Dragi toarasi si prietini!
Asta ie un mesaji fuoarte impuortant pentrua tara! Sa intamplat o nienorocirie pientru tara. cried ca mau uomorat dar vuoi sa nu va lasati batuti. Asta va fi pagina mea pie care o sa scriu numai misaje daca o sa mai puot(elementele liegionare da la wikipedia nu mau lasat).
Da cand mau bagat astiia in rai nu am mai putut vuorbi cu nimienea. al dracu sfintii petru mia dat un HP85 ca sa cuomunic mesajele impuortante pentru tara. nuoroc ca aseara a vienit fruntasa muzicii suocialiste laura stuoica cu un leptoc.
Sa stiti ca io nu sint suparat ca mau omorat pentru ca tzara merge binie si socialismul pluridezvoltat sa dezvoltat mai binie fara mine. dar sint suparat ca lam vazut pa stanculescu ca sansuoara (sfintii petru mia adus un elcrom). pai da ce la facut priesedinte pa iliescu ala din opozitie si de ce ia lasat pa toti din opozitie sasi faca partide (paunescu, voiculescu). nici pe nebun nu trebuia sal lase. dar nunteleg de ce mau omorat daca nu au schimbat nimica. ca uite, lenin nu ie aici. cica nici nuo sa fie ca e undeva nu stiu unde. ce io nu puteam la fel?
Va iubesc pe toti!!
Hai ca nu mai pot ca iese laura stuoica de la dumniezau (asta cred ca e io al astora).
Fratilor! Am inviat, daca nu cu sufletu' macar cu corpu'. Ma rog, cu ce-a mai ramas din el. Sa va povestesc.
Cum stam io asa si discutam cu Stalin, ne gindeam la ce-o mai fi pe pamint, la un moment dat i-am zis "Ma Staline, tare-as vrea sa mai vad si eu lumina zilei, ma". Cred ca am vorbit cam tare, ca Dracul Sef m-a auzit si ce-a zis el, "Ma Nikule, in ultimii ani ai fost baiat cuminte, ma, ai spalat pe jos in fiecare zi, ai tras apa la WC si ne-ai reparat incaltarile. Drept rasplata iti voi indeplini dorinta asta, sa vezi si tu lumina zile". Nici n-am apucat sa reactionez ca m-am si trezit intr-un loc ingust si urit mirositor, parca eram undeva intr-o cutie. Pe deasupra mea se auzeau niste sunete ciudate si foarte vag niste voci. Cu fiecare minut care trecea, vocile se auzeau din ce in ce mai tare: "Hai ba, lasa vodka si da la lopata, da-te-n spume!", zicea cineva de deasupra.
N-a durat mult pina am auzit niste bocanituri si o voce care zicea "Gata ba, am dat pamintu la o parte, hai sa ridicam capacu'". Trosc in stinga, trosc in drepta si dintr-o data a intrat peste mine o lumina orbitoare. Niste flacai se uitau la mine cu fetele lor timpe iar o duduie cu o privire de inger a soptit gingas "pute de mori!!!". Dupa care pauza. Mi s-a taiat filmul, nu mai vedeam nimic, nu mai auzeam nimic, de miscat nu puteam sa ma misc. Am incercat sa tip dar n-am putut. Dupa aia am realizat ca de fapt corpul meu a putrezit si ca nu mai am organe. Totul a fost o iluzie care a aprins iar flacara ce-mi ardea sufletul si odata cu flacara s-au intors si sentimentele de dor de viata si de lume. Incercam sa respir dar parca aerul pe care incercam sa-l trag in piept se ducea in alta parte... incercam din rasputeri sa ma simt iar viu, insa nu reuseam nicicum. De ce m-ati scos fratilor la lumina, de ce nu ma lasati in pace?
Dintr-o data m-am trezit inapoi in Iad. Stalin se uita la mine nedumerit: "Nikule, ce-ai patit ma?". Nu i-am raspuns...
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Ceaușescu, Nicolae - God emperor of the Socialist Republic of Romania, shot dead in a scientific experiment gone bananas in 1989; forever praised and hailed for the era of great prosperity and spiritual enlightment he forced his followers into for his 45 years of ruling. His pledging heritage outlives Him many a decade later, allegedly in the form of a many a figure Swiss bank account.
Rise of a GodModificare
Legend of the birthModificare
Never has the Christian culture known greater a moving story than that of the birth of infant-God Ceaușescu. He was born to a maiden father; and the birth bore no damage on the father's maidenhood, as foretold by prophets. The miracle of his birth happened in the family of a poor shepherd named Andruţă, who shepherd his herd of three-legged sheep in the village of Scornicești along with his brothers Puță and Futuță. His father had never known woman, nor looked with lust upon a woman when he was approached by his wife to be and told he would father her 6 weeks pregnancy, as had been shown to her in a dream by a postmodernist angel. This is the great mistery of the birth of Nicolae.
Embracing His destinyModificare
At the age of 11, his father decided that the shepherd life was too small to contain the greater than life personality of his son. Thus, with great grief, he sold his only son to a shoemaker in the city of București, for four bottles of low-grade alcoholic beverage that he is said to have drank the very same day, to ease the pain of losing his son. Thus the journey of Nicolae began to fulfil his Godly destiny.
Every year, the shoemaker would take 12 poor children to a great test of skill and determination; he would split them in two competing teams, and each week present them with tedious and challenging tasks to test their aptitudes for shoemaking. Each week, one of the teams would lose and its leader would be chased away in shame or stoned to death. At the end of 12 weeks, one child would remain, which would become The Apprentice and have his share in the shoemaker's business. Ceausescu competed fiercely in the competition, and with his due help his team lost all 12 rounds of the challenge. However, he was never fired. He achieved this by employing two strategies: never taking leadership and blaming all his faults on others. In the last round he lost to his only remaining competitor. He advocated that he merely lost because his opponent was better, and thus responsible for his defeat. As he was obviously right and the loss wasn't his fault, the shoemaker had to regretfully dismiss his other, skillfull and hard working, apprentice, taking Ceausescu under his wing. With this outstanding achievement, young Ceausescu's huge potential became more than apparent.
While apprentice shoemaker, he was performing the daily routine of nailing metal bits "plachie" to shoes' soles, a habit common at the time, similar to horseshoing, which allowed important people of the time that afforded it make a gallop-like noise when walking, as a proof of their higher social status. While performing this mind-numbing, spirit-crushing daily routine, he realised he was too poor to make any choices. He couldn't choose his life. Couldn't choose his job. Couldn't choose his career. Couldn't choose his family. Couldn't choose a fucking big television. Chouldn't choose washing machines, cars, compact disc players, and electrical tin openers. Couldn't choose good health, low cholesterol and dental insurance. Couldn't choose fixed-interest mortgage repayments. Couldn't choose a starter home. Couldn't choose his friends. Couldn't choose leisure wear and matching luggage. Couldn't choose a three piece suite on hire purchase in a range of fucking fabrics. Couldn't choose DIY and wondering who he was on a Sunday morning. Couldn't choose rotting away at the end of it all, pishing his last in a miserable home, nothing more than an embarrassment to the selfish, fucked-up brats he would have spawned to replace himself. Couldn't choose his future. Couldn't choose his life.