
With great and understandable excitement, I read the letters written to me by a friend of Seroj from Severomorsk. There was everything in those letters.

In those places where my fate was described in the wheelchair at the station, I always interrupted reading and fell asleep.
Six months later I became accustomed to these letters, stopped holding them in my heart and began to push myself off the floor, run in the countryside park, and enrolled in the giraffe sports section.
Here, when I returned from the training, "on which I cried a lot and begged home," I was caught by our good King Dagobert.

The Dean is wonderful. Who, in principle, remembered me, once recognized me on a visual level, but did not want to remember my name. The Dean grabbed my arms and said excitedly, “James! “There was a problem at the school!”

If the greatest trouble at the faculty had not stood before me, if it had not held me so tightly, then I would not have become, afterwards, who I became.

He would just escape and run away. But something stopped me and the two problems of the faculty talked.
“You know, Jim,” said the dean to me, “our faculty has a huge membership debt. We owe a lot to the Komsomol University committee. Students don’t pay their contributions.! to

So there was debt. Komsomol University Committee. Students don’t want to pay, and the debt is done, you know?Before the Komsomol Committee? The duty to the Komsomol committee was organized, yeah?” – I clarified, for the case, passing by the prize draw and pretending if I could break the glass with my head and hide in the bushes.

“Yes!” replied the dean, “the students do not pay contributions on time and the debt has arisen.” “It’s very bad,” I honestly said, “it won’t be swallowed by the head. Debt to the Komsomol Committee. At such times it is very bad when students do not pay contributions on time.” The glass did not seem thick.

“You, Jean, that’s what you have to help us, yes. Kolesnikova (the dean looked at the paper), Kolesnikova doesn’t get to collect contributions on time, you have to help her collect contributions.” “I will definitely help!” I promised as honestly as possible.

“Take a check here!” said the dean suddenly. He helped me find it and hid it in my pocket. “I will return when (the dean looked at the paper) Kolesnikov will say that the debt to the Komsomol Committee has been liquidated...”
“Beautiful Jim,” I said to myself, “beautiful!

Everything went very well. The Truth? Most importantly, the section of giraffe sports helped a lot!”
Two hours later, I was driven out of all possible dormitory rooms to which I entered with the demand of Komsomol’s tribute. I was moaning and angry, knocking my fist at the door, pressing on consciousness and simple human pity.

Maybe it would work in other schools. But at the Faculty of History, you understand yourself... What a pity if there is a circle of observations on the Civil War? The grievance was that it was nothing: two pennies from the nose a month.

But the first collection was stolen, the second amount was lost. The third time was collected not from everyone and such a carousel lasted for several months. But it wasn’t a nightmare amount, no.

With sadness and pain, he returned to his corner. After Sergi N-va was taken to the fleet, my room was not orphaned. I was settled by a border guard who served Vanu and my life went well. Vanessa was drinking.

And since his journey to the country of green fairies only started and weighed Vanya around the center, he needed a lot of alcohol. The lack of funds Vanya compensated, working as a guard in the school, which at night launched all the surrounding slashers and women of difficult fate.

The money received from the sweethearts, Vanya carefully drank, stifling his conscience and shaking the nervous system. He began to have strange ideas and visions. In these visions, Vanya was terrible.

I slept in such vanilla periods as coughing: only one half of my brain. The second half was on the guard of my health and life. Then the half of the brain changed places, there was a shift of guard, and by the seventh day the visions began already in me.
“Do you have vodka?” asked Vanessa. “Wodka will be when you and I liquidate our debt to the Komsomol Committee!” I said, rolling into bed.

“Students don’t pay contributions, you understand, James, and Kolesnikov doesn’t do it... the dean of the bills... the whole kid!” – sleeping half of my brain, I outlined the situation. I didn’t even notice how Vanya took the wrapped insulated assembly and went out of the room, putting our traditionally half-off door in place.

In the morning, I woke up with the other half of my brain and realized that I was a victim of some kind of violence. I found it hard to find another explanation for lying in bed and sleeping like a middle Asian bride with paper money.

He felt himself comprehensively, looked under the bed, drank water. A box of shoes was found under the drawer, which also contained money. The money was still on the floor and even in the sorting.

I felt myself again. It was away from the heart, not so fresh I was to pay for my life-stormed body such a rage of money. Especially since Vanya slept among the blue and red papers. He simply would not give up.
I collected a helpless amount of rubles overnight.

No, not only from historians, he methodically scratched two dormitories, looked at lawyers and philologists. At first, he collected soberly, explaining the situation with debt, and then he swung up somewhere and began to just go in with the assembly and leave with banknotes.
“Seven years...,” I thought, looking at the gathered bunches of dots, “at least. There will be fools in the area to try to get in.

To the library or to the laundry, self-activity to raise.” Convoy dogs laughed in the head and the congestions of stage wagons lay. “You’ve gone, Jim, you’ve gone.”
Vanessa and I handed the money over to the Komsomol Committee. I managed to write a beautiful letter to M.S. Gorbachev by student.

The committee, when they saw me with a petition and Vanu with a box of money, at first didn’t believe their eyes. “This is our work,” I solemnly pronounced with the excited voice of the communist, “to a monument to the first Komsomolts of our region.

There is also debt to contributions.”
Vanessa went to the congress alone. I was nominated in the Komsomol Oblkom.

The less you love a girl, the more money in your wallet.

Last year, my youngest (he was a year old) and I often drove buses, took him in a wheelchair, if something was supposed to be carried back. The boy was active, his brain was full. He saved Scotland. 3.50 in the SP. The son was very busy with them for a long time, wrapped, ripped, chewed, which shocked the passengers, but they were silent - would a mother tell them little, capable of a mother to his son as a Scottish toy?