Reviews
Anonymous
A year ago, my life was shattered, and I would add it to my humorous account. I lived in the former Peanut Factory in West Auckland, and with seven villains I ate curry and orange canned fanta, and up until dawn every night I got up, assembled old car parts, disassembled helicopter engines, turned into a future bird bath. My bedroom had neither windows nor outlets. We invited our artists, including me. All the mirrors were broken, and in our refrigerator there lived something of the Neptune. Only our compost pile was often told by Bagavad Gita. I thought Jack Nicholson would be dragged out of the fishing unless he had a little time to get out of the situation. As soon as I moved, one day I got a flat tire on my bicycle and noticed my first gray hair. That was the last straw. One day I said to myself, I need a new job!
. A few weeks later, after buying my resume on the Internet, I got a call from a good person at Goldstein Demchak and offered a generous position as the Secretary of State at the post office. The Prime Minister, Sir Sean, was the most kind and considerate of the people, and when we first met together, we were friendly and friendly.
I've had enough and good spirits for months. I was sure that we were the Prime Minister and Stella's post office among the principalities of the Fair Noble Bay Area. We paid attention to our vitality and the details, sent an imperative process to all our enemies, kept time and time calm over and over again, and often submised them through the cunning use of semicolons and CCs. Through this, I was also praised by the company's lawyers, and agreed that the Goldstein post office was "according to God, the model of power and precision that Lord Zeus himself should consider."
I can still be said to be the Royal Vice Prime Minister a year later. With the company Magisteril Mail Room, my life has once become a mess, and now is very lively, no longer have a lump of compost as a flat mate.
