Яџѕѕіаиѕ. Yes, I know that spells Ytdzdziais, don't bother me with details. If Тетяіѕ can do it, I can too.
"We went up a short incline. This brought us to an ordinary glass door. We knocked. We waited. We waited. We noticed the doorbell. We rang. We waited. Eventually we grew bold and entered. This brought us into a narrow hallway that had all the indications of being nothing more than drywall, veneer and ceiling tile. We said 'Hello....?' No one answered our question. We proceeded down the hallway flanked by doors, unsure as to whether the desire not to surprise someone for the sake of politeness overrode the rudeness of opening a closed door. At an impasse, we kept walking down the hallway, not opening any doors. But, we rapidly became trapped, when we realized that the only way out of this hallway was to open a door. Because it seemed the least likely to be the entrance to an office, bathroom or weird eastern European slave dungeon, we chose the last door the hallway had to offer. I turned the knob as if it had been made by Faberge, and swung the cheap door open to reveal three batshit insane Russians, one quiet Russian and 27,500 ft2 of factory floor.
'Hellough!' said Anton Pachinko, leaping down the steep stairs of the electron beam furnace. 'Hellough.' said Svetlana Pachinko, as she teetered over to us on high heeled sandals. 'Hellough.' said Trofim Pachinko as he strode over from standing next to Yegvenii Arkedeivitch. Yegvenii neither moved nor spoke.
And so we were introduced to Rusomaniacal batshittery.
After the pleasantries were brought out and marched around, the business cards exchanged and the subtle warnings about revealing technical secrets impressed upon us, the Iridium was produced. Everybody hefted the currant jam jar, and agreed that it was a very dense currant jam jar.Antonopened the jar with calculated indifference, and poured the Iridium out onto a steel worktable. The beauty of those silver drops falling through the air was quickly dashed by the deafening noise they made as they struck the tabletop. Each button bounced to an unnatural height, both surfaces having near perfect inelasticity. The buttons were put on a scale, which read out, oddly, in pounds. 1.82 lbs; we were to expect anywhere from 2 to 10% evaporation during the melting. Antonscooped up the Iridium and clambered up the steep furnace platform stairs. He tossed the buttons into one of the moulds in the black copper crucible. He did it with inattention to the Iridium's value that was so obvious that I suspected it was intentional. "
"We went up a short incline. This brought us to an ordinary glass door. We knocked. We waited. We waited. We noticed the doorbell. We rang. We waited. Eventually we grew bold and entered. This brought us into a narrow hallway that had all the indications of being nothing more than drywall, veneer and ceiling tile. We said 'Hello....?' No one answered our question. We proceeded down the hallway flanked by doors, unsure as to whether the desire not to surprise someone for the sake of politeness overrode the rudeness of opening a closed door. At an impasse, we kept walking down the hallway, not opening any doors. But, we rapidly became trapped, when we realized that the only way out of this hallway was to open a door. Because it seemed the least likely to be the entrance to an office, bathroom or weird eastern European slave dungeon, we chose the last door the hallway had to offer. I turned the knob as if it had been made by Faberge, and swung the cheap door open to reveal three batshit insane Russians, one quiet Russian and 27,500 ft2 of factory floor.
'Hellough!' said Anton Pachinko, leaping down the steep stairs of the electron beam furnace. 'Hellough.' said Svetlana Pachinko, as she teetered over to us on high heeled sandals. 'Hellough.' said Trofim Pachinko as he strode over from standing next to Yegvenii Arkedeivitch. Yegvenii neither moved nor spoke.
And so we were introduced to Rusomaniacal batshittery.
After the pleasantries were brought out and marched around, the business cards exchanged and the subtle warnings about revealing technical secrets impressed upon us, the Iridium was produced. Everybody hefted the currant jam jar, and agreed that it was a very dense currant jam jar.Antonopened the jar with calculated indifference, and poured the Iridium out onto a steel worktable. The beauty of those silver drops falling through the air was quickly dashed by the deafening noise they made as they struck the tabletop. Each button bounced to an unnatural height, both surfaces having near perfect inelasticity. The buttons were put on a scale, which read out, oddly, in pounds. 1.82 lbs; we were to expect anywhere from 2 to 10% evaporation during the melting. Antonscooped up the Iridium and clambered up the steep furnace platform stairs. He tossed the buttons into one of the moulds in the black copper crucible. He did it with inattention to the Iridium's value that was so obvious that I suspected it was intentional. "
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