igor marusya good morning timer for 60 seconds marusya oh, write to ivanov's wife marusya put a morningenglish ice cream scream marusya is your voice friend? oh help. change is coming i'll shoot you in the knee. ok. i am a former cop. by the way, ketchup, in which there are definitely few tomatoes and a lot of preservatives, technologists suggest that the container gives out, it turns out to be a sauce that has been pasteurized. to destroy fungi, microbes are poured into glass and pet bottles. and so soft packaging, but you can’t pour ketchup into ordinary plastic hot ones. just melted, but no, bedded ketchup, they can e merge cold, in which case you avoid microbiological spoilage. you need to add preservatives. and once preservatives are added to produce. maybe anything, anything, put in this ketchup, like low-quality spoiled tomatoes, which are half-hearted. and in order for the ketchup to turn out to be safe and appetizing , the main shish kebab man of armenia proves that it is elementary to cook it yourself. i'll do it like this what we need faster. and what will be delicious, which

i love marusya i love standing on fire. summer novels land of the glory of the world see what coasts what expanses what will mother likes, yes, beauty igorand you, too, are the son of a sailor, it seems like a father. i have a midshipman a messenger from the shores of the baltic, kill me on the shores, after that you don’t take it like that mentally a little, the beauty of st. petersburg always rejoice. thank you excellent. i will sing, comrades, a sad song, that my soul. i am rural to spite all enemies. and if you do not say only the one i will sit on a tractor and rock to the village. oh, you, a rural guy, a dozen littered with spreads. mihai for touch buttons. come out to the dance in the cold of all navalenko. who has a fire in his soul, hey, joy, one for the dance, that he always wore felt boots of joy, fire, when it got dark. everyone is on the benches, only there is no sense in standing, and in the yard the dog does nothing for me no. yes, damn the route to the button to touch. come out to the beach. who is he of all, yes felt boots, who has joy in his soul and one fire for the dance of the sun, come on in the soul of joy go. what