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The Chernobyl Disaster: Difference between revisions

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It's April 26th 1986; on a nothing short of a beautiful Slavic day full of ham, votka, votka ham, ham votka, ham ham, votka votka, mass starvation, poverty, child rape and cockroach consumption and cockroach rape consumption as is standard for our Eden - life is good.
It's April 26th 1986; on a nothing short of a beautiful Slavic day full of ham, votka, votka ham, ham votka, ham ham, votka votka, mass starvation, poverty, child rape and cockroach consumption and cockroach rape consumption as is standard for our Eden - life is good.



Revision as of 17:15, 5 November 2023

The Chernobyl Disaster looks like it was written by pseudo-intellectual 13-year-old boys.
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It's April 26th 1986; on a nothing short of a beautiful Slavic day full of ham, votka, votka ham, ham votka, ham ham, votka votka, mass starvation, poverty, child rape and cockroach consumption and cockroach rape consumption as is standard for our Eden - life is good.

You're Ivan; a reactor engineer employed as one of the best at the Chernobyl Nuclear Power Plant in Pripyat, Ukraine, USSR, and you just arrived at your office. As you greet your many coworkers, namely Retarded Rat and Krokodil Hooker; valiant professional collegues employed alongside you, and find yourself taking a seat on your comfy chair/burnt dog hair box and prepare to recalibrate reactor core ectoplasm existential over-execution computer overdrive superiority bobnvegene engine, a task assigned by none else but Stalin himself who rose from the grave to greet a young man working hard for glory of Us-SSR and Heroin Husk Hutt High-School, property of Pizdov LTD. (member, komunyizm)

Do not forget or YOU GO TO GULAG.

All three of Ivan's advanced Slavic nose hole sinus anuses BLYAT on face begin to notice a rather peculiar smell. "Holy shit on rat penis bones!" states Ivan, recoiling at the realization that colorful child dog has overcooked in reactor oven, leaving him short of a meal for this month. And worse of yet, he wasted a good bottle of T34 Soviet field tank fuel on glazing burnt imbred puppy balls that he never get to consume. "Crikey, mate." ads Stalin who has yet again come to the Mortal Realm this time to announce the his short return as Jesus 2 in North Korea next month. "Wat I do. Facking frog shits." Ivan thinks to himself. Coming to terms that succulent canine testes will not get to glide against the moist chasm of Ivan's face vajayna and arrive in Ivan's acyidyick štomack to provide him with necessary NUTrient, he calmly sighed and accepted defeat against the tides of fate 𝐁𝐋𝐘𝐀𝐀𝐀𝐀𝐀𝐀𝐀𝐀𝐀𝐀𝐀𝐀𝐀𝐀𝐀𝐀𝐀𝐀𝐀𝐀𝐀𝐁𝐋𝐘𝐀𝐀𝐀𝐀𝐀𝐀𝐀𝐀𝐀𝐀𝐀𝐀𝐀𝐀𝐀𝐀𝐀𝐀𝐀𝐀𝐀𝐀𝐀𝐀𝐀𝐀𝐀𝐀𝐀𝐀𝐀𝐀𝐀𝐀𝐀𝐀𝐀𝐀𝐀𝐀𝐀𝐀𝐀

See also

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