The plane passed through a turbulence zone. Blonde Alla sweetly pulled her white nails and shouted:
The Captain!! Give me tea!
The captain, politely smiling, came out of the rub and began to prepare Allin's favorite tea with feijoa and marmelade. Afterwards, he laid a carpet at the feet of his goddess, placed a pad on his back and servantly floated on his four legs to her chair.
“The real pilot, not what she is,” allochka nodded in a taste of a wonderful vacation, where she was awaited by car mechanics who would wash her car, doctors who would wipe her pop after the toilet, bartenders who would dance with her and pay for a drink, and many other amazing people who dream of raising their ass for some small problems of some “fucking user.” Luckily, Alla did not have time to think about anything further, because the aircraft that flew all this time on the autopilot crashed and her broken intestines were wrapped on the beetle.