Singer: Sergei Minayev. Page 1

Here and so easily, two countersunk, three prihlopa, we can say, with jokes Yes humourous catchphrases, we are all deeply immersed in the information field of an atmosphere of fear and hatred...

The money - thing, not interested in a true aristocrat of the spirit...

Yeah. Master pen. Me what tile to put that person.

- Realizing that you are a busy man, Anton, I will try straight to the point.
Yeah, it's time.
- What are you, Arkady Yakovlevich, I'm not in a hurry! - I made izvinyayus face, sending a clear signal that an hour ago was supposed to be somewhere else.

Take, for example, me. Something I do not recall to me yesterday someone congratulated me. About the women with whom I spend leisure time, keep silent. Each thinks that my attitude is not serious, and therefore Valentine's Day to spend with me none of them are going. Especially to give "Valentine". I get vacation, holiday, entertainment is please. But the feast of Saint Valentine is past. However, I'm not particularly worried. <...> Especially considering that lately I often talked with two. Dasha, a secular journalist by profession and a prostitute by vocation, and Sveta, a prostitute by profession and by vocation. Im sure I am not shitting. Could send a card, by the way. But not sent.

For in the beginning was the word. And then came TV. This Scripture, if you remember.

In the court of the fourteenth of February, Valentine's Day, and joyful parties that it has not increased. I wonder where all these happy embracing couple walking in the city with red boxes in the hands or chest presses to red cards in the form of hearts? Where are they, I ask you? Home hug? To go shopping? Scribble each other "Valentine" via e-mail? Or stand in traffic jams as I do? Or maybe no one doesn't like? Maybe I'm right and all of us get sick from each other?

And politics is like genital herpes: catch once - and for life.

The money was. The money will be. But now there is no money.

You think you drink whiskey because you have the menu says that this whiskey, because the people at nearby tables enjoying whiskey. Although it is possible that we're not drinking whiskey, and stuff, after falling under the spell of advertising commercial brands of Chivas or Johnny Walker, who call their product whiskey. Advertising creates any images.

I hate the phrase "eat a little". As a rule, it say the people sitting on the shit, but desperately this state does not recognize. For example: "You often drunk" - they are usually the friend who becomes an inveterate drunkard.
A little bit.
- A car smashed? (Knowing that broke a write-off.)
A little bit.
That is an ass. You know it, and everyone knows it. There would have to recognize and accept. But you and your hypocritical "is a bit of" looking for a compromise with himself, while recognizing the existence of problems and at the same time lowering its level. Since childhood I have been taught that compromise is for losers. Even if the losers leave in a Bentley.

Two things can kill me in the morning: Wake the neighbors, stating that I filled in, and the song "My friend the artist and poet".

Days filled with die and fall of their own emptiness in the collective nothing flew faster than updated tape Facebook.

People for decades live in the "summer dump", and while the summer has not come, spend a hundred and twenty days abroad or lay low inner emigration, opening on this day "the shop of farm products", "metroline", "the institutes of physical planning", "bike paths" and other intellectual trinkets that maintain a collective game in Copenhagen within the Bottom. I mean, I wanted to say within the Garden ring.
In this way, the huge, archaic Russia. Looks cloudy, red sleepy eyes on the next generation "the best people", then gets up, shoes-dresses and goes to the plant. Russia, which first ripped to pieces by some drunken men in the Bialowieza forest, which then said that all of her troubles because she's too "paternalistic" and "sleepy," and she suffered meager remnants of your savings to profitable investments in MMM. Russia, which is in the queue at the temple, where the belt of the virgin, by the way said that she stood up.
And here it is, all so sleepy, between the temple and the subway station, and discusses the problems of housing, and then some vampires over the ear hoarsely whine that "further so to live". And these vampires don't just not have problems with housing, and don't even know what the acronym stands for. Russia, realizing this, turns away and quietly, through clenched teeth, hissed: "Here is a bitch!".
Because she knows that more can live. She lives with the knowledge that the worst may be naturally the day after tomorrow. And if she says that to delay the "day after tomorrow", you should immediately deal with internal enemies, it is the same sleepy comfort from the queue, roll up the "best people" in cycle lanes or chopped down on the meatballs.
And so they live, these two substances. Some in anxious anticipation of that "day after tomorrow", others in anxious anticipation of the summer. And these events do not occur and do not occur, and discussions are ongoing.