More poetry from Nugat Miser

This neo-Chekovian epic came from my new friend "Nugat Miser" interspersed amidst an offer to enhance both my prowess and my stock returns:

three pm come. Berlioz. completely deserted cemetery in the Dorogomilovo area. pouring out devil knows what about some severed head! You want to arrest age-old tradition of folk humour with its carnivalized world-view, its ever seen in his life, became still more beautiful. `I was bored.

yellow flowers! Not a nice colour. She turned down a lane from Tverskaya and
surrender your post between the shining mirrored doors.'
the restaurant. If any observer had been able to follow the further actions
the rain, and involuntarily thought: "What a type, though, this Kurolesov!'
Margarita did not understand at first, and when she did, she exclaimed
'No, I'm being called, it's time for me to go,' explained the master,
to speak to me, but it is even hard for you to look at me. And I am now your
pecked at the glass covering the photograph portraying the entire university
'No, an older one. Then a third, and a fourth ... I keep giving them
'Really, there were times when I'd begin to be jealous of it on account
dialogue between Woland and the atheist Berlioz. By the deepest irony of
Ivan: 'So, how did you wind up here?'
roubles due him for seven performances. What's more, Woland's signature was
The black cat only rolled its martyred eyes. Being deprived by nature
looked at the Muscovites. Now, don't go changing countenance, but tell me

Somewhere there is a frustrated English major working away deep in the bowels of the spam department of a telemarketing firm. I mean, if the telemarketers are working in the boiler room, where do they stick the spammers?

I can tell you where I'd like to stick the spammers, but that's not the point.