Serial suicide (31.12.2008 12:49):
Fuck to!
What a fucking city.
Serial suicide (31.12.2008 12:50):
Everybody came to the exam.
The 31st number
Serial suicide (31.12.2008 12:51):
Prep Buddha calls the old man * AAAAAAAAAAAA!!! A new year, I will give you a new year!!* is
<<Russian and Chinese are brothers for centuries. >>
(Communist propaganda of Mao's time)
He was witnessed at the end of June. A friend at a wedding.
It happened in New York, and the New York summer is still a natural phenomenon!
High humidity due to the ocean makes the hot air not just
Dry and suffocating. At the usual 35-40 degrees a simple walk
It becomes torture. Within five minutes, the clothes are wet.
Before the thunderstorm, like in a steam. There are such days every summer.
Enough enough. The wedding day was no exception.
Another important detail: my friend’s bride is a Chinese woman.
I, the groom’s parents and two other witnesses came to the house of the future maid.
to take the bride, the maid and the testator, and all the witnesses of the bride,
The whole crowd went to the park to take a picture. Sitting in the car with
the air conditioners, wait for the hour X. Finally, the signal has arrived -
We are advancing. In front of the house of the parents of the bride we are met by a crowd.
Chinese witnesses and offer the bridegroom to undergo standard tests
before he can see his chosen wife.
Test 1: While one of us is squeezing, the others should drink.
Apple juice from baby bottles. For our people, as
As a rule, with the army hardening-training, pressing is just pleasant.
Memories of youth. But it is very damaged by a temperature below 40.
Incredible spirits, sliced shirts, butterflies and smokings. The Married
heroically challenged to squeeze while we drink the juice, so that the bride could see,
What a wonderful man God sent her.
Have you ever tried drinking from a baby’s bottle through a nipple? One one
In childhood, what about conscious age? Juice hardly
It drops, our cheeks are red from dullness, the bridegroom runs out. to
To help the bridegroom, the osky had to bite over and pull in the ugly
warm apple liquid, saving the bridegroom from further torture.
The second test is to put 3 airballs on each. Murders and so on.
Red, there is nothing to lose.
The third test is the apogee of history: nothing, the bridegroom must sing.
A song about love, when the bride forgets everything and rushes into his heart.
and embrace. In our case, the bride would run out only for the sake of
The bridegroom was silent and no longer represented a complete absence of vocal data.
But about that later.
So the task is set and clear. But with execution, it is a stumbling. well no
I don’t know a single song about love. For five minutes he talked.
witnesses of the bride, until they agreed: the song can be any;
Not necessarily in English, but in Russian; for moral support
All witnesses of the bridegroom must sing.
After a brief meeting, we found out that we all know one.
The only song. There is no way back, you cannot escape from the submarine.
In three bits we cried:
“Rise up, the country is huge.
Stand up for a deadly fight.
With the dark fascist force,
“The damned horde.”
Time has stopped. The birds hang in the air. The Chinese were with
Incredibly wide open eyes. Mexicans cutting grass on
On the other side of the street, they forgot everything in the world and looked fascinated.
and us. The silence was broken by the father of the bridegroom, running out on the street with a cry: "What?
What happened"
Gradually everything returned to its own circles. There is nothing left of the bride.
except to let us all enter and not be ashamed anymore.
The Chinese came back and narrowed their eyes to the usual size. The Mexicans
Back to the grasshoppers. The wedding itself was even more fun, but it was already
Another story.
The groom is from Chelyabinsk. Chelyabinsk men are so harsh.
They can get married to Chinese women, get stuck in the heat of forty degrees.
"Rise the country is huge!" for them a song about love.
Halloween, the feast of impurity in America. In Russia, there is a celebration when all the dead go to the streets. It is 1 January.
Sart: Well, how did the corporation go?
Prizrak: Yes, as usual... the headbuck once again justified the title of his position...