Анкета Валерии Тихомировой ВКонтакте

Like kills

Nekropotentsiya This magazine was found in 2007 in the attic of an abandoned house beside a certificate of the death of its last owner. I. My life is so perfect, that it scares me. I see the smiling faces of his wife and colleagues, my boss tells me that I worked well, and the pastor drives me forward as an example for the entire flock. They know nothing about my desire. If the priest knew what I was doing chores, he would have condemned me to the flames of hell. When my life was difficult, I felt more alive. Every day of his life successful family man, I feel like I've made another step towards aging, wrinkles and dying my physical body, whose life many would envy. I know there are people who envy me when they see me on the street. Still, I would have given my life and soul in order to be in their place at least for one day. I crave intense. Easy life dulls. II. Routine, routine, routine. Each day passes, just like the previous one. The only thing I can control - it's all sorts of stuff. Order ham with Swiss cheese instead of turkey with mozzarella, scratching the dog's left ear instead of the right. Choose beer. I can fuck my wife in the ass, cum in the mouth or on her sunglasses. Beer Beer. Sex is sex. All the same. Soon I will try it. I waited for a long time. III. This will be the last week that I spend in prison of endless repetitions. All my affairs are in order. I wrote a note to his family, all provided to all. Here is a typical morning, a typical day of my normal life. I wake up at 5:30 exactly, because my bones have internal timers. I'm on the go rinse your mouth and go to the toilet. Three minutes I was whistling a song and squeeze out drops of urine. With fifty years, I have to draw a hand against the wall. At my age I can do it to piss standing straight. My third young trophy wife Margery cook only scrambled eggs, fried eggs occasionally. Bacon warmed in the microwave for two minutes and thirty seconds, because, despite its ideal buffer, it is not fucking cook. Every morning at breakfast, she explained to me that my children from previous marriages - ungrateful beasts, which should be thrown out of my will. I at this time chewing bacon and drink coffee flavored lube. By seven thirty I have time to take a shit, shower and shave. I sit in a boring Saab and twenty minutes drive to work. This is the best twenty minutes all day. Movement is not, I'm listening to the broadcast at times funny and accept its first diazepam, when my rear tires go on the street Natvud. Once my life was dismal and uncouth, but it has its own poetry. I miss the poverty of living from paycheck to paycheck, not knowing that you prepare the coming day. I miss my first marriage, when everything was new, including some posture in bed, which I was not able to because of the hip prosthesis. I miss my old wheelbarrow, which left a gallon on it to drive six miles. When you go there on a country road, it seems that you will go nuts, even if a bit distracted. I was young then. With age, you start to appreciate it. All the old one path. Heart attack, heart attack, stroke, cancer. I do not want to. He was still lying on my mantelpiece, but he will not have to beg me. Soon I will take it and use it at their own discretion.

I d`nt have

Maincauf

Crying

All in our world will die.