Winnie who wrote this:

A day ago, my father was attacked by a wild dwarf, brought out all that was in the refrigerator, namely milk with salty cucumbers, an olive salad, soup of unknown origin, which stood there from unknown times, and a finite barrel, which I was going to give to the courtyard dogs, because of the inappropriate smell. By the end of the day, heating the ring of the toilet for the second hour, I hear the dissatisfaction of the father:"Bless, the straw was still not fresh...", as if everything else could be eaten unpunished:)

I have one question: what fucking toilet do you heat if your father eats the straw?