I apologize for my French.
At five in the morning, I pierce my eyes and realize that I have a pimple. My favourite came yesterday, and yesterday there was a co-worker’s doctor... the last thing I remember, we were driving to the Sosulka cooperative... and she was driving... just a pipet! In spite of the stumbling, I recall the types of executions that can be carried out at home. It is stupid to resist, it deserves.
His favorite singing something under his nose brings a cold beer and asks if I remember what Dimon and I did. The memory shows a cookie, not a mix. I’m trying to figure out when I’ll be dismembered, but I’m in a surprisingly good mood. He squeezed a little to the public in order to split the cause. So, the events of the past: I ate class and Dimka came to me. Having found the unseen I fell on my knees and... persuaded her to take us with Dimka to the unheavy girls! There, having built them in a row, I pulled her out of the car and spent along the line, telling me, the more beautiful she was! I don’t know how it gave birth to my sober brain, but I was forgiven and the congratulations were accepted! Why we didn’t hit the guard is still a mystery. Dymon was crazy, he had enough courage to tell his father that we were driving my girlfriend to the fools on a tour!

And on the subject:
Under the crown of the banana
Castaneda fucking don Juan
It’s not a problem, but never since.
They did not interfere with Solomon.