About Pot

Anthony's birthday, among other things, gave the pot. Musical. The red monster with a box on the bottom and a yellow cap in the form of a frog to him as something not very favorable.
In an attempt to respond landings Anton is always the same - frustrating. And stubbornly believed in the miracle-device need to put balls, cubes, socks and other trinkets dear to the heart. But today, the pot was able to use for other purposes. Catching childhood desires, I quickly held up a daze throne and commanded, "Sit down!»
Anton sat. Pot squeaked.
Praising a child, I went to wash his new friend a squeaky sounds of Chinese symphonies.

But despicable plastic did not want to shut up. Not after bathing with soap or after toweling. A kitaezy korobulku mechanism just stuck inside, and get to the battery there was no way.
Okay, I think popischit, dry properly, shut up.
Victim of the Chinese underground not caulk. It's starting to get on your nerves.
As a result, not achieving of intractable pot is nothing but all the same nasty melodiyki, I decided to stick it in the fridge. I thought that, firstly, it is the most airtight enclosure around the house, and therefore will not be ringing so loud, and, secondly, I naively hoped blyatsky freeze mechanism and self-destructs.
Pot sang.
I washed the dishes, and he was singing.
Fried fritters, and he still sang his melancholy song, and I, honestly, threw him out the window if he slipped.

Husband came home from work and went to the kitchen.
The question "what is this garbage so ugly peeps?" Was asked at the very moment when he opened the refrigerator.
For a long time he did not whinnying.
"Right now, the battery will sit down and shut up it," - he said the husband, put songstress in ottoman, piled belongings and went to eat pancakes.
I started twitching eye. I heard the damn pot everywhere and I was beginning to think that it a perpetual motion machine, and it does not ever shut up.
Nerves have passed.
With the cry "suuukaaaa" and victorious harey Chapayeva on a spirited horse, I Rushed to the ottoman, removed the pot and began pounding it on the floor.
Pot sang.
Husband whinnying.
Child cat tyranny.
"Right now, I'll fix it !," - said the husband, and splashed into the remnants of plastic tea. After drinking, bastard wilted, but 30 seconds later continued with renewed vigor vile trill.

That is a pity that no one was shooting at the moment on camera, because evil, disheveled Barankin, which rushes with a knife on a red plastic of the enemy, you'll see every day.
In general, I killed him. Straight knife, right on the bottom. Four strokes.
I put the knife down and went to watch TV.

But that's not all.
Once my ass touched the couch, dead and risen zapeeeeel.
Oleg snickered, and I heard the baby "PIZEESSSSS ..".


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