When the night is yet losing to the dawn of the morning, I love going out to the garden, standing there and just looking around. gloating on the day of birth, believing it would be a good day. Although common sense, as usual highly mundane, suggests:
It's 3:45. I'm standing on the terrace and listening to the nightingale. I'm mostly friends with scythes, but a nightingale in the morning can truly set your day.
After a while, spinning circles and eights above me began flying swallows. No... that's impossible. Of course! It's a bat. He was hunting insects right over my head, so I even thought if he thought I was any kind of grown-up beetle or a fly.
Just in case rapidly said our father and wellness care, due to the fact that the bat is – it is known – the devil's seed. And he's gone.
Order... Silence... No wind – as we say under sail – flout.
It's hard to stay in nirvana any longer, due to the fact that the brain says, "Okay, enough, and it's about to drop off a memory. Without the force of consciousness; just like that, random.
And the masts, sending Tusk back. I mean, I'd like him to disappear, but the sleazy 1 has a nest in our brains. All right.
Let's see what I thought about 8 years ago.
______________________
]]>Donald gets mad!]]>
Donald gets mad – as Paweł Graś said.
Some idiot at the coffeetime was playing with his boss' favourite laptop on his desk, and he left the net on the website in no way.
Donald, who tells him to talk to himself – the boss, as reported by the vengeful and malicious Flemishs in this Brussels, was already wq..ny from the very first morning, due to the fact that the 3rd bullet from the foosball players he had installed in the dressing area was missing. So he sent Grasia to buy 50 balls at the football store right away, but he came back with nothing due to the fact that the store opens at 11 o'clock.
In fact, I think you're the 1 who missed those balls in revenge, due to the fact that he painted football on Bayern Munich and Lechia Gdańsk with a tiny brush the erstwhile week. And then he had to play with the boss, of course, as Bayern and even more of course, lose to that sneakerser from Lechia.
And as he now saw the eggs with that slob Bronk, whom he personally put under the chandelier, is sucking a toe, feeding a donkey a carrot, a chair scandal, and a dump in Krakow; and those mend and mean comments of the net users—the half-wits he had already had on the fork with those ACTA, he got mad, as he usually did, so that the hair rust cut off like Van Gogh's, he flew around and yelled:
Fakju! Fakju! Fakfakfak!!!
Because he just had an En button on and he didn't want to lose his lesson. And those Bronkobuses!!! Tuskobuses was my individual idea! And I only had four, and that stupid 16! What a jerk!
Don hasn't had much fun in a week. precisely erstwhile Vladimir disappeared.
First, he wanted to send Kaszalot-Bula-Bronek immediately to fuck in Crimea, declared himself a Tsar and took over the full KGB/FSU archive, especially an annex with a secret description of a walk with Vlad on the pier in Sopot.
However, he rapidly reflected that it would not have been possible to take over the ABW+CBŚ+CBA+SW+ SKW, and the BOR, as a protection so that this time it would not be as easy to take over the palace as before. And with that Tsar, it's besides risky... For example, what would happen if Russian people accepted it suddenly????? No... Bredzisław in the Kremlin?! And all those nukes in his pocket? [do not correct!] The demolition of the Brick Universe!
Thoughts like lightning flew through his head at the time, so he lit a specially prepared Fuente Fuente OpusX cigar for him, about calming action (it's Belgium, damn it...) and as usual in specified situations he called Andella for advice. But this one, too, was uneasy and upset, due to the fact that Vlad and I had already finalized the reactivation in these trophie areas of Ukraine - this ungrateful bastard, the German Slavic ASRR, and here Schweine disappeared. He won't forgive it if the jerk is dead, cremated, burned and scattered over Earth from Sputnik. That's not how you do a woman. Especially a German woman. And after all that... Yuck, what a chaotic thing. That's what she was reasoning erstwhile that Donek Pierdonek, as he said to call himself fondly in moments of ecstasy, turns her guitar around. It's actually the full Philharmonic.
Now what? Football balls are gone (this is the worst), Vladimir can already burn in hell (Bohu seddle with a sopot wire), and then this small calf's gonna suck...
Horror and gomorrah.
I want to go to Warsaw!!!
(I Sopotu)
- Eeeela!!! Come here!!!!
_____________________
Those were the days. That's the kind of memory that calms down. Humor, mocking, tiny satire. Far from *** *** ***. There are no Wagner bastards on 1 side and no Weber superhumans on the other. Tough. The nation under stress is getting more and more stupid. Everyone's yelling at each other. Unless they're howling.
It was expected to be better...
