Negative Hiv Test After 7 Weeks

Coast RUSSIAN HISTORY OF A FAN

by Gaviota

Flying over the blogosphere, the blog Gaviota Cubadice landed on a window and with his usual patience proverbial heard this story from the mouth of a Russian fan aplatanado on the island of Cuba. You can imagine the great sympathy aroused by an old thing like me anecdotes of poor Orbit in triple pileup condition, foreigners and immigrants in this country. If you finish the story they want to continue cooling no longer pay a visit to the Gull.

STORY OF A RUSSIAN FAN

Hello, my name Orbit

My name is a premonition of my future and my story is sad and long as that of all immigrants.

was born in a distant country which once was a world power. Certainly fan born in a country where no heat was almost a death sentence. I long lines to find work, but at the time of the interview, in front of the fatal question:

- What can you do? or "show us your curriculum?

My cool and refresh function not finding the right job. I did everything to fall into favor and find a job. In a moment of desperation, I voted over a gallon of red paint to see if it goes unnoticed and could penetrate the red rows, hoping to awaken me accept punishment or pity. Nothing.

It could not be with them I decided to be against them because it is not fair for a government to create appliances and then they say "no power to run them" as they did with many of my friends, or not offer work to enable them to live decent, dignified life any appliance that aims to be respected. Protested openly. Orbit in prison.

Nothing worked. Walking the streets of Moscow saw a big boat where a group of coolers were shipped to the tropical paradise, which created jobs for everyone. I saw the frigid farewell to his family and I took that one had sat down to watch the sea while drinking a glass of vodka, for questioning. I approached him because something told me that the future was, this time, the scope of my fins.

Vladimir was called but he changed his name to Mir, it would be more attuned to their new country, I thought. Mir told me everything he had done to end there, I said nor was he working for the same reasons as me. "Here
who just want the hot, only vodka and stoves are made safe. If you do not see red hot you're nobody in this country. Greet

Mir, wished him a safe journey and a future of prosperity in the tropical paradise.
I ran home, took a good bath to eliminate this red enamel exorbitant. I took a peinadita to pallets, picked up the passport and ran to the immigration office.

When I arrived at the office someone told me that the number of immigrants was closed, but if I wanted out there was a "way." The official Hot Iron, no inspired me a lot of confidence, but at the moment because it would not contradict put hot. There was talk in the streets of the evil that was when she got angry, I ironed without further ado. I started to listen and agree with him. Hot Iron
was engaged in illegal trafficking of appliances, must pay $ 8000 hard cash and he took care of the rest. I took a month's time to take the money and if he did he took care to become scrap. He had crossed a line, there was no going back.

can not imagine how many things should a fan to collect all that money. But as the need develops I'll reveal some building.
With a driven shaft of an engine can do wonders, I dedicated myself to sharpen scissors, knives and all that appeared. In the carnival got me headfirst into a huge pot and into balls of cotton candy to eat the damn human. But however much money was not working enough, lacking twenty days and Hot Iron began to threaten with messages that I sent to Mr. Phone the corner. Looking

my favorite film Moulin Rouge was inspired by his protagonist as I had a big red pallets full of swirling lights and all the humans came and dropped like flies into the trap. The rest I can imagine. Discrete I remove my fins, I gave a fluorescent colors and went to the street.
Twenty days later had my ill-gotten money in my pocket. Perhaps there in the distance could lead a better life, find an honest job and forget the degradation of my past life. Iron

I was all cold, just as well. I gave him money and told me I had made a new passport changing my name. I read the first page and I understood what he meant: Orbit Ventiladoration. After reading the name I looked ready to protest, but Iron looked at me and gave me a knowing wink, as if to let me know that I knew of my wanderings.

Night of the consignment was dark, I do not go with no moon. This boat was small and the wharf was away from the city. Frigos group approached him and when I would climb Iron stopped me and told me

- You come through that door.

I saw a silver handle was shining and although everything went dark. Plash ... he was closing the door

"Hey, I tread carefully. I heard a voice next several breaths. There was a lady Fosforera
do not know what to do with us at that time, but went on and we know we were in a Mini-camels engaged in the illegal traffic of goods. The news in recent days did not talk about something else ... the horror of those trips ... and I was over in this orbit.

tell them no more, would be too long the history of this adventure and then lived or live in tropical paradise promised.

Greetings to all appliances free and should not be colored to be accepted.

General Electric Inc. takes this opportunity to invite all the pots of the Comarca Blogger (ironing boards, brooms, washing Auric, vases ... nobles and other human artifacts have been pulled to the abandonment) to collaborate with a history of glory or misery in this space. If you are a pileup and want to insert a chapter of his adventures on this page, let me get urgently frigidaireamericano1@gmail.com . You put the beer and I will chill ... Greetings to all and thanks again to Gaviota by this bridge.