Dear friends! Please do not read this story, I wrote it in order to leave a memory of the text that the moderators deleted after the Troll's complaint. It is written in an ironic language that the English translator does not understand.
he story is a lie, but there is a hint in it. If someone recognized themselves, it's not my fault.
The blue-voiced girl who scared two floors of the maternity hospital in the middle of the night was born back in 1958. The bald little monkey-like baby was named Witold, a name that the girl's father liked very much after he visited Germany. The parent of a newborn, he cursed the midwife, is also a name God forbid anyone – Galin, Galin the Paramonovich Cardinaletti.
Witold's childhood was a nightmare. Father Galin, who once fought in the war as a sniper, sat on a wooden horse on wheels, put his daughter against the wall and shouted "go, fight the enemy!» I used a slingshot to shoot at her with chewed-up pieces of newspaper. Then the sniper, snugly ensconced in the kitchen, carefully drove sewing needles under the nails of the girl's mother and extracted military secrets.
My mother pricked where she hid the stash, happy dad went to the address, then all night drinking and singing to the whole house a song that had the words "and instead of a heart, a flaming engine".
That the parent did not have a human heart, Witold realized at the age of five, when she was put in a corner with her bare knees on peas, and also realized that the heart is only needed to pump blood.
Having survived childhood without serious injuries, the younger Kardebaletskaya grew to one hundred and fifty-seven centimeters, after eight classes she entered vocational school and at the end of it began working as a seller of vegetables in the market. And once, having cursed a hesitant customer in a hat and tie with a three-story obscenity, she married him, gave birth to three children, but realized that a stale frigid husband did not suit her and gave him a turn away. Then she grew up again (to one hundred and sixty), and again went to the registry office. And where there is a new faithful, there are new children, and seven more were born, because Witold loved sex and the story of the seven goats.
Every night Witold moaned under the indefatigable husband, but not for long the music played, he suddenly died on it. Then she looked around.
Ten children – this is a terrible horror, they kept asking for food and shouting "Mo-Tanya, Mo-Tanya"! Why Mo-Tanya, because the blond Witolda had a mangy mouse tail swinging back and forth, smeared with rancid sunflower oil. The neighbors looked at Motanya and held their noses, and Motani-Witolda smelled bad.
"She's crazy," the neighbors grumbled.
Hearing this for the first time, Witold searched the dictionary of thieves ' jargon and found out that on the fen roan means repeatedly serving a sentence or a buyer of stolen goods, but was not upset, because she loved extreme sports.
But with extreme Motana was not lucky, so in the hope of it, she left the market and became a postwoman. She carried letters home and served sex-crazed clients at the same time.
And once one of the lovers, the great-great-grandson of SS sturmbannfuhrer Georg Drychler, who had made his way to their city under the name of Vasily Krivdin, after another session of passion introduced Motanya to a black box standing on a table in the corner of the room. It turned out to be a computer and it can work wonders. Forgetting about the hungry mouths of spinogryzov, Witold begged for a box instead of paying for the work of the righteous, and at home, locked in the toilet, holding her breath, went online. As luck would have it, she came across a literary site, and she decided to take up creative work in between sexual side jobs, so she opened a hundred pages on various portals, gave each of them a name, invented an image, and stuck her butt to the chair.
From time to time, as a respite, Witold got naked, went to the mirror, took selfies and posted them on Dating sites. It was necessary to look for a new breadwinner, and Dryhler-Krivdin refused to marry, saying that he had four mouths in his homeland.
"We're hungry!" We want to go to the toilet! ten of motani's children screamed as She occupied the toilet with the gadget in her arms.
But Motanya Galinovna did not pay attention to the gluttons, she was inspired to steal other people's poems, put curses in them and spread them out as her own.
For example:
I serve as best I can... And I don't hide behind my back...(with)
I'm numb from the truth and with all the dogs (Motan)
If I stumble, I will correct my mistakes (with)
I will never repent, but I will put a bandwagon (Motan)
And for support, I took the local poetess Lyzhyana Bicyclova as a friend, caressed her, called her a berry-raspberry, saying that I will provide you with protection from parodists, and you will become my faithful companion. The Monkey was happy, somnolent, ran to Motana with hugs, and decided that they would lead the liberals out together. Even poems about how they will rip open the bellies of Russophobes, composed.
Praised Witold poems, behind the figure of three fingers erected, but said nothing that she litportal especially the secret page there, and on this she just decided zealous patriots alone to wet and stacked in the pantry, that is in the file in a private office lay below silent graves crosses to put
On the secret page of Motan-an avid liberal Cardebaletskaya, who openly hates Russia, and therefore tied up political journalism to write, there is a lot of material in the Internet, lick, rearrange the words in places and everything in the openwork, no one will suspect plagiarism. Issues "on the mountain" Karabanitsky a couple of texts every day and enjoy its vibrant activity.
Motanya became a star, bloggers and trusting citizens began to visit her frequently, and evil spirits became interested in Her. Day portals in the hustles plays, scandals, scandals. Hiding behind a passionate love for Putin, patriots presses, at night with Satan himself in contact, who, lying sideways, whispers in her ear how to turn believers away from God.
"The more you threaten him with punishments," the horned one teaches Motan, " the less they will love Him. Someone a stake in your ass promise, someone threatened that God hates sinners, well, not for me to teach you, the very savvy, vocational school behind. Teach the suckers that you are the honor, conscience and truth of the Lord in one person and that they do not put their mouths in the sockets. The more absurd your words will be, the more fools will believe in them and will follow you to me in single file, and I will put them in the frying pan, where I have devils waiting for waiting lists to be born."
But one evening, when a contented postwoman, arms outstretched, was posing against a backdrop of photo Wallpaper with birches, a brutal masked man dressed in a Cape and tights flew through the open window, drove Satan away, hypnotized the model and grabbed her by the dangling tail.
"I am the avenger," he said. - For slander, persecution and rudeness, the higher forces have come up with a torture for you, Motanya Kardebaletskaya, - the man tightened his slippery tail, turned on the computer and forced the unfortunate to read unreadable in her opinion stories by the authors of litportals, whom she, remembering the father-sniper spitting at her with Newspapers, poisoned in all permitted and illegal ways.
"Now write good reviews," the torturer ordered when Witold had finished reading. "Quick!
And Motanya, sniffing pimply nose, obeyed his order, only it turned out something like "horror-terrible" or "shit sucks".
"Don't cry, – the man said. "Remember the commandments of Christ.
"The Commandments Of Christ?" – outraged Matana Galinova, - Il what wanted! Dad-a sniper on his deathbed, I was punished by shooting unwanted people!
"Is there something in the left side of your chest?" the avenger turned Witold's red, puffy face to the light and stared at her blue, watery eyes with a puzzled expression.
"I was born to make lies come true," the postman suddenly wailed, -
Multiply the mass of slander and quarrels.
The squadron is in Witold's head,
And instead of a heart, a flaming motor!
Then she broke free of the man's arms and jumped out the window into the hands of the devil standing there.
And so it goes now Matana Galinova with Satan under the handle on other people's pages, writes nasty and sweaty palms rubbing
Has she come to see you yet?"