A Note Being Brief By I. Rabschinski
So, it is time for the first night of the Hanukkah, where we are celebrating lights and days of gifts for SmallChild 01 and SmallChild 02 (also being children which are mine), and for Spouse, who plots to kill the Dog who makes this blog -- though we are trying to talk her out of this extreme of position, usually with distractions ("Hey! Spouse -- Be looking up there!"), and chocolate -- but, the Good from the Switzerland, not krumbly Amerikanyets шоколад which tastes like animal has wiped its back part across your shagging carpet, and then you must lick it.
Hey; you notice how Cyrillic for 'chocolate' -- шоколад -- looks little like "Wonka", maybe? Is deep with the irony, yes? No? Oh, Пожалуйста - получите жизни.
We also enjoy to make the celebration with my Great-Uncle Yehudi, who was wounded in the fight in Great Patriotic War, where he had to have his sense of humor amputated.
This is the actual okay, however: We got him another one many years ago (they are like big grafting of the skin), and so he can watch now the reruns of The Mister Ed and make laughing.
Speaking for myself strictly, a television programme with talking horse ("Oh; Vilbur! Do Not Be Touching Me There!") is like something made by demons. Or Polish people. But, as Uncle Yehudi reminds us, he make the fighting at Kursk and Berlin and we did not ("I did not see you there!") -- so that he could watch 'The Mister Ed' and 'Leaving All To The Beaver' and 'My Three Suns', which Yehudi tells me is science-fiction show. Why he like them, I have not a guess. But still we love him.
So, to all the Mankind, we are wishing is Goot season, Nize season for you and your own SmallChilds, and pets, and the home appliances also. Treat them well -- they watch you when you are not looking and really holding the grudge. So says Uncle Yehudi, and as war hero we must listen to him.
This is same reason why John McCain is, I think, occasionally the popular guy.
I, Rabschinski, say this -- to Moldavish Guy; you also.
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