- Look! - Pantagruel exclaimed. - Here are a few pieces that have not yet thawed.

And he threw onto the deck a whole handful of frozen words, like jelly beans, shimmering in different colors. There were red, green, azure and gold. In our hands they warmed up and melted like snow, and then we really heard them, but did not understand them, since it was some kind of barbaric language...

Francois Rabelais. "Gargantua and Pantagruel"

There are more idols in the world than real things; this is my “evil look” at the world, my “evil ear”...

Friedrich Nietzsche. "Twilight of the Idols, or How They Philosophize with a Hammer"

Hello, mon petit.

My heavy boy, gentle bastard, divine and vile top direct. Remembering you is a hell of a thing, rips laowai, this hard V literally words.

And dangerous: for dreams, for L-harmony, for protoplasm, for skandha, for my V-2.

Back in Sydney, when I got into traffic, I started recall. Your ribs, glowing through your skin, yours birthmark“monk”, your tasteless tatoo-pro, your gray hair, your secret Jingji, your dirty whisper: kiss me in the STARS.

This is not a memory. This is my temporary, curdled brain-yueshi plus your purulent minus-posit.

This is the old blood that splashes within me. My muddy Hei Long Jiang, on whose muddy shore you shit and urinate.

Yes. Despite the innate Stolz 6, your FRIEND is having a hard time without you. Without elbows, gaovans, rings. Without the final scream and hare squeak:

wow ni!

Rips, I'll dry you off. Some day? OK. Top direct.

Writing letters nowadays is a scary task. But you are familiar with the conditions. All means of communication are prohibited here except pigeon mail. Packages in green W-paper flash. They are sealed sealing wax. Good word, rips nimada?

AEROSANI - also not bad. They chewed me on them for six hours from Achinsk. That diesel roared like your clone fighter. We rushed along Very white snow .

“East-Siberia is big,” as Fan Mo says.

And here everything is the same as in the 5th or 20th century. Eastern Siberians speak old Russian with an admixture of Chinese, but they prefer to be silent or laugh. There are many Yakuts. We left Achinsk at dawn. The snowmobile was driven by a silent “white badge,” but the Yakut navigator in the midshipman’s uniform laughed all the way, like our magician Lao. A typical representative of his cheerful, L-harmonious people. The Yakuts here prefer soft teeth, dress in Chinese-made viviparous tissue and actively try multisex: 3 plus Carolina, STAROSEX and ESSENSEX.

Rips-rips, way- shepherd!

In six hours from this kuaihuozhen, I learned that:

1. Favorite dish Yakuts - venison in crow juice (juice is squeezed out of a live medium-sized crow, into which they put deer tenderloin, a little sea salt, reindeer moss, and everything is stewed in a cauldron until plus-direct. Shall we try it in 7 months?).

2. The favorite sex position of the Yakuts is on four points of support.

3. Favorite sensory film – “Dream in the Red Chamber” (with Fei Ta, do you remember her purple robe and smell, when she comes in with a snail on her hand and a bunch of wet water lilies?).

4. Favorite joke (as old as permafrost): arrangement of a toilet in Yakutia. Two sticks - one frozen , to pick out the anus, the other - to fight off wolves. Top direct humor. A?

Although, when I got out of the seat after six o’clock, I was not laughing.

PROSTATE. Purple outline in the eyes. Minus-positive. Bad-kan ser-po. Cheesy mood.

Only you will understand me, ugly Liangmianpai.

The place of my seven-month stay is very strange. GENLABI-18 is hidden between two huge hills resembling buttocks.

There's a hint in everything, rips nimada taben.

The hills are covered with light forest: larches, fir trees. I was met by the colonel - a square, L-insane macho with a dull look and a direct question: HOW DID YOU GET THERE? I answered honestly: minus-robo. This pen tan sha gua was disappointed. When we went down to the bunker, I completely lost my sense of time: GENLABI-18 is located in the former air defense command post. Deep placement. Reinforced concrete from the Soviet era. Half a century ago, buttons were pressed here during the day and Soviet rocket scientists masturbated at night.

Happy: at least they had objects of masturbation - TV and CD.

There isn't even a sensor radio here. Verbotten: entire medial plus hemein. All equipment is based on third generation superconductors. Which? Yes. They do not leave S-trash in magnetic fields.

Accordingly, they are not fixed by anything.

Well, the temperature in the control room is –28 °C. Not bad, rips laowai? They work there costume designers.

It’s fortunate that I’m not an operator or a geneticist. Plus-plus-happiness that my suitcase with “Chzhud-shi” arrived, and therefore with my L-harmony.

I hope everything will be Ling Ren Manyi Di, and during these seven months I will not turn into an albino mole with pink prostate.

And so, my gentle bastard, the countdown began. 7 months in the company. 32 “white tokens”, 1 colonel, 3 lieutenant operator, 4 geneticist, 2 medics, 1 thermodynamicist. Plus the little-known logostimulant. And this is all within 600 miles.

This is our dahuy, as they say behind the Great Wall of China.

Weather: –12 °C, wind from the left hill. Some white birds on the larch. Hazel grouse? Are there white hazel grouse, piglet? A propos, you are completely indifferent to Nature. Which is basically wrong. And minus is active.

Wish me not to curdle here from melancholy, obo-robo and frost.

Tonight - cauterization the old way plus lizard fat da-byid. The butter has arrived, thank the Cosmos. “Five good ones” are also intact. I remembered: “Thirst, copulation, insomnia, walking, sitting, worrying - everything that can cause urine disturbance is prohibited.” It’s a pity, there won’t be anyone to hold the jug at night.

Let's see what they eat here. Bear’s hug, my narrow-hipped Hankun Muden. I kiss you in the STARS.

Ning hao, dry moth.

The rotten days of Forbereiten are over. Tired of begging and commanding. Despite the fact that almost all “white tokens” are superconscripts, they have protein pulp for incubation instead of a brain.

Yesterday at dawn a mountain of equipment arrived. Thank the Cosmos, my part ended up not in the hardware room, but in B-hydroponics. There will be no need to change clothes and sweat. In general, it all begins, rips nimada. Your warm Boris has settled down well in this concrete zhi-chan. My cabin at the second end. So the groan of the biogreenhouses is not heard. This is a minus-direct sound that has always irritated me in everyone business trips.

I met everyone. Genetics: Bochvar is a red-cheeked, talkative hare with a dozen Marmolon plates around his lips, Witte is a gray German, Marta Karpenkoff is a corpulent lady with the past of a TEO-Amazon, loves: clone horses, old-gero-techno, aeroslalom and conversations about M-balance. Fan Fei is a cheerful Shanghainese your age. Speaks old and new Russian brilliantly. It can be seen that the large zhuanmenjia in gening walks well (gait L-harmony coefficient is more than 60 units on the Schneider scale). They talked to him about the dominance of Chinese blockbusters. He doesn't care about Tudin, of course.

Doctors: Andrey Romanovich, Natalya Bok. White clone rats from stinking GENMEO. Communicating with them is difficult ground meat. But thermodynamicist Aguidor Khariton is a handsome plus-direct Shaonian. He is a descendant of academician Khariton, who made the H-bomb for Stalin. It was not the thirst for money (like yours) that brought him into our concrete anus soft friend), and SEX-BENGHUI: he, a solid multisexer with experience, parted with his two tender pistons and, out of grief, asked for business trip.

Who's in this hole will charge his doublet? Not long-term conscripts, rips laowai. He likes: fifth-generation semi-sports flyers, the Himalayas, older male mathematicians, cherry cigars and chess. We'll play in the evening.

Vladimir Sorokin

Blue lard

- Look! - Pantagruel exclaimed. - Here are a few pieces that have not yet thawed.

Francois Rabelais. "Gargantua and Pantagruel"

There are more idols in the world than real things; this is my “evil look” at the world, my “evil ear”...

Friedrich Nietzsche. "Twilight of the Idols, or How Philosophize with a Hammer"

Hello, mon petit.

My heavy boy, gentle bastard, divine and vile top direct. Remembering you is a hell of a thing, rips laowai, it’s hard in the literal sense of the word.

And dangerous: for dreams, for L-harmony, for protoplasm, for skandha, for my V-2.

Back in Sydney, when I sat in traffic, I began to remember. Your ribs glowing through your skin, your “monk” birthmark, your tacky tatoo-pro, your gray hair, your secret jingji, your dirty whisper: kiss me in the STARS.

This is not a memory. This is my temporary, curdled brain-yueshi plus your purulent minus-posit.

This is the old blood that splashes within me. My muddy Hei Long Jiang, on whose muddy shore you shit and urinate.

Yes. Despite the innate Stolz 6, your FRIEND is having a hard time without you. Without elbows, gaovans, rings. Without the final scream and hare squeak:

Rips, I'll dry you off. Some day? OK. Top direct.

AEROSANI - also not bad. They chewed me on them for six hours from Achinsk. That diesel roared like your clone fighter. We were rushing through very white snow.

“East-Siberia is big,” as Fan Mo says.

Rips-rips, traveler!

In six hours from this kuaihuozhen, I learned that:

1. The favorite dish of the Yakuts is venison in crow juice (juice is squeezed out of a medium-sized live crow, into which they put deer tenderloin, a little sea salt, reindeer moss, and everything is stewed in a cauldron until plus-direct. Shall we try it in 7 months?).

2. The favorite sex position of the Yakuts is on four points of support.

3. Favorite sensory film – “Dream in the Red Chamber” (with Faye Ta, remember her purple robe and the smell when she comes in with a snail on her hand and a heap of wet water lilies?).

4. Favorite joke (as old as permafrost): arrangement of a toilet in Yakutia. Two sticks - one frozen , to pick out the anus, the other - to fight off wolves. Top direct humor. A?

Although, when I got out of the seat after six o’clock, I was not laughing.

PROSTATE. Purple outline in the eyes. Minus-positive. Bad-kan ser-po. Cheesy mood.

Only you will understand me, ugly Liangmianpai.

The place of my seven-month stay is very strange. GENLABI-18 is hidden between two huge hills resembling buttocks.

There's a hint in everything, rips nimada taben.

Happy: at least they had objects of masturbation - TV and CD.

There isn't even a sensor radio here. Verbotten: entire medial plus hemein. All equipment is based on third generation superconductors. Which? Yes. They do not leave S-trash in magnetic fields.

Accordingly, they are not fixed by anything.

Well, the temperature in the control room is –28 °C. Not bad, rips laowai? They work there as costume designers.

It’s fortunate that I’m not an operator or a geneticist. Plus-plus-happiness that my suitcase with “Chzhud-shi” arrived, and therefore with my L-harmony.

I hope everything will be Ling Ren Manyi Di, and during these seven months I will not turn into an albino mole with a pink prostate.

This is our dahuy, as they say behind the Great Wall of China.

Wish me not to curdle here from melancholy, obo-robo and frost.

Tonight - cauterization as usual plus lizard fat da-byid. The butter has arrived, thank the Cosmos. “Five good ones” are also intact. I remembered: “Thirst, copulation, insomnia, walking, sitting, worrying - everything that can cause urine disturbance is prohibited.” It’s a pity, there won’t be anyone to hold the jug at night.

Let's see what they eat here. Bear’s hug, my narrow-hipped Hankun Muden. I kiss you in the STARS.

Ning hao, dry moth.

Yesterday at dawn a mountain of equipment arrived. Thank the Cosmos, my part ended up not in the hardware room, but in B-hydroponics. There will be no need to change clothes and sweat. In general, it all begins, rips nimada. Your warm Boris has settled down well in this concrete zhi-chan. My cabin is at the second end. So the groan of the biogreenhouses is not heard. This is a minus-direct sound that always irritated me on all my business trips.

Doctors: Andrey Romanovich, Natalya Bok. White clone rats from stinking GENMEO. Communicating with them is hard stuff. But thermodynamicist Aguidor Khariton is a handsome plus-direct Shaonian. He is a descendant of academician Khariton, who made the H-bomb for Stalin. It was not the thirst for money that brought him into our concrete anus (like your soft friend), but SEX-BENGHUI: he, a solid multisexer with

roman

Vladimir Sorokin
Blue lard

- Look! - Pantagruel exclaimed. - Here are a few pieces that have not yet thawed.
And he threw onto the deck a whole handful of frozen words, like jelly beans, shimmering in different colors. There were red, green, azure and gold. In our hands they warmed up and melted like snow, and then we really heard them, but did not understand, since it was some kind of barbaric language...
Francois Rabelais
"Gargantua and Pantagruel"

There are more idols in the world than real things; this is my “evil look” at the world, my “evil ear”...
Friedrich Nietzsche
"Twilight of the Idols, or how one philosophizes with a hammer"

January 2.

Hello, mon petit.

My heavy boy, gentle bastard, divine and vile top direct. Remembering you is a hell of a thing, rips laowai, this hard in the literal sense of the word.

And dangerous: for dreams, for L-harmony, for protoplasm, for skandha, for my V 2.

Back in Sydney, when I got into traffic, I started recall. Your ribs glowing through your skin, your monk birthmark, your tacky tatoo-pro, your gray hair, your secret jingji, your dirty whisper; kiss me in the STARS.

This is not a memory. This is my temporary, curdled brain-yuesh, plus your purulent minus-posit.

This is the old blood that splashes within me. My muddy Hei Long Jiang, on whose muddy shore you shit and urinate.

Yes. Despite the innate Stolz 6, your FRIEND is having a hard time without you. Without elbows, gaovans, rings. Without the final scream and hare squeak:

Rips, I'll dry you off. Some day? OK. Top direct.

AEROSANI - also not bad, I was chewed on them for six hours from Achinsk. That diesel roared like your clone fighter. We rushed along very white snow .

“East-Siberia is big,” as Fan Mo says.

And here everything is the same as in the 5th or 20th century. Eastern Siberians speak old Russian with an admixture of Chinese, but they prefer to be silent or laugh. There are many Yakuts. We left Achinsk at dawn. The snowmobile was driven by a silent “white badge”, but the Yakut navigator in the midshipman’s uniform laughed all the way, like our magician Lao. A typical representative of his cheerful, L-harmonious people. The Yakuts here prefer soft teeth, dress in Chinese-made viviparous tissue and actively try multisex: 3 plus Carolina, STAROSEX and ESSENSEX.

Rips-rips, way– shepherd!

In six hours from this kuaihuozhen, I learned that:

2. The favorite sex position of the Yakuts is on four points of support.

3. Favorite sensory film – “Dream in the Red Chamber” (with Fei Ta, remember her purple robe and smell, when she comes in with a snail on her hand and a bunch of wet water lilies?).

4. Favorite joke (as old as permafrost): arrangement of a toilet in Yakutia. Two sticks - one frozen , to pick out the anus, the other - to fight off wolves. Top direct humor. A?

Although, when I got out of the seat after six o’clock, I was not laughing.

PROSTATE. Purple outline in the eyes. Minus-positive. Bad-kan ser-po. Cheesy mood.

Only you will understand me, ugly Liangmianpai.

The place of my seven-month stay is very strange. GENLABI-18 is hidden between two huge hills resembling buttocks.

There's a hint in everything, rips nimada ta ben.

Happy: at least they had objects of masturbation - TV and CD.

There isn't even a sensor radio here. Verbotten: entire medial plus hemein. All equipment is based on third generation superconductors. Which? Yes. They do not leave S-trash in magnetic fields.

Accordingly, they are not fixed by anything,

Well, the temperature in the control room is –28°C. Not bad, rips laowai? They work there costume designers .

It’s fortunate that I’m not an operator or a geneticist. Plus-plus-happiness that my suitcase with “Zhud-shi” arrived, and therefore with my L-harmony.

I hope everything will be Ling Ren Manyi Di, and during these seven months I will not turn into an albino mole with pink prostate.

And so, my gentle bastard, the countdown began. 7 months in the company. 32 “white tokens”, 1 colonel, 3 lieutenant operators, 4 geneticists, 2 medics, 1 thermodynamicist. Plus the little-known logostimulant. And this is 600 versts away.

This is our dahuy, as they say behind the Great Wall of China.

Weather: –12°C, wind from the left hill. Some white birds on the larch. Hazel grouse? Are there white hazel grouse, piglet? A propos, you are completely indifferent to Nature. Which is basically wrong. And minus is active.

Wish me not to curdle here from melancholy, obo-robo and frost.

Publishing house CORPUS ®

* * *

- Look! - Pantagruel exclaimed. - Here are a few pieces that have not yet thawed.

And he threw onto the deck a whole handful of frozen words, like jelly beans, shimmering in different colors. There were red, green, azure and gold. In our hands they warmed up and melted like snow, and then we really heard them, but did not understand them, since it was some kind of barbaric language...

Francois Rabelais.

Gargantua and Pantagruel

There are more idols in the world than real things; this is my “evil look” at the world, my “evil ear”...

Friedrich Nietzsche.

Twilight of Idols, or How One Philosophizes with a Hammer

Hello, mon petit.

My heavy boy, gentle bastard, divine and vile top direct. Remembering you is a hell of a thing, rips laowai, this hard in the literal sense of the word.

And dangerous: for dreams, for L-harmony, for protoplasm, for skandha, for my V-2.

Back in Sydney, when I got into traffic, I started recall. Your ribs glowing through your skin, your “monk” birthmark, your tacky tatoo-pro, your gray hair, your secret Jingji, your dirty whisper: kiss me in the STARS.

This is not a memory. This is my temporary, curdled brain-yueshi plus your purulent minus-posit.

This is the old blood that splashes within me. My muddy Hei Long Jiang, on whose muddy shore you shit and urinate.

Yes. Despite the innate Stolz 6, your FRIEND is having a hard time without you. Without elbows, gaovans, rings. Without the final scream and hare squeak:

wow ni!

Rips, I'll dry you off. Some day? OK. Top direct.

AEROSANI - also not bad. They chewed me on them for six hours from Achinsk. That diesel roared like your clone fighter. We rushed along very white snow.

“East-Siberia is big,” as Fan Mo says.

A typical representative of his cheerful, L-harmonious people. The Yakuts here prefer soft teeth, dress in Chinese-made viviparous tissue and actively try multisex: 3 plus Carolina, STAROSEX and ESSENSEX.

Rips-rips, way- shepherd!

In six hours from this kuaihuozhen, I learned that:

2. The favorite sex position of the Yakuts is on four points of support.

3. Favorite sensory film – “Dream in the Red Chamber” (with Fei Ta, do you remember her purple robe and smell, when she comes in with a snail on her hand and a bunch of wet water lilies?).

4. Favorite joke (as old as permafrost): arrangement of a toilet in Yakutia. Two sticks - one frozen... to pick out from the anus, the other - to fight off wolves. Top direct humor. A?

Although, when I got out of the seat after six o’clock, I was not laughing.

PROSTATE. Purple outline in the eyes. Minus-positive. Bad-kan ser-po. Cheesy mood.

Only you will understand me, ugly Liangmianpai.

The place of my seven-month stay is very strange. GENLABI-18 is hidden between two huge hills resembling buttocks.

There's a hint in everything, rips nimada taben.

Happy: at least they had objects of masturbation - TV and CD.

There isn't even a sensor radio here. Verbotten: entire medial plus hemein. All equipment is based on third generation superconductors. Which? Yes. They do not leave S-trash in magnetic fields.

Accordingly, they are not fixed by anything.

Well, the temperature in the control room is –28 °C. Not bad, rips laowai? They work there costume designers.

It’s fortunate that I’m not an operator or a geneticist. Plus-plus-happiness that my suitcase with “Chzhud-shi” arrived, and therefore with my L-harmony.

I hope everything will be Ling Ren Manyi Di, and during these seven months I will not turn into an albino mole with pink prostate.

This is our dahuy, as they say behind the Great Wall of China.

Weather: – 12 °C, wind from the left hill. Some white birds on the larch. Hazel grouse? Are there white hazel grouse, piglet? ? propos, you are completely indifferent to Nature. Which is basically wrong. And minus is active.

Wish me not to curdle here from melancholy, obo-robo and frost.

Let's see what they eat here. Bear’s hug, my narrow-hipped Hankun Muden. I kiss you in the STARS.

Ning hao, dry moth.

All military personnel, including operators, are completely uninteresting. Veiny amplifiers. They use old Rusmat, which I can’t stomach even with northern sauce.

About Mr. Colonel – inf. by default, as my friend joked. dad.

Is this all shanshuihua - you ask? And I'll nod, rips nimada.

So we waited with you, kid in Apple pie order. You kept scaring me: “Von meinem BOBO muss ich scheiden.”

How are you tender It will be easier for the bastard to survive this. It is enough for any well-washed hand to touch your fins - top direct, huaidan, plus-posit, xiaotou! The hand of the giving van will not become scarce, and your pearlescent Proteus sperm will not thicken.

Unfortunately, I am wired differently and my LM is not inclined towards proteism.

I am whole.

And I'm proud of it, rips.

Therefore, as then in Barcelona, I will preserve your zhongshi by shifting the M-balance and preserving my divine L-harmony. I’m sure “Chzhud-shi” will help by Kosmos blessing.

Pray for me in Russian. ? propos – “Chzhud-shi” lies in front of me, revealed in your unloved chapter 18.

NIRUHA, WHICH IS ONE OF THE FIVE PURPOSE:

“When a piece of a weapon is stuck in the lower part of the body, stool dries, glang thubs, heat of the lower body, urinary retention, bloating, worms, fresh and old rims.”

A fragment of yours juicy weapons, bastard, stuck in my Heart chakra. And there is nothing about this disease even in “Chzhud-shi”. And don’t laugh, chunren, at “Recognizing diseases by the speculum of urine.” I am older and smarter than you and I will repeat to you 77 times: your favorite Bloodletting is not a panacea for all diseases.

Remember the great Vernadsky: L-harmony is not related to purity of blood. Your quasi-meditations with Ivan and subsequent joint bloodletting are complete husho badao.

Minus directive of this savage– two plus-our-plus-directives. I am not afraid of your Tibetan bloodletting knife in the shape of a swallow's tail, but I feel sorry for your young blood, which flows into the ground for no reason. It would be better for my lips to suck her.

And in general – enough about the physical. It is our age difference that creaks in my biophilological joints.

You are happy - you have 12 years left. How much is this, rips nimada!

I write without envy.

In three years of our scams have you noticed that, despite purulent character, I retained the childish ability to sincerely rejoice for the people close to me.

And closer to you, Shagua, I only have my pale body with a permanently burning prostate.

But enough about beicandi. It's time for something pleasant: food provisioning is top direct here. That is, simply - no big deal. And a very laconic cook, not a garrison one, although in the uniform of a sergeant.

Rate, my little leech, MENU for today:

Fr?hst?ck

Maple sap

Porridge kelp

Sheep oil

Oat bread

Green tea

Rye croutons with goat brain

Meadow herb salad

Chicken press broth

Nutria fillet with young bamboo

Blackberry blub

meal

Wang tan soup

Cheesecake with pashen

Compline

Birch pulp with hominy

Sbiten ginger

Spring water

The L-harmony coefficient of such a menu is 52–58 units on the Gerashchenko scale. Not bad, right? And yesterday at lunch they served clone turkey with red ants, which gave me an attack purple nostalgia.

Do you remember the banquet at the ASIA center on the occasion of the split-falsification of the spring plus-incom macro by HETAO?

You were then in a negative direction because of this lao bai xing Zlotnikoff, so you probably don’t remember anything except his platinum hair and the fat hands with which he squeezed you near the obelisk.

And I'm in that rotten the evening was entirely devoted to gastronomy.

It is common knowledge that the cooks in HETAO are not paper tigers or girls who paint Zi Dingxianghua flowers with buffalo horns on the surface of Lake Zhang.

After the verbal introduction and distribution of boxes, when the incomparable Miao Ma rode out on a one and a half ton blue clone turtle and began to sing “Grey-haired Girl,” I froze and curdled: again the Chinese, rips laowai, there’s no getting away from it now.

I imagined: now 38 young men will open the sandalwood gates, the master of ceremonies will knock with a silver staff, and the totalitarian power of Chinese cuisine will fall on us.

At KHETAO it was huge, but here it is more modest - about seventy kilos.

That evening I tore white meat and cheerfully crunched on ants, pouring out his M-jealousy with “Mytishchi 2222” (500 new yuan a bottle).

You know, when it comes to white wines, I prefer old wines from the Moscow region, and red wines – you can’t take a sip without Albanian wines. But then I didn't drink red from the L-principle.

When you left with Zlotnikoff in the elevator to make him a small tip-tirip in the pressure chamber, dessert was served. It was a huge round cake - a detailed model of the Moon, which HETAO large views(they have already bought the building of the destroyed Hilton in the Sea of Peace from the Brazilians). The cake hovered above the vibration plate, the music of which had an exciting effect on me.

One of the first ones I stuck a knife into the cake, cut out a huge piece, took a double “Albogast”, then “Katya Bobrinskaya” vodka, then “Seven Colors of the Rainbow” puff liqueur, then again “Albogast”, “Napoleon O. X.”, “Myer's Planters Punch” ”, “Uncle Vanya”, “Cusam samroju”, and it all ended, remember how.

I will not apologize to you or Zlotnikoff even on my deathbed. This fundamentally, my flexible swordsman.

And the sow Zlotnikoff will forever remember my tapel-tapel.

Time to stop the T-vibes and ditch the ice cream hedgehog from my narrow bed.

Clone pigeon mail is an amazing invention of our military, I’ll tell you. The clone dovecote is in charge of Corporal Nedelin. She locks herself on a steel door. And there is a reason for this, rips. The creatures that bow-legged Nedelin raises do not at all resemble Picasso’s innocent dove, whose hologram hovers in front of the entrance. They are the size of an eagle and their yellow eyes glow in the dark. The horny beak can easily break the skull of an efr. Week. The creatures grow like mushrooms, Nedelin feeds them press rats and XL protein. They are frost-resistant, unpretentious and long-range.

And they never sleep.

If such a bastard collides with a real pigeon in the air, he will tear it apart in mid-flight, swallow it and fly on.

Nedelin releases up to 6 clone pigeons per day: military plus privat mail.

There is no secrecy - my letters will reach you when the project is completed and the bunker is liquidated. Maybe I'll hug you before you get them, slender van? And we will intertwine like white octopuses, outrunning clone pigeons?

And then, when they arrive, you will print out and read these letters, and I, lying behind your tattooed back, will throw pistachio husks at it and guess from your snotty grunt which part you are reading.

It would be nice if that were the case, rips.

After lunch I walked between the hills and smoked. – 14 °C. Gray sky, cloudy sun.

Out: Efr. Nedelin (let the doves go) and Marta Karpenkoff (watch them fly).

The creatures are reluctant to leave their steel cages. Nedelin pulls them out with tongs and throws them into the sky. They open their sinewy wings and fly to Abakan.

Karpenkoff follows them with the pointed gaze of the ex-Amazon. Nedelin rattles the empty cages and blows his nose into the snow.

They'll bring it the day after tomorrow objects.

I have everything ready except provocations.

I'll have to hang out in the jet room. Biophilology is a fashionable but painstaking science. Really, dolphin? I press you.

And yet you are a huaidan, nimada.

I'm trying to forget your sticky piggishness with Cyrus and Daisy and I can't. Even here, in this frozen O.

Now I understand why you asked for forgiveness for so long, begged not to punish you through BORO-IN-OUT.

Not because you are rapid by birth, half a ruble by L-harmony and sugar pig by karma.

With your tears, bows and kissing the table, you plasticine a more serious sin. More sweaty connection.

Kir is a simple Shagua, without a hint of L-harmony, who stuck his thin Zuankong into the fashionable GERO-KUNST. Daisy is Lao Bai Xing, who came from Pskov to St. Petersburg ART-Mei Chuan. She is unable to support basic tanhua and, like Rebecca from your favorite TV series, can only repeat the end of her interlocutor’s sentence, covering her stupidity with hebephrenic laughter.

Cyrus holds her for what she gives him between muscles, even Popoff knows this.

You became snotty relationship with this misalliance and minus-positive couple because of my false W-ambitions, and I, a naive noble van, did not guess For what.

You needed pathetic Kir and Daisy as a paper screen behind which you surrendered to the lead straight guy with Natasha.

With this vile minus-active scolopendra. She entwined you with her pale veined legs, whispering: in ah ni and you ripped it open dried out with your pestle. You did THIS naturally like grandfathers and fathers.

And you were proud of your M-courage, narrow bastard: “I try natural!”

Fake abomination worthy of skunkers and diggers.

Babydi xiaotou, kechidi liangmianpai, chowdi xiaozhu, kebidi huaidan, rips nimada taben!

And that's all I'll growl

in Your gilded ear,

sticky bastard.

Ning hao, my darling.

Today is wonderful weather and a lot of events.

First: my prostate is on time calmed down. After 16 cauterizations, niruha and rubbing of lizard fat, yes-byid.

Second: no one writes to our colonel. Joke.

They don't write to anyone here. TS 332. Letters fly only one way.

Third: they brought objects.

It's worthy detailed description. I was sitting in the jet room, scanning yesterday's crops. A loud Bochvar entered: THEY COME!

We got dressed and climbed out. All our white concrete was already sticking out there garrison.

Rounding the left hill, the antediluvian snowmobile was dragging a white living xiaoche, which were used by the Chinese during the Three Day War in Mongolia.

We've arrived.

The captain of something (it seems, SPV) got out of the snowmobile and reported to the colonel. They opened living xiaoche and began displaying objects. You know I cold-blooded lizard, but RK saw it for the first time.

Was inadequate curious.

There are seven objects: Tolstoy-4, Chekhov-3, Nabokov-7, Pasternak-1, Dostoevsky-2, Akhmatova-2 and Platonov-3.

Despite the heat inside the living-xiaoche, all RKs were in spacesuits with collars and a tub-boot on right leg. They lowered the ladder and began to receive them. They walked calmly. They were placed professionally. Seven chambers, upholstered with natural felt: 3? 3? 3.

More details: Tolstoy-4.

The fourth reconstructs Lev Nikolaevich Tolstoy. Incubated in Krasnoyarsk GWJ. The first three were not entirely successful: no more than 42% compliance. Tolstoy-4 – 73%. This is a man with a height of 112 cm and a weight of 62 kg. Its head and hands are disproportionately large and make up half of its body weight. The hands are massive, like those of an orangutan, white, folded; a pinky nail the size of a five yuan coin. A large apple disappears in the fist of Tolstoy-4 without a trace. His head is three times the size of mine; half-face nose, uneven, lumpy; eyebrows overgrown with thick thick hair, small watery eyes, huge ears and heavy a knee-length white beard whose hair resembles Amazonian water worms.

The object is calm, mute, like the other six. He likes to suck in air noisily through his nostrils and exhale heavily. Sometimes he brings both fists to his face, slowly opens them and looks at his palms for a long time. He looks about 60 years old. He was raised in 3 years and 8 months. In his cell he has a transparent table in the style of late constructivism (Hamburg, 1929), a bamboo chair (Cambodia, 1996), and a helium-filled bed (London, 2026). Lighting - three kerosene lamps (Samara, 1940). Erregen object is a stuffed albino panther. That's it, rips laowai.

Second RK of Anna Andreevna Akhmatova.

Incubated in GENROSMOB. The first attempt is 51% compliance, the second is 88%. The object is completely identical in appearance to the 23-year-old original. Grown in 1 year 11 months. Severe pathology of internal organs: almost all are displaced and underdeveloped. Artificial heart, pork liver. M-balance 28. Restless behavior, automatism, PSY-GRO, yandianfeng. Makes frequent guttural sounds, sniffs the right shoulder and objects. In the chamber: ebonite bed ( South Africa, 1900), a luminous ball of free floating. Erregen-object – bones of a male Neanderthal, filled with liquid glass.

I'm not putting it too dryly, my golden-eared hankun asshole? Read. You're a GERO-KUNSTLER, rips chowdy xiaozhu!

Nabokov-7.

Our Gen-Moshujia spent 8 years with him. The first RK appeared in the underground MUBE, back when I lived with Siamese twins and did not know your charms. Judging by Academician Makarevich’s note, the rejection reached 80%, the object was amorphous and was kept in a pressure chamber. Nabokov-5 was incubated (sic!) on the day the Munich Convention prohibiting RK and F-type cloning was signed. The project was frozen, the object was killed. But just six months later, Nabokov-6 was incubated (secretly from IGKC) in VINGENIZH, Voronezh. There were a lot of problems. But here is Nabokov-7. 89% compliance. Fantastic, rips table! Most high level out of all seven. Although outwardly it is not noticeable: the object looks like a plump woman with curly red hair. All its muscles vibrate finely, which creates a barely noticeable contour around the object’s body. Sweat runs down your body and squelches in your overfilled boots. Furniture: kitchen table (USSR, 1972), round chair on a screw rod (Bucharest, 1920), soldier's camp bed (us army, 1945). Lighting: four randomly placed green light sources. Erregen-object – a woman's mink coat, covered with bee honey and suspended from the ceiling on a gold hook.

Pasternak-1.

“The first RK-pancake – and not lumpy!” – our German joked straightforwardly. Pasternak-1 was incubated by the Omnipresent and Immortal Alois Vaneev. Compliance – 79%. The most zoomorphic creature of all seven. The resemblance to a lemur is striking: a small head covered with white fluff, a tiny wrinkled face with huge pink eyes, long knee-length arms, small legs. He sways and makes trumpet sounds with his nose. According to LOGO correlation, there is no furniture in his box. But there are 64 intense light sources and a living Erregen object: a sixty-kilogram Persian clone cat. Dying? From obesity, mon petit.

Read the book blue lard online. Read the book “Blue Lard” online in full - Vladimir Sorokin - MyBook

roman

Vladimir Sorokin Blue lard

January 2.

* * *

Vladimir Sorokin
Blue lard