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7 + 1 Reasons Not To Mess With Children

A little girl was talking to her teacher about whales. The teacher said it was physically impossible for a whale to swallow a human because even though it was a very large mammal its throat was very small. The little girl stated that Jonah was swallowed by a whale.. Irritated, the teacher reiterated that a whale could not swallow a human; it was physically impossible. The little girl said, ‘When I get to heaven I will ask Jonah’. The teacher asked, ‘What if Jonah went to hell?’ The little girl replied, ‘Then you ask him’.
A Kindergarten teacher was observing her classroom of children while they were drawing. She would occasionally walk around to see each child’s work. As she got to one little girl who was working diligently, she asked what the drawing was. The girl replied, ‘I’m drawing God.’ The teacher paused and said, ‘But no one knows what God looks like.’ Without missing a beat, or looking up from her drawing, the girl replied, ‘They will in a minute.
A Sunday school teacher was discussing the Ten Commandments with her five and six year old. After explaining the commandment to ‘honour’ thy Father and thy Mother, she asked, ‘Is there a commandment that teaches us how to treat our brothers and sisters?’ Without missing a beat one little boy (the oldest of a family) answered, ‘Thou shall not kill.’
One day a little girl was sitting and watching her mother do the dishes at the kitchen sink. She suddenly noticed that her mother had several strands of white hair sticking out in contrast on her brunette head. She looked at her mother and inquisitively asked, ‘Why are some of your hairs white, Mum?’ Her mother replied, ‘Well, every time that you do something wrong and make me cry or unhappy, one of my hairs turns white.’ The little girl thought about this revelation for a while and then said, ‘Mummy, how come ALL of grandma’s hairs are white?’
The children had all been photographed, and the teacher was trying to persuade them each to buy a copy of the group picture. ‘Just think how nice it will be to look at it when you are all grown up and say, ‘There’s Jennifer, she’s a lawyer,’ or ‘That’s Michael, He’s a doctor.’ A small voice at the back of the room rang out, ‘And there’s the teacher, she’s dead.’
A teacher was giving a lesson on the circulation of the blood. Trying to make the matter clearer, she said, ‘Now, class, if I stood on my head, the blood, as you know, would run into it, and I would turn red in the face.’ ‘Yes,’ the class said. ‘Then why is it that while I am standing upright in the ordinary position the blood doesn’t run into my feet?’ A little fellow shouted, ‘Cause your feet ain’t empty.’
The children were lined up in the cafeteria of a Catholic elementary school for lunch. At the head of the table was a large pile of apples. The nun made a note, and posted on the apple tray: ‘Take only ONE. God is watching.’ Moving further along the lunch line, at the other end of the table was a large pile of chocolate chip cookies. A child had written a note, ‘Take all you want. God is watching the apples.’ 
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A teacher was debating with her young students about it being impossible for Moses to preform the miracle of parting the Red Sea. This all because, as the teacher says, the Red Sea only gets to be about 6-12 inches deep when the tides are down at that time of year. A child then replies: “then it was a miracle that Pharoh and his whole army drowned in 6-12 inches of water!”
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Rearden did not think that Francisco could have heard it, but he saw Francisco turning to them with a
gravely courteous smile.
"So you think that money is the root of all evil?" said Francisco d'Anconia. "Have you ever asked what is
the root of money? Money is a tool of exchange, which can't exist unless there are goods produced and
men able to produce them. Money is the material shape of the principle that men who wish to deal with
one another must deal by trade and give value for value. Money is not the tool of the moochers, who
claim your product by tears, or of the looters, who take it from you by force. Money is made possible
only by the men who produce.
Is this what you consider evil?
"When you accept money in payment for your effort, you do so only on the conviction that you will
exchange it for the product of the effort of others. It is not the moochers or the looters who give value to
money. Not an ocean of tears nor all the guns in the world can transform those pieces of paper in your
wallet into the bread you will need to survive tomorrow. Those pieces of paper, which should have been
gold, are a token of honor—your claim upon the energy of the men who produce. Your wallet is your
statement of hope that somewhere in the world around you there are men who will not default on that
moral principle which is the root of money. Is this what you consider evil?
"Have you ever looked for the root of production? Take a look at an electric generator and dare tell
yourself that it was created by the muscular effort of unthinking brutes. Try to grow a seed of wheat
without the knowledge left to you by men who had to discover it for the first time. Try to obtain your
food by means of nothing but physical motions—and you'll learn that man's mind is the root of all the
goods produced and of all the wealth that has ever existed on earth.
"But you say that money is made by the strong at the expense of the weak? What strength do you mean?
It is not the strength of guns or muscles. Wealth is the product of man's capacity to think. Then is money
made by the man who invents a motor at the expense of those who did not invent it? Is money made by
the intelligent at the expense of the fools? By the able at the expense of the incompetent? By the
ambitious at the expense of the lazy? Money is made—before it can be looted or mooched—made by
the effort of every honest man, each to the extent of his ability. An honest man is one who knows that he
can't consume more than he has produced.
"To trade by means of money is the code of the men of good will.
Money rests on the axiom that every man is the owner of his mind and his effort. Money allows no
power to prescribe the value of your effort except the voluntary choice of the man who is willing to trade
you his effort in return. Money permits you to obtain for your goods and your labor that which they are
worth to the men who buy them, but no more. Money permits no deals except those to mutual benefit by
the unforced judgment of the traders. Money demands of you the recognition that men must work for
their own benefit, not for their own injury, for their gain, not their loss—the recognition that they are not
beasts of burden, born to carry the weight of your misery—that you must offer them values, not
wounds—that the common bond among men is not the exchange of suffering, but the exchange of goods.
Money demands that you sell, not your weakness to men's stupidity, but your talent to their reason; it
demands that you buy, not the shoddiest they offer, but the best that your money can find. And when
men live by trade—with reason, not force, as their final arbiter—it is the best product that wins, the best
performance, the man of best judgment and highest ability—and the degree of a man's productiveness is
the degree of his reward. This is the code of existence whose tool and symbol is money. Is this what you
consider evil?
"But money is only a tool. It will take you wherever you wish, but it will not replace you as the driver. It
will give you the means for the satisfaction of your desires, but it will not provide you with desires.
Money is the scourge of the men who attempt to reverse the law of causality—the men who seek to
replace the mind by seizing the products of the mind.
"Money will not purchase happiness for the man who has no concept of what he wants: money will not
give him a code of values, if he's evaded the knowledge of what to value, and it will not provide him with
a purpose, if he's evaded the choke of what to seek. Money will not buy intelligence for the fool, or
admiration for the coward, or respect for the incompetent. The man who attempts to purchase the brains
of his superiors to serve him, with his money replacing his judgment, ends up by becoming the victim of
his inferiors. The men of intelligence desert him, but the cheats and the frauds come flocking to him,
drawn by a law which he has not discovered: that no man may be smaller than his money. Is this the
reason why you call it evil?
"Only the man who does not need it, is fit to inherit wealth—the man who would make his own fortune
no matter where he started. If an heir is equal to his money, it serves him; if not, it destroys him.
But you look on and you cry that money corrupted him. Did it? Or did he corrupt his money? Do not
envy a worthless heir; his wealth is not yours and you would have done no better with it. Do not think
that it should have been distributed among you; loading the world with fifty parasites instead of one,
would not bring back the dead virtue which was the fortune. Money is a living power that dies without its
root. Money will not serve the mind that cannot match it. Is this the reason why you call it evil?
"Money is your means of survival. The verdict you pronounce upon the source of your livelihood is the
verdict you pronounce upon your life. If the source is corrupt, you have damned your own existence. Did
you get your money by fraud? By pandering to men's vices or men's stupidity? By catering to fools, in the
hope of getting more than your ability deserves? By lowering your standards? By doing work you
despise for purchasers you scorn? If so, then your money will not give you a moment's or a penny's
worth of joy. Then all the things you buy will become, not a tribute to you, but a reproach; not an
achievement, but a reminder of shame. Then you'll scream that money is evil. Evil, because it would not
pinch-hit for your self-respect? Evil, because it would not let you enjoy your depravity? Is this the root of
your hatred of money?
"Money will always remain an effect and refuse to replace you as the cause. Money is the product of
virtue, but it will not give you virtue and it will not redeem your vices. Money will not give you the
unearned, neither in matter nor in spirit. Is this the root of your hatred of money?
"Or did you say it's the love of money that's the root of all evil?
To love a thing is to know and love its nature. To love money is to know and love the fact that money is
the creation of the best power within you, and your passkey to trade your effort for the effort of the best
among men. It's the person who would sell his soul for a nickel, who is loudest in proclaiming his hatred
of money—and he has good reason to hate it. The lovers of money are willing to work for it.
They know they are able to deserve it.
"Let me give you a tip on a clue to men's characters: the man who damns money has obtained it
dishonorably; the man who respects it has earned it.
"Run for your life from any man who tells you that money is evil.
That sentence is the leper's bell of an approaching looter. So long as men live together on earth and need
means to deal with one another—their only substitute, if they abandon money, is the muzzle of a gun.
"But money demands of you the highest virtues, if you wish to make it or to keep it. Men who have no
courage, pride or self-esteem, men who have no moral sense of their right to their money and are not
willing to defend it as they defend their life, men who apologize for being rich—will not remain rich for
long. They are the natural bait for the swarms of looters that stay under rocks for centuries, but come
crawling out at the first smell of a man who begs to be forgiven for the guilt of owning wealth. They will
hasten to relieve him of the guilt—and of his life, as he deserves.
"Then you will see the rise of the men of the double standard—the men who live by force, yet count on
those who live by trade to create the value of their looted money—the men who are the hitchhikers of
virtue. In a moral society, these are the criminals, and the statutes are written to protect you against them.
But when a society establishes criminals-by-right and looters-by-law—men who use force to seize the
wealth of disarmed victims—then money becomes its creators' avenger.
Such looters believe it safe to rob defenseless men, once they've passed a law to disarm them. But their
loot becomes the magnet for other looters, who get it from them as they got it. Then the race goes, not to
the ablest at production, but to those most ruthless at brutality. When force is the standard, the murderer
wins over the pickpocket. And then that society vanishes, in a spread of ruins and slaughter.
"Do you wish to know whether that day is coming? Watch money.
Money is the barometer of a society's virtue. When you see that trading is done, not by consent, but by
compulsion—when you see that in order to produce, you need to obtain permission from men who
produce nothing—when you see that money is flowing to those who deal, not in goods, but in
favors—when you see that men get richer by graft and by pull than by work, and your laws don't protect
you against them, but protect them against you—when you see corruption being rewarded and honesty
becoming a self-sacrifice—you may know that your society is doomed. Money is so noble a medium that
it does not compete with guns and it does not make terms with brutality.
It will not permit a country to survive as half-property, half-loot.
"Whenever destroyers appear among men, they start by destroying money, for money is men's
protection and the base of a moral existence. Destroyers seize gold and leave to its owners a counterfeit
pile of paper. This kills all objective standards and delivers men into the arbitrary power of an arbitrary
setter of values. Gold was an objective value, an equivalent of wealth produced. Paper is a mortgage on
wealth that does not exist, backed by a gun aimed at those who are expected to "produce it. Paper is a
check drawn by legal looters upon an account which is not theirs: upon the virtue of the victims. Watch
for the day when it bounces, marked: 'Account overdrawn.'
"When you have made evil the means of survival, do not expect men to remain good. Do not expect
them to stay moral and lose their lives for the purpose of becoming the fodder of the immoral. Do not
expect them to produce, when production is punished and looting rewarded. Do not ask, 'Who is
destroying the world?' You are.
"You stand in the midst of the greatest achievements of the greatest productive civilization and you
wonder why it's crumbling around you, while you're damning its life-blood—-money. You look upon
money as the savages did before you, and you wonder why the jungle is creeping back to the edge of
your cities. Throughout men's history, money was always seized by looters of one brand or another,
whose names changed, but whose method remained the same: to seize wealth by force and to keep the
producers bound, demeaned, defamed, deprived of honor. That phrase about the evil of money, which
you mouth with such righteous recklessness, comes from a time when wealth was produced by the labor
of slaves—slaves who repeated the motions once discovered by somebody's mind and left unimproved
for centuries. So long as production was ruled by force, and wealth was obtained by conquest, there was
little to conquer. Yet through all the centuries of stagnation and starvation, men exalted the looters, as
aristocrats of the sword, as aristocrats of birth, as aristocrats of the bureau, and despised the producers,
as slaves, as traders, as shopkeepers—as industrialists.
"To the glory of mankind, there was, for the first and only time in history, a country of money—and I
have no higher, more reverent tribute to pay to America, for this means: a country of reason, justice,
freedom, production, achievement. For the first time, man's mind and money were set free, and there
were no fortunes-by-conquest, but only fortunes-by-work, and instead of swordsmen and slaves, there
appeared the real maker of wealth, the greatest worker, the highest type of human being—the self-made
man—the American industrialist.
"If you ask me to name the proudest distinction of Americans, I would choose—because it contains all
the others—the fact that they were the people who created the phrase 'to make money.’ No other
language or nation had ever used these words before; men had always thought of wealth as a static
quantity—to be seized, begged, inherited, shared, looted or obtained as a favor. Americans were the first
to understand that wealth has to be created. The words 'to make money' hold the essence of human
"Yet these were the words for which Americans were denounced by the rotted cultures of the looters'
continents. Now the looters' credo has brought you to regard your proudest achievements as a hallmark
of shame, your prosperity as guilt, your greatest men, the industrialists, as blackguards, and your
magnificent factories as the product and property of muscular labor, the labor of whip-driven slaves, like
the pyramids of Egypt. The rotter who simpers that he sees no difference between the power of the
dollar and the power of the whip, ought to learn the difference on his own hide—as, I think, he will.
"Until and unless you discover that money is the root of all good, you ask for your own destruction.
When money ceases to be the tool by which men deal with one another, then men become the tools of
men. Blood, whips and guns—or dollars. Take your choice—there is no other—and your time is running
Francisco had not glanced at Rearden once while speaking; but the moment he finished, his eyes went
straight to Rearden's face. Rearden stood motionless, seeing nothing but Francisco d'Anconia across the
moving figures and angry voices between them.
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The Devil Wears Prada

Miranda Priestly: Something funny?
Andy Sachs: No, no, nothing. Y’know, it’s just that both those belts look exactly the same to me. Y’know, I’m still learning about all this stuff.
Miranda Priestly: This… ‘stuff’? Oh… OK. I see, you think this has nothing to do with you. You go to your closet and you select out, oh I don’t know, that lumpy blue sweater, for instance, because you’re trying to tell the world that you don’t take yourself too seriously to care about what you put on your back. But what you don’t know is that that sweater is not just blue, it’s not turquoise, it’s not lapis, it’s actually cerulean. You’re also blithely unaware of the fact that in 2002, Oscar De La Renta did a collection of cerulean gowns. And then I think it was Yves St Laurent, wasn’t it, who showed cerulean military jackets? I think we need a jacket here. And then cerulean quickly showed up in the collections of 8 different designers. Then it filtered down through the department stores and then trickled on down into some tragic casual corner where you, no doubt, fished it out of some clearance bin. However, that blue represents millions of dollars and countless jobs and so it’s sort of comical how you think that you’ve made a choice that exempts you from the fashion industry when, in fact, you’re wearing the sweater that was selected for you by the people in this room. From a pile of stuff.
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Happy New Year

Сегодня 30 декабря
Обычный день и для тебя и для меня
Ты сидишь у себя на работе в Чите, а я не у себя в Москве
За окном валит долгожданный снег и я уже хочу новогодних конфет
Но в новогоднюю ночь я работаю вот такой вот неожиданный пируэт
А у тебя наверное будет корпоратив ууууфф какой позитифффф
А я на корпоротив не пойду лучше замуруйте меня во льду до лета, и
Тогда уж будет мое продолжение банкета.

Короче всех я поздравляю с новым годом
Пейте побольше водки, так прям чтоб сели все почки
Выносите мусор на ночь
Загазуйте Москву напрочь
Не придерживайте двери в метро
Курите по пачке в день всякое дерьмо
Тащите с работы канцелярское барахло
Врите минимум раз в день
Сплетничайте, воруйте, толстейте, деритесь!!!
Орите на бабок которые мешают жить вам на этой планете
Поставьте весь мир на колени перед собой и в новом году будет счастье всем тем кто другой.

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I Had A Bad Dream

I'm sorry I forgot to call you back
I've lost my phone with your phone number
I know I should remember it by heart
But I've lost my heart when i've lost my iPhone in the sabway
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A Football Fan

У него сегодня важный день
Он накопил 50 рублей
Повторил речевки с утра, маме сказал что идет погулять у ручья, но ей все равно, она с будуна
И наконец то он один, сам себе он господин
Достает 50 рублей гордо и покупает в ларке пойло
На улице мерзко и холодно, а ему хорошо, цель одна, поскорее напиться
У него флаг вместо плаща
Имидж все, а остальное ерунда
Наверное по кодексу футбольного фаната
Готовиться к футболу нужно в одиночестве, замазать раны и подлечить почки
Заштопать флаг и надеть старую сорочку
Все идет по плану
К девяти утра он уже пьян, один на остановке
А до заветной игры также далеко как до центра на машине по пробкам
Денег уже нет, но у него студенческий билет
Он садится на трамвай
Нетерпеливый, но решительный он готов к игре с противниками
Ему даже пенсионеры уступают место, ведь он может превратить всех нас в тесто
Он уже в метро, и до станции Спортивная совсем не далеко
Милиционеры выстроились в ряд, и ждут его что бы проводить на парад
Обыскивать его бесполезно, ведь все что ему нужно он уже допил, вот почему он такой вредный
Игра началась, вперед, ГОЛ!
В ворота команды за которую болеет ОН
Здесь надо начинать злиться, но он без сил, ему бы водицы.
Его команда проиграла, а все о чем он мог думать, это то что пива было мало!
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I'm not asleep, it's a real pig
In front of me, with big teeth, with a long tale and with a brown hair.
It's looking at me like I'm the one, who created her so pink and dull
Then I bursted with laugh and screamed out loud
And that made me so pleased and proud

While a was fooling around she was patient
Then i started to jump she stayed patient
Then She winked at me with on eye
And she said "Could you please come down for a while!"

The Zoo just stoped for a moment
And i was carried away by the crowd
Before i understood what just hapened
I've noticed that the pig had a unibrown

Basically that was it
I just wanted to tell you a story how i missed the pig speak
Because i was in my headphones listening to some average music
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On The Road

I'm on the road, with a bag of gold
In fancy dress and with a gun in front of my face
Without a car, I need a wagon
To put my staff that I stole from the dragon
My hands are shaking, I'm scared to death
That after all I've gone through ive came to an end
My shoes are dirty, but my mind is clean, i think i saw this moment in my dream
I'm on the road, with one desire to find at least someone to admire
I'm in a good mood, it's really dark, and all I can see is the light
It's coming closer, I should be scared, but i don't care, I just don't
Of course I'd prefer to be killed by a bullet, but to be killed by a car it's
also so cruel
I should have warned my friend at home, my family and my enthernet company
They will look for me if I'm gone, they will call me if I won't be
back on time
I would love to call them back and say "I'm save"
But there is no signal in my grave