Book: Videoты, or The Chicks. Two years later. Page 3

Sometimes thoughts of blame, but I've been there where the "blame", nothing happened.

We, apparently, both the old disease. First sleep, then get to know the person closer.

In the struggle with yourself the main thing - not victory, and participation...

The moment when a woman allows you to observe his morning toilet, is mistaken by men for a high degree of trust and beginning of love. In reality, it just means that you have become yet another part of her personal use.

Now is the time I associate with the toilet of the fashionable club. Around marble, huge mirrors, expensive perfumes, clothes that will be fashionable tomorrow, the money that appeared from nowhere and disappeared into nowhere, deep conversations till the morning, the cycle of girls that come and go, the plumbing is bizarre. And you're sitting on a throne with his eyes closed, knowing that the style of the Arab Sheikh, the heir to an oil Empire or a fashion promoter, and it is unclear which is more important. In any case, the whole world is at your feet. But then the eyelids twitch involuntarily, you open your eyes and realize that sitting still in the toilet, and at the bottom, under you, all the same shit.

- Dasha, you look like my ex-wife.
- You were married? - In her eyes betrays anxiety.
- No, it was not. But to act could only my ex-wife!

I don't know how to answer correctly when you kill. I don't know whether to answer at all.

Even if your life resembles a madhouse - change profession, dude! Be happy - start again, to suck the life of the common man. Or don't complain, dammit!

Books are the two functions of social (indicate your highest spiritual development) and applied (they conveniently put the ashtray).

When watching this movie ("the Cruel romance"), all the while wondering, what the hell in life so happens that the person falls madly in love only to someone he is clearly not a couple? In fact, with whom, and so clear: a happy ending would not be?

"You okay with me?" - she asks the question, which for three thousand years postorgasmic heads the hit parade.

... apathy has peaked. No faith, no desire, no anger, no hatred, no desire even. It all became too tedious.

... and we always have pants over his head. Housewives become TV presenters, TV presenters - writers, writers - musicians, musicians, actors, actors - politicians, and migrant workers - masters of the land. Therefore, everywhere one big ass. And the roads are bad, and the sushi tasteless. And movie shit. Especially our...

Why do I such as? Well, because you could make me a good DJ, the bus driver (perhaps not), the owner of a small café in Paris and made an idiot...