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Petra.
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Biblija
03.03.2005 at 21:56:07
 
Petra. wrote on 08.02.2005 at 20:42:01:
Don't Panic Library Grin Shocked 8)

ZA VSE, KI ŠE NISTE BRALI BIBLIJE!!!

(BTW, zakaj ni brezplačne on line objave te knjige v slovenskem jeziku? prosim, molim, upam, nameravam in se vnaprej zahvaljujem temu junaku, ki se bo lotil tega podviga!!!)

http://www.mindgazer.org/dontpanic/thehitch.htm

The Hitch Hiker's Guide to the Galaxy

Far out in the uncharted backwaters of the unfashionable  end  of
the  western  spiral  arm  of  the Galaxy lies a small unregarded
yellow sun.

Orbiting this at a distance of roughly ninety-two  million  miles
is  an  utterly insignificant little blue green planet whose ape-
descended life forms are so amazingly primitive that  they  still
think digital watches are a pretty neat idea.

This planet has - or rather had - a problem, which was this: most
of  the  people  on  it were unhappy for pretty much of the time.
Many solutions were suggested for this problem, but most of these
were  largely  concerned with the movements of small green pieces
of paper, which is odd because on the whole it wasn't  the  small
green pieces of paper that were unhappy.

And so the problem remained; lots of the people  were  mean,  and
most of them were miserable, even the ones with digital watches.

Many were increasingly of the opinion that they'd all made a  big
mistake  in  coming  down  from the trees in the first place. And
some said that even the trees had been a bad move,  and  that  no
one should ever have left the oceans.

And then, one Thursday, nearly two thousand years after  one  man
had  been nailed to a tree for saying how great it would be to be
nice to people for a change, one girl sitting on  her  own  in  a
small  cafe  in  Rickmansworth suddenly realized what it was that
had been going wrong all this time, and she finally knew how  the
world  could  be  made  a  good and happy place. This time it was
right, it would work, and no one would  have  to  get  nailed  to
anything.

Sadly, however, before she could get to a phone  to  tell  anyone
about  it,  a  terribly stupid catastrophe occurred, and the idea
was lost forever.

This is not her story.

But it is the story of that terrible stupid catastrophe and  some
of its consequences.

It is also the story of a book, a book called The  Hitch  Hiker's
Guide  to  the  Galaxy  -  not  an Earth book, never published on
Earth, and until the terrible catastrophe occurred, never seen or
heard of by any Earthman.

Nevertheless, a wholly remarkable book.

in fact it was probably the most remarkable book ever to come out
of  the  great  publishing  houses  of  Ursa  Minor - of which no
Earthman had ever heard either.

Not only is it a wholly remarkable book,  it  is  also  a  highly
successful  one  -  more  popular  than  the  Celestial Home Care
Omnibus, better selling than Fifty More  Things  to  do  in  Zero
Gravity, and more controversial than Oolon Colluphid's trilogy of
philosophical blockbusters Where God Went  Wrong,  Some  More  of
God's Greatest Mistakes and Who is this God Person Anyway?

In many of the more relaxed civilizations on  the  Outer  Eastern
Rim of the Galaxy, the Hitch Hiker's Guide has already supplanted
the great Encyclopedia Galactica as the  standard  repository  of
all  knowledge  and  wisdom, for though it has many omissions and
contains much that is apocryphal, or at least wildly  inaccurate,
it  scores  over the older, more pedestrian work in two important
respects.

First, it is slightly cheaper; and  secondly  it  has  the  words
Don't Panic inscribed in large friendly letters on its cover.

But the story of this terrible, stupid Thursday, the story of its
extraordinary   consequences,   and   the  story   of  how  these
consequences are inextricably intertwined  with  this  remarkable
book begins very simply.

It begins with a house.118499  



Quote:
http://www.torrentbox.com/download.php/10752/Hitch-hiker%27s%20Guide%20to%20the%...

Hitch-hiker's Guide to the Galaxy [Radio Play] [mp3]      
"The original radio plays of the hit novel Hitch-hiker's Guide to the Galaxy by Douglas Adams."




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Re: Biblija
Reply #1 - 03.03.2005 at 22:08:54
 
Douglas Adams
Mostly Harmless=Pretežno neškodljiva=

zadnji del Štoparskega vodnika po Galaksiji, to je vse kar o Zemlji piše v njem


                Anything that happens, happens.

     Anything that, in happening, causes something else to
          happen, causes something else to happen.

   Anything that, in happening, causes itself to happen again,
                      happens again.

   It doesn't necessarily do it in chronological order, though.



                        Chapter 1

The history of the Galaxy has got a little muddled, for a
number of reasons: partly because those who are trying to keep
track of it have got a little muddled, but also because some very
muddling things have been happening anyway.
 One of the problems has to do with the speed of light and
the difficulties involved in trying to exceed it. You can't. Nothing
travels faster than the speed of light with the possible exception
of bad news, which obeys its own special laws. The Hingefreel
people of Arkintoofle Minor did try to build spaceships that were
powered by bad news but they didn't work particularly well and
were so extremely unwelcome whenever they arrived anywhere
that there wasn't really any point in being there.
 So, by and large, the peoples of the Galaxy tended to languish
in their own local muddles and the history of the Galaxy itself
was, for a long time, largely cosmological.
 Which is not to say that people weren't trying. They tried
sending off fleets of spaceships to do battle or business in
distant parts, but these usually took thousands of years to get
anywhere. By the time they eventually arrived, other forms of
travel had been discovered which made use of hyperspace to
circumvent the speed of light, so that whatever battles it was
that the slower-than-light fleets had been sent to fight had already
been taken care of centuries earlier by the time they actually got
there .
 This didn't, of course, deter their crews from wanting to fight
the battles anyway. They were trained, they were ready, they'd
had a couple of thousand years' sleep, they'd come a long way
to do a tough job and by Zarquon they were going to do it.
 This was when the first major muddles of Galactic history set
in, with battles continually re-erupting centuries after the issues
they had been fought over had supposedly been settled. However,
these muddles were as nothing to the ones which historians had
to try and unravel once time-travel was discovered and battles
started pre-erupting hundreds of years before the issues even
arose. When the Infinite Improbability Drive arrived and whole
planets started turning unexpectedly into banana fruitcake, the
great history faculty of the University of MaxiMegalon finally
gave up, closed itself down and surrendered its buildings to the
rapidly growing joint faculty of Divinity and Water Polo, which
had been after them for years.
 Which is all very well, of course, but it almost certainly
means that no one will ever know for sure where, for instance,
the Grebulons came from, or exactly what it was they wanted.
And this is a pity, because if anybody had known anything about
them, it is just possible that a most terrible catastrophe would
have been averted - or at least would have had to find a different
way to happen.

Click, hum.
 The huge grey Grebulon reconnaissance ship moved silently
through the black void. It was travelling at fabulous, breath-
taking speed, yet appeared, against the glimmering background
of a billion distant stars to be moving not at all. It was just one
dark speck frozen against an infinite granularity of brilliant night.
 On board the ship, everything was as it had been for millennia,
deeply dark and Silent.
 Click, hum.
 At least, almost everything.
 Click, click, hum.
 Click, hum, click, hum, click, hum.
 Click, click, click, click, click, hum.
 Hmmm.
 A low level supervising program woke up a slightly higher
level supervising program deep in the ship's semi-somnolent
cyberbrain and reported to it that whenever it went click all it
got was a hum.
 The higher level supervising program asked it what it was
supposed to get, and the low level supervising program said
that it couldn't remember exactly, but thought it was probably
more of a sort of distant satisfied sigh, wasn't it? It didn't know
what this hum was. Click, hum, click, hum. That was all it was
getting.
 The higher level supervising program considered this and
didn't like it. It asked the low level supervising program what
exactly it was supervising and the low level supervising program
said it couldn't remember that either, just that it was something
that was meant to go click, sigh every ten years or so, which
usually happened without fail. It had tried to consult its error
look-up table but couldn't find it, which was why it had alerted
the higher level supervising program to the problem .
 The higher level supervising program went to consult one of
its own look-up tables to find out what the low level supervising
program was meant to be supervising.
 It couldn't find the look-up table .
 Odd.
 It looked again. All it got was an error message. It tried
to look up the error message in its error message look-up table
and couldn't find that either. It allowed a couple of nanoseconds
to go by while it went through all this again. Then it woke up its
sector function supervisor.
 The sector function supervisor hit immediate problems. It
called its supervising agent which hit problems too. Within a few
millionths of a second virtual circuits that had lain dormant, some
for years, some for centuries, were flaring into life throughout the
ship. Something, somewhere, had gone terribly wrong, but none
of the supervising programs could tell what it was. At every level,
vital instructions were missing, and the instructions about what to
do in the event of discovering that vital instructions were missing,
were also missing.
 Small modules of software - agents - surged through the
logical pathways, grouping, consulting, re-grouping. They quickly
established that the ship's memory, all the way back to its central
mission module, was in tatters. No amount of interrogation could
determine what it was that had happened. Even the central mis-
sion module itself seemed to be damaged.



6333 ;  3's and 6's, such as 363 or 336 - Your ascended masters are helping you manifest the material items you need for your Divine life purpose. Whether that means money for tuition or outlets for you to conduct your teaching or healing work, the masters are working to bring it to you . They want you to know that you deserve to recieve this help, as it will better enable you to give to others.

333 - Three into One - 12 pyramids each containing 3 entities =36  

33,333 or 33:33

This number offers you a choice. Within it you are not allowed to straddle the razor blade fence of indecision. The trinity is the holiness within all of your choices. Your body, mind, spirit in agreement for your Soul's evolution. Connection with the wisdom of the Oversoul. Seeing the sacredness in all of your choices no matter what the outcome.

33 = univerzalno služenje skozi pohitritev našega Enega Bitja.
universal service through the quickening of our One Being.

Petra. wrote on 30.03.2003 at 03:40:53:


333…Decision number. Either directs you into a phase of

999 completion, or negativity, it puts you in the

666 frequency which throws you back into the third dimension.



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Reply #2 - 05.03.2005 at 18:08:01
 
\chapter{}

It is a mistake to think you can solve any  major  problems  just
with potatoes.

For instance, there was  once  an  insanely  aggressive  race  of
people  called  the  Silastic  Armorfiends of Striterax. That was
just the name of their race. The name of their army was something
quite  horrific. Luckily they lived even further back in Galactic
history than anything we have so far encountered - twenty billion
years  ago  - when the Galaxy was young and fresh, and every idea
worth fighting for was a new one.

And fighting was what the Silastic Armorfiends of Striterax  were
good  at, and being good at it, they did a lot. They fought their
enemies (i.e. everybody else),  they  fought  each  other.  Their
planet  was  a  complete  wreck.  The  surface  was littered with
abandoned cities which were surrounded by abandoned war machines,
which  were  in  turn  surrounded  by  deep  bunkers in which the
Silastic Armorfiends lived and squabbled with each other.

The best way to pick a fight with a Silastic Armorfiend was  just
to  be born. They didn't like it, they got resentful. And when an
Armorfiend got resentful, someone got hurt. An exhausting way  of
life,  one might think, but they did seem to have an awful lot of
energy.

The best way of dealing with a Silastic Armorfiend was to put him
into  a  room of his own, because sooner or later he would simply
beat himself up.

Eventually they realized that this was something they were  going
to  have to sort out, and they passed a law decreeing that anyone
who had to carry a weapon as part of  his  normal  Silastic  work
(policemen,  security  guards, primary school teachers, etc.) had
to spend at least forty-five minutes every day punching a sack of
potatoes in order to work off his or her surplus aggressions.

For a while this worked well, until someone thought that it would
be  much more efficient and less time-consuming if they just shot
the potatoes instead.

This led to a  renewed  enthusiasm  for  shooting  all  sorts  of
things,  and  they  all got very excited at the prospect of their
first major war for weeks.

Another achievement of the Silastic Armorfiends of  Striterax  is
that  they  were  the  first  race  who  ever  managed to shock a
computer.

It was a gigantic spaceborne computer  called  Hactar,  which  to
this day is remembered as one of the most powerful ever built. It
was the first to be built like a natural  brain,  in  that  every
cellular  particle  of it carried the pattern of the whole within
it, which enabled it to think more  flexibly  and  imaginatively,
and also, it seemed, to be shocked.

The Silastic Armorfiends of Striterax  were  engaged  in  one  of
their  regular  wars  with the Strenuous Garfighters of Stug, and
were not enjoying it as much as  usual  because  it  involved  an
awful  lot of trekking through the Radiation Swamps of Cwulzenda,
and across the Fire Mountains  of  Frazfraga,  neither  of  which
terrains they felt at home in.

So when the Strangulous Stilettans of Jajazikstak joined  in  the
fray and forced them to fight another front in the Gamma Caves of
Carfrax and the Ice Storms of  Varlengooten,  they  decided  that
enough  was enough, and they ordered Hactar to design for them an
Ultimate Weapon.

''What do you mean,'' asked Hactar, ''by Ultimate?''

To which the Silastic Armorfiends  of  Striterax  said,  ''Read  a
bloody dictionary,'' and plunged back into the fray.

So Hactar designed an Ultimate Weapon.

It was a very, very small bomb which was simply a junction box in
hyperspace that would, when activated, connect the heart of every
major sun with the heart of every other major sun  simultaneously
and thus turn the entire Universe in to one gigantic hyperspatial
supernova.

When the Silastic Armorfiends tried  to  use  it  to  blow  up  a
Strangulous  Stilettan  munitions dump in one of the Gamma Caves,
they were extremely irritated that it didn't work, and said so.

Hactar had been shocked by the whole idea.

He tried to explain that he had been thinking about this Ultimate
Weapon business, and had worked out that there was no conceivable
consequence of not setting the bomb off that was worse  than  the
known  consequence  of setting it off, and he had therefore taken
the liberty of introducing a small flaw into the  design  of  the
bomb,  and  he  hoped  that  everyone  involved  would,  on sober
reflection, feel that ...

The Silastic Armorfiends disagreed and pulverized the computer.

Later they thought better of it, and destroyed the faulty bomb as
well.

Then, pausing only  to  smash  the  hell  out  of  the  Strenuous
Garfighters   of   Stug,   and   the  Strangulous  Stilettans  of
Jajazikstak, they went on to find an entirely new way of  blowing
themselves  up,  which  was a profound relief to everyone else in
the Galaxy, particularly the Garfighters, the Stilettans and  the
potatoes.

Trillian had watched all this, as well as the story  of  Krikkit.
She   emerged   from   the   Room   of   informational  Illusions
thoughtfully, just in time to discover that they had arrived  too
late.
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chapter 3, čist naključno
Reply #3 - 14.03.2005 at 19:51:39
 
''Well, what about the  real  weirdness  of  the  week,  the  real
seriously  loopy  stuff.  You  know  anything  about these flying
people?''

''No.''

''You must have. This is the real seethingly crazy  one.  This  is
the  real  meatballs in the batter. Locals are phoning in all the
time to say there's this couple who go flying nights.  We've  got
guys  down  in  our  photo  labs working through the night to put
together a genuine photograph. You must have heard.''

''No.''

''Arthur, where have you been? Oh, space, right, I got your quote.
But  that  was  months  ago.  Listen, it's night after night this
week, my old cheesegrater, right on your patch. This couple  just
fly  around  the  sky  and  start doing all kinds of stuff. And I
don't mean looking through walls or pretending to be  box  girder
bridges. You don't know anything?''

''No.''

''Arthur, it's been almost inexpressibly delicious conversing with
you, chumbum, but I have to go. I'll send the guy with the camera
and the hose. Give me the address, I'm ready and writing.''

''Listen, Murray, I called to ask you something.''

''I have a lot to do.''

''I just wanted to find out something about the dolphins.''

''No story. Last year's news. Forget 'em. They're gone.''

''It's important.''

''Listen, no one will touch it. You can't  sustain  a  story,  you
know,  when  the  only news is the continuing absence of whatever
the story's about. Not our territory  anyway,  try  the  Sundays.
Maybe  they'll  run  a  little  `Whatever  Happened  to ''Whatever
Happened to the Dolphins''' story in a  couple  of  years,  around
August.  But  what's  anybody  going  to  do now? `Dolphins still
gone'? `Continuing Dolphin Absence'?  `Dolphins  -  Further  Days
Without Them'? The story dies, Arthur. It lies down and kicks its
little feet in the air and presently goes  to  the  great  golden
spike in the sky, my old fruitbat.''

''Murray, I'm not interested in whether it's a story. I just  want
to  find  out  how I can get in touch with that guy in California
who claims to know something about it. I thought you might know.''

\chapter{}

''People are beginning to  talk,''  said  Fenchurch  that  evening,
after they had hauled her 'cello in.

''Not only talk,'' said Arthur, ''but print,  in  big  bold  letters
under  the  bingo  prizes.  Which is why I thought I'd better get
these.''

He showed her the long narrow booklets of airline tickets.

''Arthur!'' she said, hugging him. ''Does that mean you  managed  to
talk to him?''

''I  have  had  a  day,''  said  Arthur,  ''of  extreme   telephonic
exhaustion.  I  have  spoken  to  virtually  every  department of
virtually every paper in Fleet street, and I finally tracked  his
number down.''

''You've obviously been working hard, you're drenched  with  sweat
poor darling.''

''Not with sweat,'' said Arthur  wearily.  ''A  photographer's  just
been. I tried to argue, but - never mind, the point is, yes.''

''You spoke to him.''

''I spoke to his wife. She said he was too weird to  come  to  the
phone right now and could I call back.''

He sat down heavily, realized he was missing something  and  went
to the fridge to find it.

''Want a drink?''

''Would commit murder to get one. I always know I'm in for a tough
time  when  my  'cello teacher looks me up and down and says, `Ah
yes, my dear, I think a little Tchaikovsky today.'.''

''I called again,'' said Arthur, ''and she  said  that  he  was  3.2
light years from the phone and I should call back.''

''Ah.''

''I called again. ''She said the situation had improved. He was now
a mere 2.6 light years from the phone but it was still a long way
to shout.''

''You don't suppose,'' said Fenchurch,  doubtfully,  ''that  there's
anyone else we can talk to?''

''It gets worse,'' said Arthur, ''I spoke to someone  on  a  science
magazine  who  actually  knows  him, and he said that John Watson
will not only believe, but will  actually  have  absolute  proof,
often  dictated  to  him  by  angels with golden beards and green
wings  and  Doctor  Scholl  footwear,  that  the   month's   most
fashionable  silly  theory  is  true. For people who question the
validity of these visions he will triumphantly produce the  clogs
in question, and that's as far as you get.''

''I didn't realize it was that bad,'' said Fenchurch  quietly.  She
fiddled listlessly with the tickets.

''I phoned Mrs Watson again,'' said Arthur. ''Her name, by the  way,
and you may wish to know this, is Arcane Jill.''

''I see.''

''I'm glad you see. I thought you mightn't believe any of this, so
when  I  called  her  this  time  I  used the telephone answering
machine to record the call.''

He went across to the telephone machine  and  fiddled  and  fumed
with  all  its  buttons for a while, because it was the one which
was particularly recommended by Which?  magazine  and  is  almost
impossible to use without going mad.

''Here it is,'' he said at last, wiping the sweat from his brow.

The  voice  was  thin  and  crackly  with  its   journey   to   a
geostationary  satellite  and  back,  but  it was also hauntingly
calm.

''Perhaps I should explain,''  Arcane  Jill  Watson's  voice  said,
''that  the  phone  is in fact in a room that he never comes into.
It's in the Asylum you see. Wonko the Sane does not like to enter
the  Asylum  and  so  he  does  not.  I feel you should know this
because it may save you phoning. If you would like to  meet  him,
this  is  very easily arranged. All you have to do is walk in. He
will only meet people outside the Asylum.''

Arthur's voice, at  its  most  mystified:  ''I'm  sorry,  I  don't
understand. Where is the asylum?''

''Where is the Asylum?'' Arcane Jill Watson again. ''Have  you  ever
read the instructions on a packet of toothpicks?''

On the tape, Arthur's voice had to admit that he had not.

''You may want to do that. You may find that it  clarifies  things
for you a little. You may find that it indicates to you where the
Asylum is. Thank you.''

The sound of the phone line went dead. Arthur turned the  machine
off.

''Well, I suppose we can regard that as an  invitation,''  he  said
with a shrug. ''I actually managed to get the address from the guy
on the science magazine.''

Fenchurch looked up at him again with  a  thoughtful  frown,  and
looked at the tickets again.

''Do you think it's worth it?'' she said.

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Biblija...knjiga 1.
Reply #4 - 15.03.2005 at 21:01:21
 
Their names were Lunkwill and Fook.

For a few moments they sat in  respectful  silence,  then,  after
exchanging  a quiet glance with Fook, Lunkwill leaned forward and
touched a small black panel.

The subtlest of hums indicated that the massive computer was  now
in  total  active mode. After a pause it spoke to them in a voice
rich resonant and deep.

It said: ''What is this great task for which I, Deep Thought,  the
second  greatest  computer in the Universe of Time and Space have
been called into existence?''

Lunkwill and Fook glanced at each other in surprise.

''Your task, O Computer ...'' began Fook.

''No, wait a minute, this isn't right,''  said  Lunkwill,  worried.
''We distinctly designed this computer to be the greatest one ever
and we're not making do  with  second  best.  Deep  Thought,''  he
addressed  the  computer,  ''are you not as we designed you to be,
the greatest most powerful computer in all time?''

''I  described  myself  as  the  second  greatest,''  intoned  Deep
Thought, ''and such I am.''

Another worried look passed between the two programmers. Lunkwill
cleared his throat.

''There must be some mistake,'' he said, ''are you  not  a  greatest
computer  than the Milliard Gargantubrain which can count all the
atoms in a star in a millisecond?''

''The Milliard Gargantubrain?'' said Deep Thought with  unconcealed
contempt. ''A mere abacus - mention it not.''

''And are you  not,''  said  Fook  leaning  anxiously  forward,  ''a
greater  analyst  than the Googleplex Star Thinker in the Seventh
Galaxy of Light and Ingenuity which can calculate the  trajectory
of  every  single  dust particle throughout a five-week Dangrabad
Beta sand blizzard?''

''A five-week sand blizzard?'' said Deep  Thought  haughtily.  ''You
ask  this  of  me  who  have contemplated the very vectors of the
atoms in the Big Bang itself? Molest  me  not  with  this  pocket
calculator stuff.''

The two programmers sat in uncomfortable silence  for  a  moment.
Then Lunkwill leaned forward again.

''But are you not,'' he said, ''a more fiendish disputant  than  the
Great Hyperlobic Omni-Cognate Neutron Wrangler of Ciceronicus 12,
the Magic and Indefatigable?''

''The Great Hyperlobic Omni-Cognate Neutron Wrangler,''  said  Deep
Thought thoroughly rolling the r's, ''could talk all four legs off
an Arcturan MegaDonkey - but only I could persuade it to go for a
walk afterwards.''

''Then what,'' asked Fook, ''is the problem?''

''There is no problem,'' said Deep Thought with magnificent ringing
tones.  ''I am simply the second greatest computer in the Universe
of Space and Time.''

''But the second?'' insisted Lunkwill. ''Why do you keep saying  the
second?   You're   surely  not  thinking  of  the  Multicorticoid
Perspicutron Titan Muller are you? Or  the  Pondermatic?  Or  the
...''

Contemptuous lights flashed across the computer's console.

''I spare not  a  single  unit  of  thought  on  these  cybernetic
simpletons!'' he boomed. ''I speak of none but the computer that is
to come after me!''

Fook was losing  patience.  He  pushed  his  notebook  aside  and
muttered, ''I think this is getting needlessly messianic.''

''You know nothing of future time,'' pronounced Deep Thought,  ''and
yet  in  my  teeming  circuitry I can navigate the infinite delta
streams of future probability and see that  there  must  one  day
come  a  computer  whose  merest  operational parameters I am not
worthy to calculate, but which it will be my fate  eventually  to
design.''

Fook sighed heavily and glanced across to Lunkwill.

''Can we get on and ask the question?'' he said.

Lunkwill motioned him to wait.

''What computer is this of which you speak?'' he asked.

''I will speak of it no further in this present time,''  said  Deep
Thought.  ''Now. Ask what else of me you will that I may function.
Speak.''
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you cant look in the mirror and expect it to smile first
 
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Roman.
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Re: Biblija
Reply #5 - 02.11.2005 at 07:58:34
 
Kaj hočeš povedati?
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