randomrabbit's Diaryland Diary

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I am a Himalaya I himalate I himalate

Hello! My name is Natalia. I live in Russia.
My dear I the girl and me of 29 years, I would like to get
acquainted with you if you not against we can keep in touch with you.
I think that I want to know you better. I write you for serious intentions.
I look person with whom can create strong and amicable family.
What is your name? Where you live? I want to know from what country you
be!
What do you make in the free time? You have any hobby in your life?
Please tell to me about you as much as possible, and I accordingly
shall tell to you about myself in my following letters.
Write to me as soon as you can, and I at once shall answer you your
letter without any problems.
I shall look forward to hearing from you very much.

Yours faithfully!
Natalia.

Natalia.

You travel me from where I am England. I very much like with my friend watch while please I bum you. I in the free time make soundproof my cellar which we hope it you liking as you raise 6 our disagreeing children. At once please send me you your answer.

Yours faithfully!
Tim.


DSC01492

Medically trained and yet she wears no knickers. Interesting.

DSC01508

I�m impressed by the ingenuity of writing it backwards so when you see it on the wall you�re all dratsab Tnuc? Why that�s just meaningless bollocks, surely? And then you see it in the mirror above the sink.

DSC01508a

Ooh unlucky, your cunt so nearly works by luck, but you�re absolutely nowhere near with your bastard. If only you�d realised the letters needed to be reversed too you thick little Tnuc.

Apparently I�m off to see U2 in, erm, the future, which is weird as if Bono hating was a career and had a half decent pension scheme I�d do it in a jiffy and be in the delicious situation of having a job I was passionate about. Chris wanted to go and since I�m a knob I couldn�t think of an excuse quick enough when he asked. That said I�m never going to get another chance to be this close to the sanctimonious shit-monger so I just need to fashion some sort of long-distance slapping tool. Sixty-five fucking quid though, which is the most I�ve ever paid for a concert and yet the twat�s statistically far less likely to keel over on stage than Mick Jagger was. Not sure what the exchange rate is to help our little foreign friends, but I think �65 works out to be about 18 Africans.

Once again this isn't what I was meant to be doing here but I do get distracrted so.

4:51 p.m. - 2009-04-01

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