xxx: The protein does not have a vomiting reflex, it will not be able to blush physically.

Yyy: What is their protective reaction to poisoning?

ZZZ: The Death

It was in a military town. V/h was removed from settlements, and children were forced to play only with those who lived in a small military town (16 families). In particular, boys and girls were forced to play together. But girls were interested in all kinds of daughters-mothers, and boys were interested in warriors. Therefore, a contract was concluded - at first, half of the time we all play together in the daughters-mothers, after half of the time we all play together in the warriors. All this idyll continued until a tiny 5-year-old ego (let it be Mashenka) secretly penetrated the bedroom of her parents at night. He looked at them all (and heard) what they were doing. Why did they not notice her? Fuck he knows! Maybe they were drunk, or maybe they were just engaged. The case is young!



The next day, Mashenka decided to complicate the usual game of "daughter-mother" with new, watched in the bedroom of parents, social practices. As a conditional "husband" was chosen, of course, I. Further - from the words of my father.



They had a meeting that day. They came out of which all the officers together, but my father was slightly ahead of the other military. And, coming out the first of the officers to the center of the military town, he saw the painting with oil - his seven-year-old son in the sandbox "decomposed" the five-year-old daughter of the comedian and smashed her in full. At the same time, Mashenka releases characteristic stones and swallows. At first, my father thought he dreamed of it. Because of the unrealisticity of the painting presented before him. But then he noticed that the boys are engaged in sex "childly," i.e. fully dressed in shorts and shorts. He had already relaxed, but then Mashenka remembered something from the watched at night, and, wrapping me with my hands and legs, grabbed me with a long sweetly passionate kiss. My father suddenly suddenly remembered that a camel was following him, and in conjunction the father of this girl, and the bullet rushed to us. He instantly separated us, scratched Mashenko from the sand, swallowed me and ran to our home.



At home, my parents held a scientific council. At first they asked me carefully about “what was it?” Having learned that this was not a manifestation of the sexual impulses of their seven-year-old son, but only Mashenka's unremitting curiosity in mastering new aspects of family roles, they seemed to calm down. But the question arose, how to be with me next? This time they were lucky, and my dad rushed to children imitating sexual intercourse at the playground, the first of their parents. What if he was the first to see this shit?



My parents closed away from me in the room for half an hour and discussed something. They had to explain to me the new norms of behavior. But how? They didn’t tell me anything about sex at the time. But even if they decided to tell, it would not solve the problem. Because it had to be loaded with all those taboos that are associated with this sex. This is not one day work. He could “repeat” his game tomorrow.



Then they came out to me again and again asked in detail how it was. They realized they were “lucky.” My parents loved kissing. That’s why Mashenka started all of her simulating sex games with kisses. So they decided to adjust my behavior based on the concept of “kissing” I already had.



Then the whole show was played. My parents sat around me and talked a lot. They told me that kissing is only possible between the closest people. If you kiss someone you hit, you can get very ill (Hello, prevention of STDs! ) is I just got bronchitis, and I was afraid of any injections there. They scared me so much that I let go. They began to reassure me that they said now they will give me a pill (in fact a vitamin), and I will not get sick. But that I would never kiss anyone again. Except for my wife. I promised that I would do that because I didn’t like to get sick.



When I was eighteen, my father told me all the details of this story. He even apologized before me. The psychologist in the steppe was not found at the time, and the decision had to be taken quickly. Of course, this story influenced me. I haven’t kissed girls for a long time. Even after sex.



What do you think my parents should have done in this situation? I still cannot find the right answer.

Xxx: I lived in a private house, on the outskirts of the city, at the end of the street there was a mud with pebbles and other thick vegetation. I went to school at 8 p.m. and my parents went to work at 9 p.m. And I went out of the house type to the school, came to the swamp and walked in the swamps, from there watched when my parents left the house, after which I returned, slept, read books, watched the telecar and whisked until 11:50, after which I went back into the swamp, because my parents at 12 came for an hour for lunch, then I returned finally.

But my father was a former military, so he constantly caught me. Then he returns for lunch, and there traces more than when he went to work (that is to say, somebody was sprinkled), then comes to lunch and the telephone is warm (that is, somebody was watching it), then what things are not in their places. One day I came home after a parental dinner, I go into the yard - and there father on the doorstep, he did not go to work. Elie repented then that he left school because of his ill-health.

And sometimes it was about -30 in the street, it was cold to sit in the swamp, so I walked into the cellar during the time, she stood in a separate building in the yard, and waited there. And here I went back to school, time for lunch, I go back to the basement. He walked with the snow cane, squeezing them his traces, so that his father did not notice, at the time he buried the cane in the snow, because he should not be there, going in, he appreciated the landscape - no traces remained at all. All, normus, go into the basement, turn on the light, I sit and read. The door was closed, so the parents came. After an hour, the door broke again, so they left. I waited 10 minutes for reinsurance, I started to get up from the basement and I heard that someone was going to the clock. I went back to the basement, the light to zero, stuck behind the partition in a niche with potatoes and tried not to breathe. As a result, his father did not go to work again, and he was forced to take the salt from the basement. He went down with the lamp, took a couple of pots and got up so I did not notice, and I was sitting there almost without breath, my legs trembled, but in the shower I rejoiced. My ability to be invisible has grown so much that even my father could not detect me. I was untouchable.

And in a couple of years, mobile phones became a fairly common phenomenon, so in case of my absence to school, the classroom just called my parents and I was definitely overwhelmed. I had to teach this dumb algebra with social science. The end.

PS skills of secrecy from my childhood then often suited me in the army, I tried like no one else. And at work too.

It’s not even that our youth literally worshiped Elon Musk, but that she doesn’t know who Sergey Korolev is.

© Police

About a thousand devils or how to whisper to fate many times.

In recent times it has become fashionable to deceive Boyarsky in how he hasn’t parked: then at a meeting, then at a pedestrian crossing (it’s true, he was a witness), and also to start and finish the note that the country’s chief musketeer has again acted not musketerly.
I wonder, those who write such things have only seen Boyarsky in "Three Musketeers" and in his Mercedes? Fuck, guys, the guy played and sang in a hundred more films, but it didn’t make him a decent person. A good actor is not equal to a good guy from an idealistic film.
Mikhail Sergeevich honestly told reporters that he was kidding at them, he was cutting in a Mercedes with OSA numbers (who doesn't know, so these are the Federal Security Service numbers and get them in GIBDD just can't), his son is a billionaire and obviously not because he sang about dinosaurs in his childhood. And if we make analogues, Boyarsky is just the most real musketeer, because he supports the king, spit on the laws and sells himself for guns. Honour, Courage, and Conscience are all of the old books in which Richelieu and Rochefort were the most positive characters ever, thinking about the state, not about themselves. Only understanding comes with age.

Putin has introduced a new bill according to which God does not have the right to send him to hell.