Short stories from Birmingham readers in 162 countries so far
HEAR ME READ ALOUD
207 stories written & read by me
https://profile.typepad.com/michaelgcasey
https://michaelgcasey.typepad.com/blog/
Well Taylor
Swift has just given me a rushed rendition of her latest album, whatever it is
called, I was too busy squeezing my spots to hear exactly what she said. So she
stood where the Christmas tree will be in just 5 months’ time and sung it for me.
She knows I don’t stream so she flew over to give me a personal rendition, her
bloke lives in UK after all, and it killed two birds with one stone. Then she
did a bit of dusting, the high dusting, she is rather tall after all, especially
if I lend her my high heels. Then I gave her a cup of tea, the cheap stuff from
Tesco, she’s American she can’t tell the difference, and a slice of my home
made cake, I don’t trust my daughters’ baking skills, so it would have gone in
the bin otherwise, Totoro our cat refuses to eat it. Then we air kissed and she
was gone in a puff of Fairy Dust, it’s some perfume Celine flogged her.
Now
where was I, I’ll open the window, Fairy Dust does not appeal to me, why do
ladies wear such rubbish, CK One is good enough, I can steal the litre bottle
from their voluminous bags, it’ll last me a year, CK One, perfect for fat silver
haired writers in shades from Birmingham England. But don’t tell Taylor what I
said about Fairy Dust or she’ll cry, Celine won’t mind, she’s an old mate of
mine, but that’s another story.
Waves
that’s what I was going to talk about today before I’m off to Saint Judes
Chicago for Mass, no I don’t have a private jet, do you think Taylor would let
me on hers? I should cocoa, with a flake in. Taylor will come and sing and dust
for me, but get on her plane? I should cocoa, besides they’d have to strap me
down, and I only allow straps when I’m role playing, but I never discuss my own
private predilections, what shade of grey is my hair anyway?
A wave
is a motion on the sea, and that’s why you get sea sick and puke over the rail
on the ferry to Kerry. Have you noticedtoo why sailors spit first before they throw the left overs over the side?
It’s to test the wind, otherwise what they throw will come back at them, then
their bell bottoms will be full of left overs, so spit first, throw second. Simple
really. My Maternal grandfather was actually in the Merchant Navy so my mother
told me, and if you look at Cromane Lower Kerry Eire on the map you’ll see that
you can spit from the house and your spit will land in the sea.
From the
strand there you can make pebbles skip on the sea over the waves, next stop,
USA. This really is one of the most beautiful places on God’s earth, if you Google
Earth you can see it for yourself, opposite is Inch and the Dingle peninsula
where Ryan’s Daughter was filmed long ago now. So when I go to Ireland that’s
the rush, the wave of emotion I get, I am coming home. This is where my mother
was born. Sadly it’s too long since I was there, but the memories of waves of laughter
and love remain.
Emotionis a wave, it springs up from inside, how
deep, how far until it breaks the surface and roars up the beach to crash on
the sands that are your heart depends on who you are. Cromane Lower Killorglin
County Kerry Eire is the place to visit, and if it’s beauty does now move you
then you are already dead. So imagine what it was like for mum and for dad too
to come to Smethwick in 1944, compared to the beauty of Kerry. Though dad did
appreciate the pubs on every street corner he was a lad of not yet 23 then, and
working in a steel works every foundryman did.
We also
wave at people we love, long waves, short waves, suppressed waves that end in
tears in tissues. Nobody saw my parents off from Kerry and they were greeted
with DDT when they arrived from the fresh air of Kerry to Britain’s shores
still at War. Parents and Grandparents wave at end other through windows as
they leave, or through Covid 19 plastic defences. The Internet has leapt forward
and all our lives have changed as we wave at each other via WhatsApp, we notice
how old we all look via the Internet. Or we lie and say just how beautiful they
are, with hair like Hippies, but grandpa says this is how he was in the 60s.
Sound Waves
join us all, the Radio has returned with Community and people being united as
the music plays, a captive audience maybe. You even have 12 hours of my Audio
on my Typepad if you want to hear my real voice, not the voice you imagine as
you listen to me here on the screen. So waves of sound save our souls as we
endure the boredom of Covid 19, back in 1944 my dad had to be a fire watcher at
night, just in case any Nazi bomber got through. I did hear a tale about Cape
Hill but was that a tale or a mixed up memory. Only those in their high 90s
will know for sure, such as my mother’s still living friends. Though I do know
USA army did hide in Warley Woods prior to Dday, and one street was driven through
for the tanks, but local history buffs will explain it all to you.
So the waves
move up and down, the waves of emotion driven by the sands of time that are
History. Until all our sand has ran out, we have no more time, people wave us
off at the graveyard, Covid 19 restrictions permitting. We awake on the other side
of Death, we are walking on a beach at Cromane and we can see, finally see past
the waves and see who made those other set of footprints in the sand. You meet
your Lord.
Well its
2am on 18/6/2017 and I’m up with pain, tooth ache this time, I chipped a tooth
at the upper back of my mouth, makes a change from my arthritis I suppose. I
have a mouth full of toothpaste in my mouth as I talk to you all. The theory is
that it will protect me from the pain by washing over where the chip is. Ok Its
stupid but do YOU have any better ideas at this time of the morning?
I could
rub my Movelat on my face but that would be a stupider idea, its for my joints
when my arthritis kicks in. What has all this got to do with being a Good
Stumbler? Well Mark Harris, who H though had Charisma, was the one who said I
was a Good Stumbler. He wasn’t on about me tripping over Barry’s long legs
while we had a pint in the Queen’s Tavern either. Just giving them two a name
check should they stumble over this.
So what
exactly is a Good Stumbler? Well I suppose its me, its my whole life. In
Slumdog Millionaire the guy’s life gives him all the answers so he can win the
quiz. My own life has been just like that, one thing has led to another even if
at the time it was a painful or even very painful interlude. I must go and spit
out this toothpaste now. It is a trick to whiten your teeth as well, provided
that you can stand the taste for so long. Ok, in USA you bleach your teeth but
that is not natural at all.
I just
stumbled over the cat she is participating in a blood sport, no not fox
hunting, though we did have 3 foxes simultaneously in our garden one night, they
are just up the road after all and dustbins are foxes takeaways. No, she,
Totoro was chasing and eating flies and moths attracted to our yard light. I
did offer to let her in but the blood sport was a bigger attraction than
sneaking in at 2.20am, like a dirty stopout of a cat.
As you
can see I stumbled over that last paragraph, and we both have benefited from
it. So pray for my pain, this Sunday morning. I could mention that our local
priest also does a bit of Editing on the side. Though I would never let anybody
touch my words, priest or no priest. What is writ is writ as somebody once said
to a load of priests.
One take
or nothing is my motto, how Jeffery Archer goes through up to 13 rewrites with
his Editor I could never know. It was be so soul destroying, and boring, it
would kill the story for me. A stranger forcing you to have an English
Literature class on your own creative spirit, yuck. Mind you he has a Monet on
his wall, which is worth 100 times the value of my house, but no not even for a
Monet would I led people touch my words.
So I
stumble along writing my stories, stumbling into ideas here and there, such as
have all my books at 2.99 USD in a vain effort to get you all to buy them. I
stumbled into that idea 2 days ago after I read a piece in the DT about a KDP
writer. He’s rich now, I am not, so I thought about lowering my prices to
entice you all to buy my 13 books and 4 translations. A Stumble has led to
that.
The cat
is still out and I’m wondering what other stumbles I can mention, such as the
dog Peeing on a house and I looked up and noticed it was for sale. And this is
where I’ve been living these past 30 years. Marriage was a stumble too and
having 2 daughters when we thought we might not have any children is not a
stumble but more of a Blessing.
Though I
did used to work the Graveyard shift at SMBC council computer room. So I got
home at 3am or so. And one thing led to another, ok IF you are having trouble
conceiving then try 3am to 4am and see if it works for you. Or I could just be
very fertile, or together we have stumbled on peak fertility time. I can
picture it now thousands of Michaels and Michaelas named in my honour, in
Ireland it was thousands of John-Pauls instead of Patricks.
Its both
strange and humorous how things happen, turning that corner at the right time,
or God intervening, the only place he goes is the Old People’s Home to see his
dad. He only goes to the fishing tackle shop, he’ll never meet anybody, he’ll
be a sad old bachelor. So he goes in and knocks all the poles over, this does
not mean Polish people, a pole is what a professional angler calls his rod. As
he stoops to pick up all the poles the owner’s daughter appears and its love at
first bite. Without any bait, and the scruffy man gets the shop as a dowry.
They have found each other, and she uses a white fish net as veil and train.
Well its
nearly 3am now and Totoro our cat is still out, she is worse that a teenager, and
I have 2 already. I hope if you have stumbled over this piece you decide to
come back and read some more stories from me. I have now written 2900 to stories, or more if you count the ones I
reloaded to my blog here. I’m going to try and go back to bed now despite the
heat and pain. If I’m tired enough I can sleep through anything.
Wait. I
hear a noise I though the cat wanted to come back in. No just something else,
not unless it was the moths banging on the windows. Turn that bloody light off,
that cat of yours is eating us alive. Stay happy wherever you are, and if you
can’t sleep then make love, don’t waste your time reading my stuff.
the cover is the old house where most of my writing was done
1987 to 2018
we have now moved
If I win the lottery then I'd move again, for fun I look at nice houses
on rightmove.co.uk
all I need is the money and perhaps that Korean girl to speed type for me
who'd fall in love with my writing, then me, then we'd have 4 kids together
and form a Kpop band. And I'd live 40 more years
That's the Big Grace I ask for
but obviously I'm unworthy of, and my body will give out in much less time than 40 years. But I still Hope and Pray every night as Tinnitus keeps me awake.
1.The Butcher The Baker and The Undertaker
2.Shoplife
3.Essays and Plays
4.Blogs 2011
5.300 and Not OUT
6.Shorts 2013
7.More Shorts 2014
8.Quick Stories
9.Still Alive 2015
10.Undiscovered Words 2016
11.Still Smiling 2017
12.Altogether Now
13.New Horizons
14.14 Up
15.15 Down
16.Sweet Sixteen
17. 17 Again
18. 18 New Views
19. The Final Cut of the 19th Hole
Michael was all alone in the house, he was abandoned, left
all alone with just the mice for company. He was the kitchen boy in the
Master’s house, he’d fetch and carry and be allowed to sleep in a corner, just
like a dog, but a dog would at least have a basket. He was actually the Master’s
son, but when the pantry maid had died in labour, Michael was kept in the
kitchen, the Master agreeing not to send him to the Workhouse, a promise he
kept as the maid died before him.
Being the eldest, Michael should have inherited the house
and the fortune, but he had been born on the wrong side of the blanket. The non
bastard children were in fact very ugly, but the Master had married for a
fortune, and not for love. Meanwhile Michael slowly rotted in the kitchen,
while snotty noses enjoyed their Victorian life.
Michael would sit and dream on the cold flagstones, just
shadows on the wall for company. Sometimes one of Charles Dickens’stories would appear wrapped up with carrots
or turnips. Michael loved Charles Dickens his stories were so good, what with the
cliff-hangers, one day Charles Dickens would be famous. The cook just laughed,
but she enjoyed listening to Michael reading out the stories while peeled the
spuds. That was the only reason she had taught Michael to read, so she could
entertain her, she had in fact invented Radio, minus the radio that is, Listen
with Mother if you like.
Every night the staff went to the attic to sleep while
Michael shivered in a corner, it was a slow death of the spirit apart from
Charles Dickens. Michael had to try and fall asleep before the kitchen fire
went out, or he would not sleep at all, the cold being so bone chillingly cold.
There was a chink in the wall from the house next door and
this was Michael’s tv, without the tv that is. For in the next house everybody was
always happy and gay, the servants laughed and even danced. They had a good
Master, their fire was always on, the Master liked a warm house, he had made
his fortune in India so he liked a warm house.
If Michael squeezed himself against the chink in the wall
he could hear the singing and smell the cooking, he could pretend he was with
them in the warmth of company and of real warm. There wasactually a bit of heat coming from that chink
in the wall, Michael loved that house and that kitchen, it was so full of life
and joy.
At night Michael fell asleep mumbling the songs that he’d
heard from the next door household. In the middle of the night he’d regularly
awake, his toes numb with cold, his bum freezing too. So he’d get up and stamp
around. Only shadows for company, the one candle in a jar his only
illumination. Michael would hold the jar and press it against his body for
warmth.
Even the shadows on the wall had pity on him, they would
dance about and form faces of people dancing and talking, trying to amuse and
console Michael. The very stones cried for him, shadows of tears fell. Michael
loved their company in his daily Dark Night of the Soul, a shadow is great
company if you have no friends, if you have to decide whether to burn Charles
Dickens for warmth or save him so he can warm your soul. Such a choice, warmth
of the spirit or warmth of the body.
The same shadows came night after night, they were in fact
peopled by stories from Charles Dickens, if your body is so cold, then all that
is left is the spark of soul. Or distant smells and laughter coming through the
chink in the wall. So your imagination sees things in the dark, you see what
you want to see in the cold and dark. You see Hope. You see Love. You see
Laughter. You see dancing shadows.
The cook gave Michael a sweet, it was covered in muck and
feathers, she’d found it in the street when she’d been to the butchers, a few
weeks previously. She had only just remembered it. It was a present for being
such a good boy. It was also a goodbye, Michael would be 9 next week so the
Master had decided to let Michael find his own way in the world. Michael would
have to leave.
The Master was going to buy a puppy for his legitimate
children, Alpha the dog would need a space in the kitchen, Michael would have to
leave to make room for Alpha the dog. A dog is a man’s, a Master’s best friend
after all. The promise to the pantry maid had been kept, 9 years Michael had
squatted, now he was man enough to find his own way in the world.
The Master ordered that Michael be locked in overnight and
then in the morning when Alpha arrived Michael would be shown the door. Michael
stuffed all the Charles Dickens in his pockets, he’s freeze one last night, but
Charles Dickens would be part of his new life whatever and wherever that may
be.
The walls wept, if only Michael could squeeze through the
crack in the wall, if only he could sing and dance with the neighbours, they
were having a Christmas Eve celebration. Michael fell asleep dreaming that very
same dream. He was dancing and drinking punch, the maids all gave him a dance
and a peck on the cheek. They all loved him, he was not the bastard son,
unwanted and thrown out to make room for adog.
Michael danced and laughed all night long, he was so
happy, a much loved member of the family. He was smiling in his sleep,
clutching Charles Dickens in his hands. That was how they found him in the
morning, curled up like a dog, but with a smile on his face, and Charles
Dickens’ new story in his hand A Christmas Carol. Michael had died happy in his
sleep. But how he got next door through a locked door nobody would ever know, not
even the stones would tell. Sometimes all the love you need is a chink in the
wall.
As a “punishment” during Lockdown I’ve decided to share the Arabic translation of
Altogether Now which is a massive omnibus, nearly 1,000,000 words in my Original
English. So what have you done to deserve this “punishment”.
I’ve spotted Arab readers
all over the Arab world reading my rubbish, so here’s something meaty to read.
Arabs in UK and USA all read my stuff too,
so it’s for all Arabs wherever you may be now
30/April/2020 and when Covid is beaten, you can all come to Birmingham and the rest of UK to enjoy our weather and British hospitality, just bring your dollars, for as you all know England is a Nation of Shopkeepers , and we will be ready for business.
By the way the original title of The Butcher The Baker and The Undertaker was in fact
A Nation of Shopkeepers but I changed it 30 years ago.
So Here are 3 word files in Arabic
So you will get :- The Butcher The Baker and The Undertaker
300 and Not OUT
and Altogether Now
if you want the English, my Original English then Amazon is the place to go.
Please just pray for me once, when you pray 5 times a day
and maybe you’ll all visit Birmingham and the UK in the near Future
Mikhail Mikhailovich was a spaceman, a cosmonaut as the Russians call them, he’d been in space forever, he held the world record already, he was testing himself to see if Man could make it to Mars. He and Tim Peake had had a lot of fun in the space station, but now Tim was gone. So Mikhail was lonely, in fact Mikhail was having a dark night of the soul, flying high in the sky orbiting the world. He was on the edge, but bear a bear of a man he told nobody, if only his wife Katarina was with him to make him strong, but he was floating in space and she was back in Saint Petersburg.
Michael the Arch-Angel had just pushed back Satan back into Hell and had sealed the gates with a pair of Rosary beads, now he was taking Mrs Murphy’s soul back to her body, he was in a hurry before her body died without her soul inside. At Saint Michael the Arch-Angel flew in space with Mrs Murphy’s soul safely tucked in his belt by his sword he felt Mikhail’s sorrow. So much sorry, he flew as fast as he could fly towards to space station, a soul was in danger, the space station was in danger, a man’s life and soul was in danger. Mikhail was on the verge of thinking of doing something mad bad and sad. Michael felt this and as an angel he must intervene, he spiralled directly towards the space station, he went straight inside and grabbed Mikhail’s arm.
An angel does not need to use doors, the spirit just walks through walls even in space, love knows no boundaries, and an angel is just that, love. Saint Michael the Arch-Angel gave Mikhail a bear-hug and nearly broke his ribs. Mikhail screamed in fear, Michael just laughed in his face and said he screamed like a little girl, was he going to pee his pants as an encore. Mikhail rubbed his eyes, there was angel in front of him, speaking Russian, in fact he sounded like his own old grandfather, with the same local accent.
I could punch your lights out, but I’m an angel so let’s talk, have you got any beer, my wings are tired I need a beer, asked the angel. Mikhail laughed, where do we have the room for a barrel of beer in a space station? The angel reached behind him and two pints of Stella Artois appeared in chalices, so Mikhail took one and drank it, after such a long time in space it was heavenly to say the least. So Mikhail and the angel had 4 pints each, which is enough to wet their whistle if they were both Russian. Mikhail wasn’t scared any more, if this was a dream he was going to enjoy it. He’d love a big sandwich of Russian beef and bread with lettuce and tomatoes, so once more Saint Michael reached behind him and the sandwiches appeared. Is Paul Daniels behind you joked Mikhail, Tim the English spaceman had told Mikhail about Paul Daniels during his time on the space station. No replied the angel, but God is behind me, and in front of me and in all directions too, he has my back, and your’s too, that’s why I’m saving you.
Mikhail, looked at his feet, he’d felt a failure, he could have, but he didn’t, an angel had saved him. Michael the Archangel gave him another pint of Stella Artois, Paul Daniels was working overtime you could say. Why were you in space anyway asked Mikhail. I was returning a soul to a body, Mrs Murphy was risking her soul to save the life of her priest, or rather the soul of her priest. That’s when Satan pounced, so I had to give him a kicking, and then mum asked we to return Mrs Murphy’s soul to her body, before her body expired. Mum who is your mum? Mary is my mum, she’s everybody’s mum, she prefers to be called ”mum” it’s the highest title of all. Mikhail Mikhailovich started to cry, so Michael wiped his nose with his wings.
I wish I could be a father but being in the space program has put paid to that, I am a hero of Mother Russia, but my own wife cannot be a mother, we will never know the joy of children. Mikhail cried again, the angel gave him a huge hug, almost breaking the spaceman’s ribs and Mikhail’s face turned bright red due to lack of oxygen. A tear fell from the angel’s eye, it trickled down his face and splashed Mrs Murphy’s soul, this was enough for Mrs Murphy she was saying the Rosary in a nanosecond. Her body was dead by now, but at least she could pray for the spaceman.
Michael and Mikhail had some fresh fruit, bananas and grapes, washed down with more Stella Artois. Mikhail unburdened himself to the angel, all his hopes and dreams, being a spaceman was the last of them. Tim had told Mikhail about David Bowie and the two of them had put the face makeup on and sung the songs. Now Tim was gone and Mikhail missed him, but most of all Mikhail missed something he’d never have. Children. As a child Mikhail loved listening to stories, stories from all over Russia and everywhere else too, but then studying came along.
Saint Michael the Archangel has a secret, he loves stories too, he’s spent ages, literally Ages listening to stories from all over the world. So as they drunk their Stella Artois Michael told Mikhail some of the stories. First in Russian for the Russian stories, then he switched to Chinese for the Chinese stories, Indian for the Indian stories, and Japanese for the Japanese stories. Michael knew thousands of stories in told them all in all the native languages. The food and drink flowed, Paul Daniels really is a great magician, how he hid all of it in the space station ready to save a soul, a Russian spaceman’s soul we’ll never know, perhaps he’s just an angel.
How long would it take to tell tales from all over the world, as long as there is food and drink on the table there will always be tales, and this angel doesn’t follow Logic, only Love. In Earth time 50 years had passed, or was it just a dream? Michael and Mikhail hugged, this time Michael could not breathe and he turned red. Mikhail had been filled with Love, and food and drink thanks to maybe Paul Daniels, so he was a big Russian Bear once more.
You are Mikhail Mikhailovich a Spaceman who did not fall to earth, you are the Storyteller from Space, you are a “father” to billions of children, and to your wife you are the best husband in space and on earth who gave her seven children, angels love the number 7, Snow White really did exist you know, but that’s another story. Mikhail snored, he been dreaming hadn’t he.
Michael flew off into space, for decades he’d been talking to Mikhail, it was a coincidence he’d spotted Mikhail, he thanked God. As Michael looked at his watch, by which I mean the rotation of the stars in space, he realised he’d actually gone back in time by 2.9 nanoseconds. Einstein had been livid when he’d got to Heaven to discover that Time and Relativity was just one of God’s jokes.
Mrs Murphy’s soul was returned to her body, but her 50 years of prayers so that Mikhail could have a family had not been wasted, and as for her priest well that’s another story, Tears for a Butcher by Michael Casey to be exact, if God gives me the time to finish it.
The next night Mikhail said he had a story for all the Russian children, so he told them about the night the angel came to the space station. This was an instant hit all over Mother Russia, it was so funny too, though he had to explain who Paul Daniels was, they liked the story a lot, not a little bit. The Indians wanted to hear the story so could he tell them too, so he did but Mikhail told them in one of the major Indian languages, and as each child hear the story they hear it in the voice of their own grandfather. Japan was next and they were astounded too, not only did know their language but the accent was perfect, Mikhail was like a United Nations, his stories perfectly told demanded silence, followed by tears of joy.
Mikhail spent another month in space, each night he’d tell stories to the world’s children. He was out of this world literally and in all other ways. When it was time for him to return he was an international hero, for science and for story-telling. Putin himself said he drive him from the airport to the Kremlin for a reception. When Mikhail came down the steps from the plane his wife jumped into his arms, Putin was dressed as a chauffeur, the election was next month and he know good PR. The president as servant of the people. Putin did have to close the privacy screen in the Zil because the spaceman started on creating his happy family on the back seat of the Zil limousine.
So Mikhail got what he wanted a big happy Russian family, was the angel right in guessing 7, no he was wrong, Mikhail and his wife only had 3 pregnancies. Three being Mrs Murphy’s favourite number, three sets of triples. Mikhail set up his own Utube station to tell stories to the world’s children, he called it You’ll Like It, a lot. Then his friend Putin suggested he should run for president, so that’s how a spaceman called Mikhail became the President of Russia, because an angel came acalling, twinkle, twinkle.
Михаил Михайлович был космонавтом, космонавтом, как их называют русские , он был в космосе всегда, он уже установил мировой рекорд, он проверял себя, чтобы увидеть, сможет ли Человек добраться до Марса. Им с Тимом Пиком было очень весело на космической станции, но теперь Тима уже не было. Так что Михаил был одинок, на самом деле у Михаила была темная ночь души, летающей высоко в небе, вращающемся вокруг мира. Он был на грани, но нес медведя человека, которого он никому не сказал, если бы только его жена Катарина была с ним, чтобы сделать его сильным, но он плыл в космосе, и она вернулась в Санкт-Петербург.
Архангел Майкл только что оттолкнул сатану обратно в ад и запечатал ворота парой четок, теперь он возвращал душу миссис Мерфи обратно к ее телу, он спешил, прежде чем ее тело умерло без ее души внутри , В Святом Михаиле Архангел полетел в космос с душой миссис Мерфи, благополучно зажатой за поясом мечом, он почувствовал печаль Михаила. Очень жаль, что он летел так быстро, как только мог лететь к космической станции, душа была в опасности, космическая станция была в опасности, жизнь и душа человека были в опасности. Михаил был на грани мысли сделать что-то безумное, плохое и грустное. Майкл почувствовал это, и как ангел он должен вмешаться, он направился прямо к космической станции, он пошел прямо внутрь и схватил Михаила за руку.
Ангелу не нужно использовать двери, дух просто проходит сквозь стены даже в пространстве, любовь не знает границ, и ангел – это просто любовь. Святой Михаил Архангел обнял Михаила и чуть не сломал ему ребра. Михаил кричал от страха, Майкл просто смеялся ему в лицо и говорил, что он кричал, как маленькая девочка, собирался ли он мочиться в штаны как на бис. Михаил потер глаза, перед ним был ангел, говорящий по-русски, на самом деле он звучал как его старый дед, с тем же местным акцентом.
Я мог бы выключить ваши огни, но я ангел, так что давайте поговорим, у вас есть пиво, мои крылья устали, мне нужно пиво, спросил ангел. Михаил засмеялся, где у нас место для бочки пива на космической станции? Ангел потянулся за ним, и две чаши Стеллы Артуа появились в чашах, поэтому Михаил взял одну и выпил ее, после такого долгого пребывания в космосе это было, по меньшей мере, небесно. Таким образом, у Михаила и ангела было по 4 пинты, что достаточно, чтобы смочить их свисток, если они оба русские. Михаилу уже не было страшно , если это был сон, он собирался наслаждаться этим. Он хотел бы большой бутерброд русской говядины и хлеба с салатом и помидорами, тем более, когда Сент – Миха е л достигнуто за ним и появились бутерброды. Является ли Пол Дэниелс позади вас шутка d Михаила, во время своего пребывания на космической станции Тим английского космонавтом рассказал Михаилу о Paul Daniels. Ангел не ответил, но Бог позади меня, и передо мной и во всех направлениях у него есть моя спина, и ваша тоже, поэтому я спасаю вас.
Михаил, глядя на свои ноги, он чувствовал неудачу, он мог бы, но он этого не сделал, его спас ангел. Архангел Михаил подарил ему еще одну пинту Стеллы Артуа, Пол Дэниелс работал сверхурочно, можно сказать. Почему ты в космосе все равно спросил Михаила. Я возвращал душу в тело, миссис Мерфи рисковала своей душой, чтобы спасти жизнь своего священника, или, точнее, душу ее священника. Именно тогда сатана набросился, поэтому мне пришлось дать ему удар ногой, а затем мама попросила нас вернуть душу миссис Мерфи в ее тело, прежде чем ее тело истекло. Мама, кто твоя мама? Мария моя мама, она мама всех, она предпочитает называться мамой, это самый высокий титул из всех. Михаил Михайлович заплакал, поэтому Михаил вытер нос крыльями.
Я хотел бы быть отцом, но участие в космической программе положительно сказалось на этом, я герой Матери России, но моя собственная жена не может быть матерью, мы никогда не узнаем радости детей. Михаил снова закричал, ангел крепко обнял его, почти сломал ребра космонавта, и лицо Михаила стало ярко-красным из-за недостатка кислорода . Слеза упала из глаз ангела, она потекла по его лицу и брызнула на душу миссис Мерфи, этого было достаточно для миссис Мерфи, которая произносила Розарий за наносекунду. Ее тело уже умерло, но, по крайней мере, она могла молиться за космонавта.
У Михаила и Михаила было несколько свежих фруктов, бананов и винограда, которые запили еще стеллой Артуа. Михаил не обременял себя ангелом, все его надежды и мечты, будучи космонавтом, был последним из них. Тим рассказал Михаилу о Дэвиде Боуи, и они вдвоем накрасили лицо и спели песни. Теперь Тима не было, и Михаил скучал по нему, но больше всего Михаил скучал по тому, чего никогда не будет. Дети. В детстве Михаил любил слушать истории, рассказы со всей России и из других стран, но потом пришло время учиться.
У святого Михаила Архангела есть тайна, он тоже любит истории, он провел века, буквально века, слушая истории со всего мира. Так как они пили свою стеллу Артуа, Михаил рассказал Михаилу несколько историй. Сначала на русском языке для русских рассказов, затем он переключился на китайский для китайских рассказов, индийский для индийских рассказов и японский для японских рассказов. Майкл знал тысячи историй, рассказанных им на всех родных языках. Еда и напитки текли, Пол Дэниелс действительно великий волшебник, как он спрятал все это на космической станции, готовой спасти душу, душу русского космонавта, которую мы никогда не узнаем, возможно, он просто ангел.
Сколько времени потребуется, чтобы рассказывать сказки со всего мира, пока на столе есть еда и напитки, всегда будут сказки, и этот ангел не следует Логике, только Любовь. В земное время прошло 50 лет, или это был просто сон? Майкл и Михаил обнялись, на этот раз Майкл не мог дышать, и он покраснел. Михаил был наполнен любовью, едой и питьем, возможно, благодаря Полу Дэниелсу, поэтому он снова стал большим русским медведем.
Вы – Михаил Михайлович, космонавт, который не упал на землю, вы – Рассказчик из космоса, вы – « отец » для миллиардов детей, а для своей жены вы лучший муж в космосе и на земле, который дал ей семерых детей Вы знаете, ангелы любят число 7, Белоснежка действительно существовала, но это уже другая история. Михаил храпел, он мечтал, не так ли?
Майкл улетел в космос, на протяжении десятилетий он разговаривал с Михаилом, это было совпадение, что он заметил Михаила, он поблагодарил Бога. Когда Майкл посмотрел на часы, под которыми я имею в виду вращение звезд в космосе, он понял, что на самом деле вернулся во времени на 2,9 наносекунды. Эйнштейн был в ярости, когда попал на Небеса, чтобы обнаружить, что Время и Относительность были лишь одной из Божьих шуток.
Душа миссис Мерфи была возвращена к ее телу, но ее 50-летние молитвы, чтобы у Михаила могла быть семья, не пропали даром, а что касается ее священника, то это уже совсем другая история, если быть точным, слезы о мяснике Майкла Кейси, если Бог дает мне время закончить.
На следующую ночь Михаил сказал, что у него есть история для всех русских детей, поэтому он рассказал им о той ночи, когда ангел пришел на космическую станцию. Это был мгновенный удар по всей Матери России, это было так забавно, хотя он и должен был объяснить, кем был Пол Дэниелс, им история понравилась очень, а не немного. Индийцы хотели услышать эту историю, поэтому он мог рассказать им тоже, так он и сделал, но Михаил рассказал им на одном из основных индийских языков, и, как каждый ребенок слышит историю, они слышат ее голосом своего деда. Следующей была Япония, и они тоже были поражены: не только знали свой язык, но и акцент был идеальным, Михаил был похож на Организацию Объединенных Наций, его прекрасно рассказанные истории требовали молчания, сопровождаемого слезами радости.
Михаил провел еще месяц в космосе, каждую ночь он рассказывал истории детям всего мира. Он был вне этого мира буквально и во всех других отношениях. Когда ему пора было возвращаться, он был международным героем, для науки и для рассказывания историй. Сам Путин сказал, что отвезет его из аэропорта в Кремль на прием. Когда Михаил спустился по ступенькам из самолета, его жена прыгнула ему на руки, Путин был одет как шофер, выборы прошли в следующем месяце, и он знал хороший пиар. Президент как слуга народа. Путин действительно должен был закрыть экран конфиденциальности в Зиле б оскольку космонавт начал на создание своей счастливой семьи на заднем сиденье Зила лимузина.
Итак, Михаил получил то, что хотел, большую счастливую русскую семью, был ангел прав в угадывании 7, нет, он ошибался, у Михаила и его жены было только 3 беременности. Три любимых номера миссис Мерфи, три комплекта троек. Михаил создал свою собственную станцию Utube, чтобы рассказывать истории детям всего мира , он назвал ее «Вам понравится». Затем его друг Путин предложил ему баллотироваться в президенты, и именно так космонавт по имени Михаил стал президентом России, потому что ангел пришел в ужас , мерцание, мерцание .
THE WORLD IS A TINDER BOX right now
lets not destroy our Eden, Aliens may come to visit to hear Music, but they may come to waRN US. so GROW up all you dictators out there, you know who you are
