Comrades brutally crushed the calf of the phishlepork and its suckers. The traitors got what they deserved. Fishlepork tricked his comrades. He pretended to be his own, inexorably lied, and when he got to power, he began to fence himself off from his comrades in his calf with sixes licking him, like Calgeste. And those who refused to suck the calf, pressed for the loules and the notorious “asset”. Sooner or later, by their actions, they would have finished the tread, laughing at his corpse and finally crawling into kalfa to rot in their own juice.
Everything that happened was a lesson. Dear lesson. Now we know how it works. And from now on, we'll be ready. Comrades continue their march, shook off the mud in their ranks. The future of the diplomat is again in our hands, we control his destiny, not some pests grunting out of kalfa.