We went to the company. Drink as appropriate. One girl flirted with me (well or I thought so). I woke up on the couch, and she lay next to me in a barrel, pressing. We are in top clothes (blowers, winter in the country is cold) I have an erection, I begin to erect, adjust more comfortably. Did she tell me something, friend? And I really wandered, because the voice was my classmate's friend, he just hid her whirlwind.

According to statistics, for 10 photos of sunset there is 1 (one) photo of dawn.
This is not because the sunset is more picturesque. No one likes to get up early.

How to ride in Honduras

From Copan Ruinas we had to take the route to Puerto Barrios. It is a city on the shores of the Gulf of Honduras of the Caribbean Sea of the Atlantic Ocean.

Google Navigator offers two options:
1) through the same border post on the road from Chiquimula, from where we arrived at Copan Ruinas, long and already seen by us;
2) much shorter through Gualan, though, by time Google did not promise to save that the long road, which is short - promised to take 6 hours.

And we, the inhabitants of the plain, without a doubt, went on a short journey.
It started well - a four-step asphalt road. Which after the first encountered village became two-tiered, but still asphalt. And after the second - ground, but dotted with a small slice. And after the third - a uniform grounding, which bended on the edge of the mountain and some where 1/3 collapsed into the abyss. We passed through these two dead places.
In the fourth village, the harvest ended, and deep clay trails began. The boys in the motorcycles shouted to us that we would not go further.

Already on the exit from the fifth village, we were impressed by a blurred ground. We stopped at the last house and asked: Are we going to Guatemala right? The speaking Indian replied that in Guatemala we are going right, but here is carita (little - Spanish). We are not right. He said, “The crows

I came to work with a huge cucumbers in trousers and stretching jeans.
Those who have a huge fist in their heads say I’m a fool.

It reminded the story of twenty years ago, when a younger brother-second-grade approached his mother with the question "What is a condom?"

Mom, who was surprised by the question, filled with paint and misunderstood, began to talk about pesticides, pineapples and other botanics.

“Are you talking about Gandhi?” I finally understood the second grade student’s answer.

To avoid being eaten, you have to be poisonous.

I read the story of an orphan boy, who was adopted thanks to the mediation of Santa Claus, and remembered... not even the story, there is no plot. A small episode.

At the age of 14, I went to the hospital for a month. It turned out that I was the oldest among the melouses. The younger boys were four years old, and one girl was probably two years old. She could not speak yet. She was from a child’s home, or rather from a child’s home. Naked, in dotted slides and all in green. It is unlikely that she would be kept in a common chamber with something contagious, so probably not watermelon or scabies, but some harmless wounds. But it looked ugly.

Because of these wounds, the older girls chased her, called the ugly. And she was drawn to everyone, apparently lacking affection in her childhood home. And on the first day, when I came to the dining room and sat down on a chair, she ran up, scratched her pants to my knees, hugged me and froze frighteningly. She was afraid and hoped she’t be driven away.

I did not drive her out. I lacked the tactile feelings. In our family, calf tenderness was not accepted, parents almost never hugged us, my brother and I if we did not fight, then played something noisy. In the hospital, there was little. So I embraced that little girl, pressed to myself and started shaking. And she sang something like it, without words, but very cozy and affectionate.

I do not remember her name. Everyone called her Marty, and she really had something like a monkey in her face. When I left the room in the morning, the babysitters said to me, “Where are you, the bride has already been waiting.” I cried loudly, “Martich!” and she, wherever she was, heard and ran to meet me in the hospital corridor with a joyful cry. I picked her up on my arms and then pulled on me all day, then on my shoulders, then under my mouth, then sat down and kneeled.

I would like to write something like, “My parents adopted Martyška, and now she is my sister.” But I’m not telling a Christmas tale, but a piece of real life. I know nothing about her fate. Per she was actually adopted later. Per not, and she rolled down the slope and slept like 90% of childhouseholders. Maybe she overcame everything and lived a decent life. Or maybe she never learned to speak and ended her days in a disabled home.

This meeting turned me. I then longed very much for this feeling when a tiny warm creature sits on your knees and confidently embraces you. I still believe that this is the most delightful thing a person can feel in his life, no cigars with cognac, orgasms and sports victories have stood by.

The grief passed when my own children were born, and they were born quite early. From the first day I hugged, licked, pulled and pressed them endlessly – but, of course, not only pressed, but also pressed, dressed, washed, fed and did all the other things that should be done with young children. There was a moment in my family life when I fell in love with another woman and thought about leaving. But I thought exactly for a moment, until I asked myself: Can I survive at least a day without my hamsters? I immediately realized that not, and the issue was resolved.

My wife had a friend, Galia, who married a man who was disturbed by cleanliness and order. He washed his hands twenty times a day and could have caused a scandal because of a crumb on the floor or a drop of water in a dishwasher. The man grew up in a house full of dirt and cockroaches, and moved on this topic. Of course, there was nothing to think about the children in this family, because they write, crack, let saliva, scratch, scratch food on the table and so on. Galia first worried, then reconciled.

In the sixth year of this marriage, Galle brought her husband to visit us. He cautiously sat down on our not too clean sofa, holding his hands on the weight, like a surgeon before the operation, to not touch anything. But then came our youngest daughter, she was just two years old, and without saying a bad word fell to him on her knees.

I saw the inner struggle on his face. It seems uncomfortable, not a cat anyway. Touching is scary and disgusting. I asked a kind of secular question, like what your doll’s name is. The daughter responded readily, she spoke well at two years old. I told him something, he replied. Keeping your hands on weight. But gradually he felt that nothing terrible was coming, but something good was happening, and he stopped watching for the sterility of his hands. He embraced the daughter by the shoulders, nodded on his knees, grabbed his head. I saw a man shrinking. Twenty minutes later, he was already behaving like any other guest in the house with children. He left very pleased and sorry for everyone's hands, like a normal person.

And the next morning Galia called my wife in a joyful shock: returning from us, the husband demanded immediately, without delaying a day, to have a child. Here is such an exhibition from Martyška through my daughter to Galina's son, who otherwise could not have been born.

Russian Economic Dictionary:
1st An entrepreneur is a person who has a business.
2nd An employee is a person who has an entrepreneur.

Smile more often. Let them consider you a harmless fool.

"Let me dress up as a Snowmen and be so sexy that you will love me until dawn."
You overestimate both of us.

Is it hard to be an engineer? “No, son, it’s like riding a bicycle that’s burning and you’re burning and everything is burning and you’re in hell. “No, son, it’s like sitting in a barrel of shit, around which engineers ride bicycles and weapons, that they’re in fire and burn in hell. They are in the fire, and you are in the shit! Is it hard to be a chief engineer? “No son, it’s like sitting in a pool with a shit on a burning bicycle, but he doesn’t drive because he’s in a shit. That's because of this, your ass is baked, in your mouth is shit and you won't get out of it, as if you didn't turn the pedals hard. And everyone around ticking your finger at you and shouting - here is she - a creature, because of which everything is bad... - Mom, it's hard to be the director of the branch? Yes my son! very hard. You need to constantly pour into the barrel with the chief engineer shit, so that it is always on the throat. Burn bicycles to department chiefs and engineers. Yes, and make sure that they never go out, that they turn the pedals like the devil - and you all have to be always clean... with a diary where you write down plans to repair the barrels and purchase bicycles.

Life is the ability to avoid death as long as possible.

It happened on the eve of the New Year, a few years ago. One of my classmates, Natashka, approaches me and says, “There are Santa Claus and Snowmen costumes. I want to make an announcement that we are going home paycheck. Are you down? We will earn!”
Of course I agreed. Money was needed, and the role to play - once to spit, Natashka and I were constantly participating in the KVN.
They created an advertisement, put it in a newspaper and a running line. We were called almost immediately, so it went. The kids were different, and glorious guys, and nits-zanud. One boy remembered – he asked from the threshold: “Father Christmas and Snowmen, is it? And how much did my dad pay you?”In short, the experience is interesting.
And here, until the holiday was four days left, here a friend calls me: "Oleška, save! We gathered gifts here for the children from the local hospital – they are without breakfasts, and we do not have Santa Claus! Can you work for free?”
Well, I thought it was a good thing, I agreed. He was promised to be taken to the hospital. I dressed up, put on a beard, and went. The mood is good, such a rise that I am not going to work for money, but just so, I feel - I can do everything. Even my neighbor Tamara smiled at the entrance, and she walked sadly all the time after losing her son two years ago.
And here we are in place. We were gathered in the hall, in the middle – a tree, guirlandes lit. The celebration was wonderful! Children have fun, beat hands, sing songs, read poems. Giving gifts is happiness for everyone. The roses are happy, around smiles.
And suddenly I see a six-year-old boy sitting in the corner, not playing, holding his beard with his hands, looking at us, and in his dark eyes - thirst. I went to the doctor and asked:
Who is he and what about him?
Mark answered the doctor. He is an orphan. The road transport. I was driving with my father and mother in the car, turned over. There are no parents anymore, we are now in childhood.
I felt like I was beaten. The feeling of happiness never happened. Of course, you could finish the program, go away and forget everything, but I couldn’t. He took the gift and walked to the boy on his bowing legs. Hi Mary! Happy New Year, with new happiness! He raised a heavy look at me.
You’re not a real Santa, right?
I shrugged my shoulders, depending on what you believe. I am sure of myself. But you can check. What gift do you want for the New Year? If I do, it is real. (I got stuck there because I imagined where my New Year’s budget would go and where to borrow if the guy wanted, for example, an iPhone. But I could no longer stop.
And Marik smiled unpleasantly and said:
Okay, let’s try it out.
I sat next door. And guess it!
The boy opened his eyes and suddenly whispered:
If I were a fool, I would have asked my mom and dad to come back. I’m not a fool, I understand everything. Therefore, if you are a real Santa Claus, do so that I am not taken as a child! You can?
And then I realized that I was possessed. When I showed the program, I don’t remember, it was like in the fog. He returned home, but couldn’t do anything: before his eyes stood Marik’s gaze, full of longing and hope.
I even started pretending not to take the boy for myself. But who would give a child to a student without a fixed salary? I spent the whole night thinking.
In the morning I was stunned! And already at eight in the morning in Santa Claus costume I knocked at the neighbor Tamar. I don't know how they agreed there - they say, the chief doctor himself connected friends, but on December 31, I met Marika and Tamara at our entrance. A shining neighbor introduced me to the boy and told me that he was her guest on New Year’s Eve.
Marik didn’t look as happy, rather confusing, but I didn’t notice the previous boundless grief in his eyes.
And when the holidays ended, and January-February came, the boy moved to us in the house forever - Tamara took him under custody.
A year has passed, and here Natashka again called me to defrost. I couldn’t miss this occasion and on the New Year’s Eve I visited Tamara. And when Marik opened the door, he blinked at him and asked loudly:
What, the real one?
The real! He whispered and hugged me for my feet. At that moment, I really felt like Santa. A true wizard.
Anastasia Ivanova

When I see “Mercedes” with the label “we can repeat,” I deeply doubt that we can repeat “Mercedes.”

xxx: The most shit for me was to be a pp-shka on the siege (line-kin2), I was taken to the top of the clan because pp-shka was knocking the buffs for a while, and I was on the power, while being sharpened into the fucking fool, and since in pp decides every percentage - it's, shit, important. So, there are 40 people, and I need to make sure that every individual running by gets a full pack of buffs, including a hated windmower. Yes, say you, put everything in a macro and just press two buttons on each body, but no, nihua! Macros works too slowly, with the hands much faster. It is necessary to keep in mind the assemblies of buffs pure for the magicians, pure for the firefighters, and for the overlords, because they have their buffs, and in excess I knock them down, which causes the crack of the popcan, because the manna is not rubber. But the fucking thing started when the fascists found me, and they tried to plant me in a fire strike in the wool, because I was just a buffer! I have no fighting spells at all, so a class is provided, all that is an ancient wind strike, which almost does not harm. But I was on the goats, and I had a second churican in the goat, more helpful, harsher, although he had a second ten... And you run, you beat the enemy in a hollow to knock him down useful buffets, you get mad, and you throw in him with snow, so, a fox, and ran around the fortress, until I finally noticed theirs (to write in a chat at some time, a second of delay costs half the time), and did not give him a shit. Have you ever drank 4 cups of reggae? Oh fucking, I’m grateful for the bag that glasses their effects!

Whoever is on the siege of the catals - that darksools passes without deaths.



YYY: Nihua doesn’t understand, but I read and worried about you.

In a cheerful and light-minded person in his head are not cockroaches, but carpenters.

The prelude will not be special. This story was published in the newspaper "BDG" on June 13, this year. In addition to this note, the video story was on local TV. All is pure truth. Read it, you should like it.
A group of apartment thieves who carried out their criminal activities with the help of a Siamese cat was detained in the Belarusian capital. The cat "streaked" on dollars soaked with valerian tincture. Gradually, the animal developed a conditional reflex on "valerian currency". Then entrepreneurial thieves on the ad found a wealthy seller, bought a thing from him for dollars adapted to the cat. As was established by the investigation, during the absence of the owner, the thieves opened the apartment with a special pin, launched a scientist cat there, who in a few minutes, without disrupting the order in the apartment, found all the money. According to the staff of GUVD, "these thieves had not only a rich imagination, but also certain professional skills of trainers." As noted by the Minsk detectives, such a case has no analogues in the world criminal practice and may enter the textbooks of criminology.

Short content of the straight line: And you’ll see what happens to them.

I was 10-11 years old, 2000 just arrived. I had a sister and as it happens, my mother and I went for a walk. Winter, 8th floor of the apartment house. My mother picked up the wheelchair and called the elevator. Malaya lies like a cosmonaut in a combo and is wrapped in a beautiful, new plush. The elevator arrived, while my mom is struggling with the door, I hardly roll the wheelchair into the elevator, as soon as I pushed it there, it started to close, I quietly leave the door and put my foot in the door so they opened back, but something went wrong, my leg slipped from the threshold and the door closed. At that moment, the elevator was called down. “Nothing terrible,” said my mom, seeing my horror-filled eyes, ran down and intercepted the wheelchair. I run all the way down, at this moment I hear that the elevator has already stopped somewhere, then it closes and goes on. We met with the elevator on the 1st floor. It opens, my sister sits in a wheelchair and knocks her eyes. There is no pledge under it, fucking. Thus e. Some frost from our entrance pulled out of the baby's underwear and sneaked in the apartment. The apartment was like an apartment and that’s all. I’m 30 years old, and as I remember this case, it’s terrible.

If you are asked to stand on one knee, say that you have nothing to do with Negroes.