There is nothing more mysterious and mysterious than a ridiculous sculpture of a pissing woman. And there is nothing more beautiful than relaxing to watch from the sidelines behind the opus of a pissing wife, girlfriend, or completely unfamiliar lady. And indeed, the statue of the bust of a pissing pava itself is nothing but a thinker, like a doctor of physical and mathematical sciences, crouched in the tormented expanses of a small-sized kitchen over his dissertation. Like a flexible circus gymnast trying to fit her head into a small suitcase, and even stretch out in it, so that it would be comfortable to lie down and turn around from time to time. Look at all this and you will be amazed!

How many different nuances need to be foreseen: for example, how to wipe the working surface of the billiard table later, what to put under the French balcony, how to put everything in place and so that nothing comes out, does not wrap up, does not come out where it is not necessary, and where it is necessary it would be slightly hinted to subtle frivolity to seduce the opposite sex. The next not unimportant problem of this work. How and on the basis of what to choose a suitable seat for the projection-fundamental squat and dumping of seething streams, so as not to splatter the snow-white supports of the miracle machine. Nightmare! What? Nightmare I say! After all, it is probably more convenient to do it downhill, on loose soil or into a groove? Nightmare! Let's take a closer look and admire. The worried object worker pushed around, pushed around and calmed down. And now the place is chosen, safety is guaranteed by female intuition, related products are clamped in the hands, under the knees, therefore, you can start creating.

Started. The goalkeeper looks thoughtfully only forward and every five seconds under his feet, as if controlling and at the same time approving the ongoing phenomenon. The hockey goalkeeper pays no attention to anything, sees nothing around him and hears nothing, like a capercaillie during a current. He is all inside himself, grouped and slowly swaying back and forth, cutting through the tired surface of the earth with a hot stream. Watching from the shelter, it is impossible to understand where such a hissing water stream is pouring from, suggesting to the observer that it is pouring in a narrow edge from everywhere, from the button of the navel to the button of the ass. Nightmare! What? Nightmare I say! This is where all the charm, the mystery, the beauty of the mechanical function of reproducing the sexual situation, combined with artistic skill, lies.

How do you want at this moment to jump out of the hiding place with a joyful cry and passionately pounce on this cheeky bun in frills. Taste it with numb hands and parched lips with tongue. Roll the frightened beauty across mother earth, undressing tenderly, affectionately. Here it is, in front of your eyes, a self-assembled tablecloth in all its glory with forks and plates, napkins and handkerchiefs, with the first, second and third courses.

And you say a nightmare! No, you don't say that, do I? Yes? Nightmare! But we keep ourselves in control, we will not physically interfere with the performance of the theater of one actor, and visually we do not interfere with this production, because we are behind the scenery. Let our ugly duckling calmly do the impossible, and then turn into a white swan and fly further to flowering meadows, blue lakes, giving joy and leaving hope to us, gray storks.

Bole Libole



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