Funny quatrains.

To set the mood



I love her relics.
Each year, only occurs in May,
my imperishable mummy Tiffany
guards holiday harvest.

Many failures in life and troubles.
Well I - solid
troubles! Even airplanes for lunch
me from hens gets ass.

Husband came. I sit in the closet oak.
And inhale the smell of mothballs.
Asks the evening his wife sternly:
 - What is the smell of you, bastard
?
Oh, my life, tin
Oh it in the swamp.
Up to one in the morning booze,
Up to half past five vomiting.

Hello, Grandfather Frost!
I'll break your nose!
At me with your gifts
The fifth day was diarrhea ...

Sometimes you wake up as a bird,
Winged spring on edge.
And you want to live and work,
But the breakfast is held.