We filmed three or four years ago with friends-colleagues “three” for three. Since my room was adjacent to the place of common gathering (the kitchen) and we worked alternately, I often woke up from an uncontrolled whistle. I had to get up and remind you of inappropriate behavior.

But one day they came to the end. I wake up from the fact that they light my face with a lamp and pull my shoulders, and the one who was less attached to his worthless life, even scratched my cheeks. Snooping from the light of the lamp and loudly flattering from unheard of boldness, I say about the following: “Sky! They quickly ran into the rooms. You are completely upset, fucking! If I get up, I will kill you!”

I open my eyes, and on me from all sides, with eyes the size of five ruble coins, interns of the gastrointestinal department of the Taganskaya hospital. “It’s a reaction to anesthesia,” a surgeon (a surgeon for feminism) found with smaller eyes.

The operation to remove the appendix was successful, I completely forgot about it.