Xxx: Well, I’m 27 and I’ve never fucked at all, all my knowledge is pure theory and a mushroom on my palm. And the only advice from a friend is to feel.

Yyy: When I read this, I want to be a good fool and give good boys to virgins, lol

Zzz: God bless you

Despite the unwelcome attitude of many countries, we will still build a gas pipeline and defend our right to be a raw material appendix of Europe!

Non-trivial meth

I bought self-tapping wallpapers. I sit. I wait.

My mother liked to joke, in any cold she said, "I will die, all my you will get... take care of daddy and brother" and watched my reaction, I trembled, presenting her in the grave, and crying in the pillow at night. At the age of 6 developed a real neurosis, then panic attacks and enuresis, I was terribly afraid to lose it. The fear of my own death and my loved ones has persecuted me for more than 35 years. This fear plunges suddenly and enters the soul with cold nails, it becomes difficult to breathe and tears suffocate... Psychotherapy has helped little. Why so ridicule the child’s psyche, for the sake of their own fun, or what moms would make sure that it is “god-making”, self-esteem scratching about the child’s soul?



yyy: My mother-in-law shared with me how to teach children to be independent. She went to bed for a break and told her sons that it was just an examination. Then she came, walking sad, sinking, abandoned. I hadn’t spoken to anyone for three days. The children got married (10 and 8 years old) and the mother decided to reveal to them the mystery of her mother’s cancer and she would soon die and her only wish was that the sons would become independent and could cook/wipe/cleaning themselves, etc. For two months she played this show and then suddenly recovered.

As a result, one has a painful fear of losing his mother and an aversion to cleaning, the other has a distrust of his mother, but independent, it is.

I honestly didn’t believe this, but the two sons of the mother-in-law confirmed it.

When I was in second grade (1988), a classmate instructed me that stealing a bakery for 3 cents, in a gastronomy, is a pledge. There were no surveillance cameras at the time, as did the guards. And the fucking fuck me to spit that baking cake. I didn’t have three copies. There were much more.

I waited for two days until they came from the police. Of course, no one came after me. But I, tormented by my conscience, three days later, silently put 20 copies on the bench. I could buy ice cream. But getting rid of the pain of conscience is more expensive.