372
Yatran
The designer baby travel document. Today. Because on Thursday. And go to the competition in Bulgaria in the summer. In the summer!
I know that the minus twenty-five, but no options. To find out the identity of [next] eleven girls and give it the appropriate license in that country will need three months. THREE. Therefore today. Thursdays are not often found.
I had already written off from the Internet all the addresses and passwords appear. Call to eight phone call back later, after the meeting, after lunch and after the holidays. Oh, the wonder - caught the desired aunt, who dictated the entire three-volume required photocopies with photographs, plus algorithms to the chain of command.
I was getting ready!
Find out where the housing office and that such a "Form A". Defend, received, copied, photographed, collected, a notary for a hundred hryvnias assured. All according to the three-volume.
We should go where on Thursdays strictly from two to six - in the district OVIR (let's call it so for the sake of brevity)
I omit the moral and ethical side of a situation where you need to ALWAYS be the three of us. Dad, Mom, I - fucking happy family. Nothing that we divorce?!?
They quit work and ambition, dressed warmly and went. No - go. On foot. Because there is no, bitch, this route "in Ebony in Saltovka." And so, yards, twenty minutes, Cho already there.
13.45 on the clock - 25 on the thermometer. The door is closed tightly. BREAK! So it is written, "as long as we - the Lord of the world, have lunch, you - servants, fuck can freeze on the doorstep, we fuck»
We jumped and tried to sculpt a snowman, I rubbed baby cheeks and a scarf tucked up. Very cold. Around the cherished doors were about thirty casualties. Who also Thursday.
When the latch was opened, the crowd rushed into heat without any respect for prioritization. I think if it were opened the gates of hell, people instinctively would have done the same.
The numbering system cabinet is missing - a system crash. We are, according to the three-volume, needed office №1. It is logical. If you consider it the beginning of the path.
Quite naturally №1 office is on the same route as the institution itself. "In fact, the corridor that near predbannchika, just behind povorotikom, third door on the right when viewed from the left."
Lucky that before we found the first room, have lined up in a narrow place. Narrow because of the size of the corridor. In fact, the fat in the area of the travel document not get.
Forty minutes later the children's whining ("Well, when everything is koooonchitsyaaaa"), self-control, I deliberately hoarding in advance with the three-volume, was eroding. From peremerzaniya my old ache broken ankle. There was no hint of the seats in an institution was not.
- Never. This is your homeland son. (I tried to joke)
- Mom, you've got a girl. (speak maliciously daughter)
- Never mind. (I continued to try)
- IMPORTANT! Said the old man from the queue.
All looked, and he continued: "If a son, then would know even what the Ukrainian army»
Somehow he did not joking, I think. It was our turn. My aunt once asked sternly: "In the tenth office were"? I have been slightly otogrevshayasya again froze ... as the tenth ?! But we were told by telec ...
- First, the tenth!
All that's that. Non-negotiable. Capital punishment - the tenth.
Let's go to the tenth. Began in place there. And he is really the first. From the front door. The door slams, frost heryachit. Oh, horoshooooo.
The "city" played dance rehearsed in "black and white do not call" play. Does not help. I went again №1. Looked plaintively as:
- Tell me, where the girl lay for comparison? You or the tenth? Please collate it, I would let go of the child. Home. Cold.
- HAV - said the aunt, - First, the tenth! Next illegible.
I returned. Under the tenth somehow all is not. That is, people come and do not come out. At all. Maybe there is a black hole? - I thought, and listened. Do not believe it, there - knock on typewriters.
We decided to wait with curiosity. Anyway, for four nights. What's to lose? Even suggested that it was a gadget, well, just for fun, print, and Claudia sounds are emitted, antique.
No, fuck. Yatran!
Two thousand twelve. Queues, aunt, three-volume, corridor, and the crown of creation of the human thoughts of engineering, technical progress - Yatran!
And let the European Union can wait. Yatran.
Let Jobs will turn over in his grave. Yatran.
Aunt said: while I type, run to the bank, pay. Bank - a ten minute walk. There. Conversely ten.
And then we went back to the first room. And it turned out that I was not copied passport. We had across the fucking. A photocopier - a fifteen minute walk away. There. Conversely fifteen.
I'm not cold, not peremerzla no, I - fucked.
But that's not the point. Actually not the case. Just Yatran - illustration of Ukrainian National Kabzdy.
In-N-K - and governments of all time.
And do not tell me that Julia Viti better and worse Victor Kolya, Sasha and Kolya better, worse Masha and Sasha. None of these real combat motherfuckers never even tried to win Yatran.
Hey, the leaders! What kind of European society do you dream? What respect for the law are you waiting for? Why are you always this stupid tulite slogan "everything for the people"? Ubeytes apstenu. Can an Yatran.
via Anna Gene
Source:
I know that the minus twenty-five, but no options. To find out the identity of [next] eleven girls and give it the appropriate license in that country will need three months. THREE. Therefore today. Thursdays are not often found.
I had already written off from the Internet all the addresses and passwords appear. Call to eight phone call back later, after the meeting, after lunch and after the holidays. Oh, the wonder - caught the desired aunt, who dictated the entire three-volume required photocopies with photographs, plus algorithms to the chain of command.
I was getting ready!
Find out where the housing office and that such a "Form A". Defend, received, copied, photographed, collected, a notary for a hundred hryvnias assured. All according to the three-volume.
We should go where on Thursdays strictly from two to six - in the district OVIR (let's call it so for the sake of brevity)
I omit the moral and ethical side of a situation where you need to ALWAYS be the three of us. Dad, Mom, I - fucking happy family. Nothing that we divorce?!?
They quit work and ambition, dressed warmly and went. No - go. On foot. Because there is no, bitch, this route "in Ebony in Saltovka." And so, yards, twenty minutes, Cho already there.
13.45 on the clock - 25 on the thermometer. The door is closed tightly. BREAK! So it is written, "as long as we - the Lord of the world, have lunch, you - servants, fuck can freeze on the doorstep, we fuck»
We jumped and tried to sculpt a snowman, I rubbed baby cheeks and a scarf tucked up. Very cold. Around the cherished doors were about thirty casualties. Who also Thursday.
When the latch was opened, the crowd rushed into heat without any respect for prioritization. I think if it were opened the gates of hell, people instinctively would have done the same.
The numbering system cabinet is missing - a system crash. We are, according to the three-volume, needed office №1. It is logical. If you consider it the beginning of the path.
Quite naturally №1 office is on the same route as the institution itself. "In fact, the corridor that near predbannchika, just behind povorotikom, third door on the right when viewed from the left."
Lucky that before we found the first room, have lined up in a narrow place. Narrow because of the size of the corridor. In fact, the fat in the area of the travel document not get.
Forty minutes later the children's whining ("Well, when everything is koooonchitsyaaaa"), self-control, I deliberately hoarding in advance with the three-volume, was eroding. From peremerzaniya my old ache broken ankle. There was no hint of the seats in an institution was not.
- Never. This is your homeland son. (I tried to joke)
- Mom, you've got a girl. (speak maliciously daughter)
- Never mind. (I continued to try)
- IMPORTANT! Said the old man from the queue.
All looked, and he continued: "If a son, then would know even what the Ukrainian army»
Somehow he did not joking, I think. It was our turn. My aunt once asked sternly: "In the tenth office were"? I have been slightly otogrevshayasya again froze ... as the tenth ?! But we were told by telec ...
- First, the tenth!
All that's that. Non-negotiable. Capital punishment - the tenth.
Let's go to the tenth. Began in place there. And he is really the first. From the front door. The door slams, frost heryachit. Oh, horoshooooo.
The "city" played dance rehearsed in "black and white do not call" play. Does not help. I went again №1. Looked plaintively as:
- Tell me, where the girl lay for comparison? You or the tenth? Please collate it, I would let go of the child. Home. Cold.
- HAV - said the aunt, - First, the tenth! Next illegible.
I returned. Under the tenth somehow all is not. That is, people come and do not come out. At all. Maybe there is a black hole? - I thought, and listened. Do not believe it, there - knock on typewriters.
We decided to wait with curiosity. Anyway, for four nights. What's to lose? Even suggested that it was a gadget, well, just for fun, print, and Claudia sounds are emitted, antique.
No, fuck. Yatran!
Two thousand twelve. Queues, aunt, three-volume, corridor, and the crown of creation of the human thoughts of engineering, technical progress - Yatran!
And let the European Union can wait. Yatran.
Let Jobs will turn over in his grave. Yatran.
Aunt said: while I type, run to the bank, pay. Bank - a ten minute walk. There. Conversely ten.
And then we went back to the first room. And it turned out that I was not copied passport. We had across the fucking. A photocopier - a fifteen minute walk away. There. Conversely fifteen.
I'm not cold, not peremerzla no, I - fucked.
But that's not the point. Actually not the case. Just Yatran - illustration of Ukrainian National Kabzdy.
In-N-K - and governments of all time.
And do not tell me that Julia Viti better and worse Victor Kolya, Sasha and Kolya better, worse Masha and Sasha. None of these real combat motherfuckers never even tried to win Yatran.
Hey, the leaders! What kind of European society do you dream? What respect for the law are you waiting for? Why are you always this stupid tulite slogan "everything for the people"? Ubeytes apstenu. Can an Yatran.
via Anna Gene
Source: