what is common between the Stanislavsky system and the periodic table
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Mark Zakharov's films and Fadeev's novels
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zoophiles and gays? |
common point - this is me, the intersection of highways, the chair in which I write a letter, the center of being
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my dear lannie barbie, i am your biggest fan
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I would like to be with you on the sofa, on the carpet and on the windowsill
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I love all your acting work, but most of all one
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where you play a pianist, a guy who looks like Satan fucks you there
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I have been watching your kind clean films every day for several years now
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even at work I take my little asus with me to the toilet
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I put it on the tank and you save me from the routine
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only you create art, the rest of your colleagues are whores
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I propose to move in with me, by the way, I'm a screenwriter by profession
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we will make new films, you will like working with me
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I'm prettier than almost all of your gentlemen, I know their faces by heart
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True, I have seventeen, there is nothing to surprise, I hope this does not bother you
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for your sake I'm ready to make a circumcision, increase it, I don't care |
I only need you, ride you in my car, take you to the cinema
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so that you jerk me off in the back row with your graceful pen
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I got excited, broke away, took a napkin, well, I returned to the pen
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be with me lannie barbie be my wife eat pizza with me
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I love you as no masturbator has ever loved any actress
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I got up and sealed the envelope, around the world the world froze, the world groaned
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only my lannie barbie, lick her, kiss her, shove shnyaga into her anal
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can't sleep, I see myself driving in a car with my favorite porn actress
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I take a bite of an apple pie, go to the bathroom, watch TV
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and suddenly Vladimir Pozner goes astray and instead of the text of the advertisement
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says: “It’s good to masturbate, Zhenya, don’t listen to these fucking rams”
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noon tastes stuffy and vile, the taste of my neighbor's sweat
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we live with him in a hostel and he washes once a week
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he is almost always at home, when I come, he stomps his feet,
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and I'm constantly tired and want to give myself to some lady
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and now it's noon, the day off, I raise my head and remember my dream
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there were 12 girls according to the number of apostles and not a single condom |
did not overshadow our intercourse, I hung on the branches of a tree, and they were under me
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walked and the faces were familiar, I remember them from porn
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they know everything about me - I entrusted all parts of myself to them,
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they saw me defenseless naked with a grimace of pleasure
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they were as dear as any landscape of my city
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I have no homeland except for their legs, eyes, smiles from which sperm flows
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they love me like i'm their first every time
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I would like to share my flesh equally between them
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tear the soul for their thin skin which they touch the penis
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the elegance of the whole world is too ugly to compete with them
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I toss and turn in bed, trying to put myself back into sleep
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the neighbor groans at the table, the springs creak, I put the blanket in my mouth
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in order not to scream in despair, the body asks under the closet
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or into the bathroom or through the window, hopelessness, pain and groan
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I see how a neighbor puts my jacket on his naked body
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he walks around the room without noticing me proudly and boldly
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I'm hiding under the covers trying to fall asleep masturbate forget about everything
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and I smell the vile sweat in which the neighbor drowns my dream |
can't sleep, I see myself driving in a car with my favorite porn actress
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I take a bite of an apple pie, go to the bathroom, watch TV
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and suddenly Vladimir Pozner goes astray and instead of the text of the advertisement
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says: “it’s good to masturbate, Kostya, don’t listen to these fucking rams” |