A letter to the vendor from a system integrator about a failing project:

Dear Mr Barsukov!

In December last year, when you infused your glucose stinking XXX (soft name),
You were willing to say that his Slavic local will be presented to the honest people no later than the end of the winter.
The winter has passed, a new one has begun. We were in Siberia with snow on the tomatoes, but unfortunately, the presence of proper sandwiches and a warm body of nihua does not warm my angry soul. Localized as there was, and not. My partner is fucking with your supostatic craft like Ilya Muromets with the Snake Gorinich. He also called your men to help, but they sent his men to help, saying, “You will be blessed if you speak in our way.”
Barsucci to go! If you are scornful, you will not present me with a letter signed by your Master, which will tell me when the happiness of the acquisition of locals will enter my house, and you will not send me your hoodies, in order to soothe me from December this year, until December next, I will be angry with you and begin to avenge.
First, I will burn all the scrolls on which your work is printed. Furthermore, I publicly admit that we did not have a good cooperation with you. I will tell all the honest Siberian people, who manufacture wood and black gold, that you have snugged with the devil and you cannot be taken as companions in God-pleasing affairs.