It is mine!

I have a granddaughter near Chelyabinsk. Before going to college she went on weekend training courses on a suburban train. Outside her that it is necessary, the school was the first beauty. And tired of the repeated attempts to meet the road. There after Alain Delon rarely travel, more and more elderly Bashkirs, drunken vacationers and workers kalymyaschie porters at the railroad station on weekends. And go to their society no fun. And yet plenty of room in the car, so no, they certainly her breathe fumes, offering beer and clumsily trying to meet. So she came up with a way - in the store bought plastic poop jokes. To look very natural, all who see it begin to sniff and "feel" the smell of shit, but in fact it does not smell. And she sits in the car at its plant usually enough people choose freely "coupe" itself to the window, and next puts a piece of shit. It functioned flawlessly. But one day she fell asleep and was awakened by the fact that someone touched her shoe. Open your eyes - a full car people, apparently the previous train was canceled. Nearby stands granny homelessly form, unfolds a newspaper and slips under the edge of the plastic pile. Granddaughter, still not really awake, exclaims: "Do not touch, it's mine!", Takes this piece of shit and puts into her handbag. The rest of the road went crimson with shame, with closed eyes, not to see eye-square travel.


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