🦈I haven't written anything these few days because I was very busy with my studies. I remind you that I study at two American universities, and my working and learning day looks very tight. From this dense calendar and to-do list, every day at least 40% was bitten by a stinky with his girlfriend Tanya Shumilova, and their heavenly patrons - the Angara maniac Mikhail Popkov (if anyone forgot, aka Sylvester, the leader of the Orekhovskaya gang, in the world an honorary elder, the patriarch of the Ancient Orthodox Church Kornily Titov), and his henchiks from the Sberalfa-VTB Systema. The fact that these scum devoured, I picked up time in the early mornings, but still both work and study suffer a lot because of these condoms. On Friday and Saturday, they ate just two days of cleaning after the fire and the lack of light in the apartment. What the fck is the fire, you ask? The real fire.
In short, in the long-suffering flat on Maslennikova 16-13 in case you missed everything, where I and my dogs were generously sweated by the mustard gas poison, there was expected to be a shmon. I mean, a search. Mustard gas is such a shit that is simply unrealistic to weather from the apartment where it has been for a long time. This crap penetrates through the chemical protection suit in 40 minutes, is easily absorbed into porous materials, and it is impossible to wash it from plastic and wood. Therefore, there were so many samples of chemistry in the apartment that the field for samples for toxicological and chemical examination was not plowed here. Since the stinky itself poured snot and pus from the lungs, the epicenter of storage and one of the main sources of distribution of deadly chemistry was in his pissed chambers. I assume that this bastard kamikaze wanted to live, so he probably kept his chemical shit on the balcony. Obviously, this outside storage did not save stinky, because his snot hung to his knees, and the pus from his lungs could be raked out with a shovel. So one visit to the smelly balcony and his pissed bedroom would basically make him the most flawed character in history.
In addition, there was a genetic test for the stinky, from which it clearly follows that this bastard is not related to me or to my testators. This genetic test was sent to me by the stinky himself. The test is a sample of stupidity, and its manufacturer (Academy of DNA Genealogy) deserves to receive the Darwin Award along with the stinky. A test with two fundamental errors that completely exclude the chance of a stinky not only of kinship with me, my grandparents, but the chance that the test is true. I will not provide a manual on how to deceive the law and "sweet fryers," I will briefly note that the stinky at the Academy of DNA Genealogy (remember this name) generated a fake combined test, in which they picked up a haplogroup from some princes just in case, and a haplotype from others, so that if anything fits in both cases. The little truth is that they were a little bit wrong with the names of the princes, and who on what line is related to my family. And so for the inhabitants of the object, the test looked very convincing. The stinky the great-grandson of Ivan the Terrible himself, in a straight male line, Rurikovich! Everything is beautiful and absofckyamazing, only the direct male ancestor in the male line of my dad and his dad was not Rurikid by direct male line, he is Gediminid. I'll save the rest of the details for later.
Well, I somehow remembered that the stinky was lying in a psychiatric hospital and many times he was visited at home by a good psychiatrist-narcologist.
Again, the performance of the stinky a week ago, when I asked for compensation for an ovarian rupture. I'm sticking out here with the Moscow medical insurance, I don't want to change it. I feel pretty lousy after a stinky confused me with a boxing bag and beat me - a stomach bruise, an ovarian rupture and a closed abdominal injury is not a light runny nose. As I wrote a week ago, the stinky (I remind you, a permanent client of psychiatrists and narcologists, who was lying in a mental hospital, who was diagnosed last year and written in the recommendations to solve the issue of his sanity) immediately called Tanya Shumilova, and asked her to organize the following: to falsify me a diagnosis of an alleged schizophrenia, and send me forever for compulsory treatment to free the apartment from my presence. Tanyushka sleeps and sees to get access to my property as soon as possible, and does not hesitate to falsify the grounds in order to get the right to dispose of it. Well, Tanya wants to ride my Porsche and live in my flat 196 on Leninsky 64/2, you can't order her heart! There and her daughter Valeria has already set up for me in the HASHEIGHT business - she bought Porsche sneakers, a business suit, IT textbooks, and books on law and accounting just stole from me. In short, the "family" is ready to accept my belongings, inheritance and property completely free of charge, there is only one issue left to solve - I'm still alive. Therefore, all the dialogues and gossip of Tanya and stinky about "schizophrenia" were due to the fact that these creatures were going to take care of me, and send me with someone else's name to a mental hospital, where I would be missing. It is clear, the treatment of my torn ovary was not in the plans of caring "parents" who only for the maintenance of their daughter the prostitute Lera milked more than 7 million rubles from me.
I accidentally recorded Tanya's conversation with the stinky, and without waiting for it to finish, I immediately went to the Investigative Committee to the investigator on duty.
In short, there were more than enough reasons to close the stinky and his girlfriends Tanya Shumilova and her relatives in the pre-trial detention center by October 1, 2023.
Feeling that the stinky and his girlfriends, instead of my inheritance, will now really draw a preventive measure in the form of sending to the madhouse, where they so diligently wanted to hand me over instead, this cute nut (in all aspects) family shit themselves and decided to solve the issue radically. Well, like there is no person and no documents - no problem.
So here it is. On Friday morning, October 6th 2023, I needed to run to the library, I'm now describing the functionality for prototypes, I need to read a couple of books with at least one eye. Well, that is, I have a plan for books that I need to read for work and study, and I, like in the movie "Quiet Place" every day, I go out on business and to the library.
It's scary, of course, the stinky with his girlfriends are rare scum, but no one promised that it would be easy. After learning that there would be a shmon (search), the stinky got up all week, neither light nor dawn, and even reduced the degree of mustard gas. On Friday, at 10:30 a.m., he finished his morning promenade, and I felt the chance to run and rushed to the library. I go out at 11-20, go to the library, and a funeral car is blocked on the way. I don't think to myself, damn it, will they really take the stinky and I'll finally make a funeral for my parents? I come to the library, and now I set a timer for 25 minutes due to an acute shortage of time. And so the timer rang three times, I'm looking at the cameras - everything seems to be calm in the apartment. Well, I think I'll allow myself another sprint. And what do you think - immediately a fire alarm starts yelling in the library. In short, remembering the morning funeral car, I put my feet in my hands and run back to the apartment. I think there are too many distracting unpleasant elements today. I come - a stinky in the apartment. Well, I think it's great - I'll feed the dogs now and go back. Harry eats 8 times a day after poisoning with mustard gas on fractional feeding. I gave the dogs semolina porridge to cook, and a kettle for myself. As soon as the stinky found out about the shmon, he lost his peace and sleep, he couldn't find the key to the attic, he needed urgently for unknown reasons. And wow - while the dogs were waiting for cooking porridge, I found the key under the closet when I was washing the floor. The stinky saw the key, rushed into the room to his place, took the key and left the apartment. I'm sitting waiting for the kettle. I feel that burnt paper stintles, it's not clear where it comes from. And then somebody knocks on the door: a neighbor from the 14th apartment says: hey your balcony is burning. I say - the stinky locked the rooms with a key. In short, the firefighters were called further. Three minutes later, there was such smoke in a pillar that I could barely open the window. At that moment, the stinky returned, and began to try to put out the fire himself. I managed to pull suitcases with documents to the stairs and bring the dogs out. Then, as in a bad dream, firefighters with oxygen cylinders for breathing began to climb the stairs, the spectacle is pure Silent Hill. But what is especially original, the freshly found key to the attic of the stinky did not share with them, pretending that there was no key and I took it for myself. This is still a plus the time while the firefighters were squeezing the door to the attic.
In short, 6 fire trucks, 24 firefighters, an ambulance, police, the Ministry of Emergency Situations, a day without light. And the day before, I put all my things and documents in bags and suitcases. So when everybody moved out, I went in, rubbed the bags and washed the floor. Well, since there was no light, I had a real Sabbath. The only shitty thing is that there used to be mustard gas with stinky urine, and now combustion products have been added to it. I'm sitting like in a "Hard's Hell" smokehouse. I understand that the absence of posts from me for several days, barbecue customers from the sistema "Sberalfa-VTB" secretly hoped that there was at least one human victim in the fire. Yes, guys. Your mental stinky employee Sergey Shumilov has a burnt face, because at your order, instead of a barbecue of me, my dogs and a fire from my documents, he burned in my apartment, which you rewrote on for your second psychic employee Lera Shumilova, one room and a balcony. Greetings from all the neighbors at this house section entrance, who perfectly understand what a fire in an apartment with a gas column means. They don't give a fck about your ways to solve problems and steal Andrey Leonidovich Kostin, Vladimir Petrovich Evtushenkov, Peter Olegovich Aven, German Oscarovich Gref. After the Lame Horse, the fire in the Winter Cherry, and the fire in the Samara Department of Internal Affairs, for you, of course, 60 people burned alive in the house section entrance, it's like not fucking doing. But for the population of the entrance, which was the day before yesterday very close to share the fate of these unfortunate people, your KPIs, bonus plans, and your understanding of "corporate social responsibility" do not matter. Fcking "Atlants" of Russian business.
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