Pasta 2. It'll be clipped a little. The pastes are often buhurt-style, this is the norm of the board.
Yesterday I ran into a classic, I would say, reference faggot, with whom I tried to talk about the maniacal desire of the ruling Russian regime, to tear the cronies off the ground, and push them into the shitty metropolises by any means, breaking, if necessary, on the knee ... This faggot told me a story about being born in Arkhangelsk fuck, in one of the villages there, rolling over time to a larger village, then to the district, from there to Arkhangelsk itself, then to some wilderness, and eventually caught on to Peter, investing all her money in a burrow in one of the people on the outskirts of the city, built by a specialist for such cases, and diving into a mortgage for the next 20 years, which turns out to be unspeakably happy.
Asked if she understands the faggot that the regime in this country has consciously created conditions on earth that are incompatible with life, so that people end up cutting down their roots, throwing the graves of their ancestors, selling property and fucking in the fucking metropolises for a ghostly better life, I got the answer - NO!!! That's not at all true!!! This animal is not at all why she fucked out of the fuck, but because she is a Healthy Adventurist!!! I mean, figure it out! Hey, lol! This scumbag really didn’t even understand with his chicken brain what the fuck was in the ghetto on the outskirts of St. Petersburg. Souuka, why not Miami, Hawaii, the Maldives, or at worst Kenya, you are such an avant-garde?!! What the fuck did you do, you faggot, choose this misery, Petersburg? It's such a fucking choice!!! What a fuckin' adventure!! It's just DOLBAEBISM...lan, I'm not really talking about that.
I look at this faggot and I can’t believe my ears. Wow! ... What a fuck! This is an avant-garde, what is it?! Moreover, smeared with mortgages and loans, the faggot is immensely happy, telling how she loves Peter madly, from where all decent people have already moved, turning him really into a dead place. It was amusing to look into the empty eyes of this faggot when I asked her to name the architect Isaac or the sculptor the Bronze Rider, which it might be logical for such a devoted admirer of the city to know, but the faggot merely meowed something about the trip to the Mariinsky, the tickets to which she was allocated by the union, as if I were asking her about it.
And I'll tell you straight. That faggot is genuinely happy. She really thinks she was born with a silver spoon in her mouth, and everyone in this world can only be jealous. She works 30 days a month for 12 hours, I'm not kidding, she has no family, no children, no friends, only loans and a mortgage, and that makes her immensely happy. And they're fucking here. They're good. They're comfortable. They seem genuinely happy... And those who hope that the people will wake up and blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah. It's not a mystery, it's an outright fuck about everything, including ourselves. This “mystery” was invented by the crustaceans to be tougher than those fucks, telling fables about their mystery, and at the same time about the mercilessness and stupidity of the Russian revolt. That's how we live. If you can call it life.