The last true veshch your humble narrator can remember, I was intending to snuff it. Those grahzny bratchnies, that sodding writer veck and his foul malenky droogs, they like played that music to make me do it. I jumped from that okno on my oddy knocky with the shoom of the stracky orchestra in my ears and the feeling of wanting to be sick all
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My life raskazz, brother sir. Or maybe the like one of my snuffing it.
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No, brother sir, no. I'm a like simple boy. Nothing wrong with me.
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Pathetic!
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How comes it thou don't know this, brother sir?
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Well, newsflash- you've still got some work to do before you can engage in any meaningful conversations! Ha!
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I am getting fair sick in the guttiwuts of all this like questioning, o my brother. How is it all these like moodges do not pony this?
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Without a strong command of universally understood language, how can you ever hope to establish a strong base with potential customers?
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