Interesting stories from life. Stories are new - main release. Real funny life stories

My fiancé is a foreigner. He is an interesting man and a wonderful person, but when I introduced him to my relatives, friends or randomly met friends, everyone grinned, laughed or snorted. The fact is that his name is Alphonse.

I always screamed that children are the most disgusting creatures on earth and that I would even want to deprive myself of the opportunity to get pregnant in order to have fun to the fullest. Recently I visited doctors comprehensively and as a result they told me: “you have infertility”. I almost passed out from this news. Never become a full-fledged woman, not see your facial features in a child, and what kind of man needs this? So, cleanly fuck a couple of times.

She lived in Irkutsk for some time. Mostly Chinese work here on construction sites. So, one day my husband tells me that at their work a man became the happy owner of a new apartment. But the joy was not long. In the midst of renovation, he found a Chinese in the wall! In order not to spend money on burial, the bodies are walled up in the wall! The developer promised a lot of things to the peasant, if only the story did not receive publicity ...

I was 15 years old. My friends and I were walking to the lake, walking far and through a small forest, in which there was an abandoned bomb shelter. The villagers made a dump out of it. We pass by and see there is a large rolled carpet. Someone joked that the bandits shook someone up. We passed by, and our acquaintances followed us with whom they were supposed to meet at the lake. We took a swim - they are all gone. Let's go home and look at the same place with the police and those acquaintances. It turned out that there was a corpse in the carpet, and they unwound it. The friend still stutters

During the Second World War, my great-grandmother was 12 years old. Four younger brothers-sisters and a father. They lived in the village, they were terribly hungry in winter, they hadn't eaten anything for several days, when my father sent my great-grandmother to the well to fetch water. A truck passed through the village and from a bag fell out. Flour fell into the snow! Granny took full buckets of flour, baked cakes on the water at home. Thanks to two buckets of flour, they all survived that winter, thanks to this flour, 8 great-grandchildren now live and delight the granny)

My eyes were swollen on Sunday and hurt, I went to a paid clinic (the regional one does not work on Sundays). Prescribed 5 drops of dear ones (three brands of which hung on billboards right in the office), diagnosed with "inflammation of the gland in the lower eyelid." On Monday I decided to go to the district, just for everyone. Oh, and the doctor laughed for a long time))) no, he says, the glands are in the lower eyelid! Squeezed me a pimple and let go)))) did not buy drops)))

I work in a pharmacy. When girls and women come to me to buy a pregnancy test, I sincerely wish them good luck to myself. I hope that this luck will help them and those who want children will receive a positive answer, and vice versa those who do not want will receive a negative one.

Second week on a diet. In the evening we sit in the kitchen with my husband. Making my daughter a sandwich with the freshest loaf. You can clearly see from my face that I also want a piece. Suddenly the light turns off and the conspiratorial voice of her husband: "Let's eat while no one sees ..."

As a child, I recorded songs from “Duck Tales” and other Disney cartoons on a tape recorder (at that time they were shown only on Sundays), then, on any other day, I put the tape recorder on the window and turned it on ... I watched all the children run home in bewilderment ...

Seeing here the secrets of dating in the subway (when the guy left his gadget to the young lady and then called back), I decided to take a chance. The moment of truth has come, pushing through between the passengers, I see a nymph sitting with a book in her hands, who amazed my imagination. I make up my mind, put the phone on her lap and run away. Later I send him an SMS with the place and time of the meeting, for which I receive consent. Inspired, I fly there and see ... a healthy hulk with my phone in his hands. It turned out husband. I overlooked the ring, you idiot.

As a child, my mother always told me that she was allergic to cats: like a runny nose, sneezing. And recently she admitted that she just does not like them - the stench, they are all blowing up ... While studying at the university on vacation, I brought home a cat. She snorted and turned her nose away from him. Once she went into the room, and she hugs him, saying: "What a honey you are, the smartest cat, now I'm going to the store, I'll buy something tasty for you." Cats have a superpower - not to leave anyone indifferent) I could not take mine)

I am sitting in the car with friends, it’s already night. And then I hear - shrill female screams near a house nearby. I drive up there - and there is a picture - a crowd of guys dragging out a guy and a girl, the guy is pushed into the trunk, and the girl, kneeling, is holding one by the hair. It turned out her boyfriend, found her with her lover, called friends, mend justice. While my friends were distracting those types, I put the girl in the car and took her to her parents. I called the police. This is what "love" is.

I had no parents. I was brought up by one grandmother. Now the grandmother is already old and weak. I live separately, albeit nearby. I make excellent money: I hired a nurse, a cleaning lady: my grandmother does not need to do anything, they do everything for her. I spend half my salary on this, I plow like a damn day and night. As she did in her time. But my grandmother puts out her brain every day and wants me to personally wash her things (sometimes by hand), soap pots, etc. Calls her ungrateful selfish.

I had a neighbor. Amazing soul woman. For lack of a garden, I grew tomatoes and greens on the balcony. And so pigeons got into the habit of flying on her balcony. Drink some water. Pair. He and she. He is of a variegated color. She is white. The neighbor began to feed them. But there were painfully shy pigeons. A neighbor got cancer. She went out on the balcony for the last time to feed the pigeons. They flew almost into her arms and smoked with her for a long time. A day later she was gone. And the pigeons did not come again ...

I was little, I already walked. Mom loved to sew on a typewriter. I was terribly interested, but, for some reason, I did not show this very interest in front of my mother. And so, my mother is busy in the kitchen, the sewing machine is open ... Such a huge temptation! She sat down. She shook her head, around my mother's fabric, future dresses. Will get it. You can't touch. But I really want to sew !!! I couldn't find anything better than my little finger. I just put it under the needle and stitched it. I couldn't pull it out, so I sat in silence until my mother found me in this form.

My girlfriend is plump, weighs 130 kg, and so she decided to lose weight by going on a diet, after a month of hunger strike, I began to notice the gnawed bread in the morning, my beloved denied that it was she who ruffled it so. One night I could not sleep for a long time, and I saw my moth got up with closed eyes and went to the kitchen, I followed her, and I could not believe my eyes, she stood with closed eyes and eagerly ate bread. This is what diets are driven to, even sleepwalking.

In the 8th grade I went with a teacher to a conference in another city, was worried, before getting on the bus she said: “You have the second place”, I was delighted, I think the winners have already been determined, you just need to read the report well. On the bus, she showed me where to sit. At the conference I took first place, for two months I thought that the jury changed their minds after the report, and then I guessed that the second place was the seat number on the bus.

The last 4 years of school, I studied in England, but went to university in Russia. We had a huge school with a Campus and children from all over the world. We were so disturbed that we did not live with our relatives. In addition to English, we had to learn first one more language, then the third. I, not understanding how much money this education costs, as a typical schoolboy, decided to cheat and chose Russian, especially since the teacher was an Englishman. How I laughed when I entered the classroom for the first lesson and found that all 40 people in the class were Russians.

Yesterday I came back very tired from work. With strength I prepared to eat. The guy came from work. I talked for a couple of minutes and lay down on the sofa - I passed out immediately. And then he lay down next to me and tries to wake me up, says it is necessary to talk about life, about our future. Do you want to be my wife? Will you marry me? I hear all this in my sleep, but I can't wake up - well, I'm very tired. So I slept while they made me an offer…. Today he is silent, does not call for marriage ...

This morning I woke up - my husband is gone. He leaves for work very early. (I'm on maternity leave) Well then. I went into the kitchen: the plates were washed, neatly placed on the shelf, the table was cleaned, the floor was cleaned, and there was a bouquet of flowers on the table. Next to the bouquet is a note and a yogurt foil lid. There was still a little yogurt on the lid. And the note read: “I know you love it! I am kissing you, bye!" Here is a person who really knows me, appreciates and loves me.

Today I went to the subway sleepy. I decided to test the theory - you yawn, and then you look at who also started yawning and determine that this person was looking at you. I start my tricky business and see that the guy is looking at me. He is cute, starts to yawn and smiles. We sat down closer, we started talking, and I talked about the theory of "zyva". And he told me that it was on this theory that he did it on purpose. To get my attention) I think it's love at first sight 😉

I have a biker friend. He's all brutal. A ponytail, a beard, a solid belly, all in spikes and tattoos on a cool black bike. But the voice failed. Instead of a brutal baritone - a thin squeaky twang. The man suffers from this just terribly. I tried everything - both smoked and drunk, if only the voice became a little harder. As a result, he somehow drove out of town to a deserted area and began yelling there with all his might to disrupt his voice. And in the end he achieved only hoarseness like Winnie the Pooh.

My friend has a big cock. I saw his current in an “inoperative” state in the steam room, I told him “well, you've got a nut! : D "and he" don't be jealous, I meet with girls once because of this. Well, a couple of days ago we summoned the mamsels to the sauna, we drink beer. They retired to separate apartments, while I finished my portion and chatted about life. When I was about to go to work on my site, a friend's lady runs out of the door: “WELL NO, I'm sorry, but I'm not a black hole!” Even the money did not take 😀 no, he is not a black.

We are a family of Jews. My elder brother understood the philosophy of our people best of all. He is very economical. Just a curmudgeon. And he is also very handsome and girls from the institute always followed him. But he turned everyone off. Recently, in a store at the checkout, they queued up because some girl was counting on a calculator if the potatoes were weighed correctly. Found a mistake and started a scandal. When they left the store, he ran to meet her. Love from the first penny)

And as a child, I was in love with Aramis of the Three Musketeers. My mother and I ran out of the kindergarten to catch the next show. I dressed up, my mother did my hair, put me on a chair in front of the TV, and so I sat for the whole film, barely breathing. I thought he saw me. I also expected him to come for me on horseback and often looked out the window, afraid to miss.

Yesterday I cooked borsch. Spent an hour and a half, according to tradition - with meat, with fresh cabbage. When the borsch was almost ready and I opened it to interfere - a COCKROACH jumped from the ceiling right into the pan. I almost burst into tears, all work wasted. Then I thought, thought, and decided to catch the cockroach and not tell anyone anything. Husband and mother-in-law gobbled up on both cheeks, and I am "on a diet." A bit dumb, but not pouring out the finished dish because of one cockroach!

We had a fight with my wife over what she said, like her mom cooks better than me. And I packed my things and went to my mother. And now I realized the comic nature of the situation. I'm going back.

I'm on the subway, suddenly a man enters the car, well, just a copy of Lucius Malfoy. I don’t usually do that, but then I really wanted to take a picture of it. It was like a ninja on a mission - I foresaw everything, got closer to him, took a comfortable angle, turned off the camera sound, discreetly pointed the phone at him so that it looked like I was reading something in it, clicked on the “photo” .. in general, I have foreseen everything except the fucking FLASH ...

An awkward feeling came when the maid hired by my husband arrived on the first working day in a car that is 2 times more expensive than yours ...

Studied in Germany for an exchange semester. I returned, and my mother was trying to find out whether I had managed to find a job or have a relationship, roughly speaking, “hooked”. I disagree. She says that in Russia now, in a crisis, there is nothing to do, that she wishes me a better life abroad ... But I understand that she simply does not want to share an apartment with me, and that if I were not the owner of half of my things now would be lying in the trash.

About doctors and hunters.

In the early 2000s, I was diagnosed with cancer. Moreover, as they discovered, an ordinary district surgeon, to whom I went with a complaint of back pain, immediately sent me to the Ostroumov hospital in Sokolniki. There, in the emergency room, they sent me for an X-ray, immediately did all the tests and put me in the women's oncology department. Cyto. Every other day, head. department, a stern, elderly, laconic Armenian woman performed the operation on me. Before the operation, she began to ask how I came to such a life. A tumor of 4 cm is a really gigantic tumor, it is impossible not to notice it. I say that for a long time I have been seen by a mammologist of one pretentious clinic of pretentious management of a very pretentious structure. For money. Expensive. The fact that there are problems with a tumor and metastases to the lymph nodes, he could not help but see. But money was more dear to him. Therefore, he fed with fairy tales about common inflammation. Scum, said the Armenian woman, and something else is long in Armenian. What I am writing here and now is a monument to that woman surgeon. Three more women came to her with me. We're friends now. Everybody is alive. And we did not approve the treatment protocols, did not stand in queues for a quota, they did not extort a single ruble of money from us. We were simply cured. Cyto. Awful system. Modernized.

Now a colleague with the same diagnosis goes to the doctors. Bad, they say to her, business. The tumor is as much as 1 cm. It is necessary to operate, a million without a quota, but there is no quota yet. Sign up there and there. Will have to wait. In the meantime, according to the approved treatment protocols, we have to chemistry and radiologize you. Do a dozen other tests at the same time. Excuse me, but even with your diagnosis - everything is paid and with us, as the leading organization in the country - everything is very expensive. How many, well, for example, one X-ray tomography session is like two of your monthly pensions. Plus this and that. You want to live. I had to pay. Then the quota came up and you can go under the surgeon's knife. Shchazz. Once again, you will pay a hundred for the tests before the operation. They are not in the quota, but they are mandatory according to the protocol. Paid. Ce la vie. Did the operation. And if the surgeon in the Ostroumov hospital with the wrong medicine released patients without complications, now in the right medicine, all as one come out with complications - sometimes paralyzing, then organs fail, then some other disgusting. And according to the protocol, the unfortunate people are also given radiation, and not pointwise, but entirely. Removed the tumor is called. And these are the best in the country.

Say, why be surprised if medicine is now a service sector. How much you paid, for this amount, the waiter, that is to say, the doctor, brought you the goods. This sphere should make money. And they earn as much as they can. Another colleague (man), in order to confirm the harsh diagnosis by Israeli doctors, required surgical tissue sections and biopsies. At the request, expressed in tens of thousands of rubles, he was given them. How the test tubes were taken out is another story. Very terrible, because I had to eat some of the tissues at the request of the vigilant border guards. The saddest thing is that the brought fabrics turned out to be part of strangers. Feminine. Stupidly sold to a man other people's, female, pieces of flesh. For the diagnosis. It was hoped that there is no mandatory DNA analysis in other countries. And the fact that they would be treated is not at all the same and not from that - do not give a damn. Since I really wanted money.

I am sure that many of you will tell about similar "successes" of medical reform. But how I miss those magic Armenian phrases and hands of the doctors of the women's department of the hospital №33, which saved us then from a terrible disease. How would they help those unfortunate people who have now fallen under the roll of protocols and financial programs of modern medicine. All health!

War in Khutorovka

(Told by Alexander Vasilievich Kurilkin born in 1935)

You write down after me for people to read. So I ask - make a dedication to all the children who have found the war. They starved, became orphans, many died, while others simply lived these years together with the whole country. Let this story or article be dedicated to them - I ask you!

Last time I told you how we were left without a cow before the war, and how the war came. Now - how we lived. I must say right away that I worked on a collective farm since 1943. But I am not a home front worker, because it is not possible to prove that from the age of 8 I worked in a smithy, in the current, in the fields. I'm not complaining - I have nothing to complain about - I just talk about my experiences.

How women and children worked on the collective farm

Our village Khutorovka was one of the nine brigades of the collective farm named after Krupskaya in the Murovlyansky district of the Ryazan region. There were fifty yards in the village. We cultivated about 150 hectares of sown areas, and the entire collective farm - about 2,000 hectares of black soil. All draft functions were performed by horses. Before the war, the provision of equipment to collective farms had just begun. My father understood this, appreciated, as we shall now say, the tendency, and then went to study as a chauffeur. But the war began, and all the equipment went to the front.
During the first month of the war, all the men went to the front. There are 15 people left - who are over 60 years old and disabled. Everyone worked on the collective farm. For the first two years of the war, I did not work, and in 1943 I already started working on the collective farm.
In the summer, all of us boys worked on electric current. They thrashed all year round, sometimes at night - with lanterns. The boys were appointed - to take out the chaff. They took her on a sleigh - on the current everything is covered with straw, so the sleigh goes well in summer. We fill the chaff with shovels into the sleigh, transport it and unload it outside the current ... There are no meadows in our area, and there is no hay either. Therefore, oat and millet straw was used to feed the horses. Rye straw is tough - they took it to heat the stoves. All the hard work was done by women.
In our village there was one reaper and one winder. These are horse-drawn mowers. A man stands or sits on the lobe, and in the war, and after the war - a woman, and with a pitchfork dumps the cut stems from the tray. The work is not easy, just have time to brush off the sweat, therefore - a lobe. The header drops by itself, it is easier to work on it. The header mows rye or wheat. The women follow them with the bindings (tied - they burn from straw) and knit sheaves ... Old women in the village prepare in advance bindings usually from green unripe rye, which is softer. The knitters' ties are tucked into the belt on the left. We all have oversleeves so that the hands do not prick the stubble. Each day, about 80-90 sheaves were collected. Shovel - 56 sheaves. Grain crops are mowed during the period of milk ripeness, and in the heaps the grain ripens to full ripeness. Then the heaps are transported to the current and stacked in stacks. Our skirts were folded up to four meters high. Sheaves in a stack are placed with ears of grain inside.
The current is a place equipped for threshing. There are many sown areas. And, in order not to carry the sheaves far, currents are equipped in each village.
When threshing, the sheaves must be quickly fed onto the threshing shelves. It’s hard work, and four physically strong women were coming up here. My mother often worked here. They worked in pairs - two were serving the sheaves, two were resting. Then they change. Where the grain comes out of the thresher, they put a box. The grain is poured into it. With grain, it weighs 60-65 kilograms. They carried this box in twos. Two carried a full box - the next pair put their own. They took it, poured the grain, returned, the second box was already full, put their own again. It's also hard work, and my mother was often put here too.
After threshing, the grain was winnowed in the barn. Riga is a long, tall, thatched barn. With through gates. In some rigs, a lorry and a half could call in. In the barns, grain was winnowed and straw was piled. Winnowing - grain with debris is poured into the air stream, which separates and carries chaff, awn, husks, straw particles ... The winnowing fan was twisted by hand. It's kind of a huge fan.
The grain was then transported 10 kilometers away to the station and handed over to Zagotzerno. There it was finally brought to a condition - it was dried.
At the age of 10, we were already plowing the fields. Our team has seven or nine two-share plows. Each was harnessed to a pair of horses. The foreman came and showed me where to plow. You will pass the field ... a 10-year-old boy cannot lift the plow needle in order to move to another area. Calling someone for help. We plowed all summer. The weather was hot. We plowed from six to ten, then drove off with the horses to the rivulet, waited out the heat there, and at three o'clock went to plow again. I now call this time by the clock. And then - no one had a clock, they looked at the sun.

Work in the forge

My grandfather was rich before the revolution. A mill, an oil churn ... In 1914, instead of the workers called up for the war, the authorities gave him two prisoners of the Austrians. At 17, my grandfather died. One Austrian went home, while the other stayed with us and married my father's sister. And when everyone went to the front, this Jozefan - his surname was already ours - was appointed as a brigadier.
In 1943, as I turned eight, he came to us. He says to his mother: "Give me a guy - there is work for him!" Mom says: "Take it!"
He assigned me to the smithy - to pump the furs in order to kindle the mining. Coal burns - you get drunk, it happened. You can't breathe yourself. The blacksmith was a man - he returned from the front wounded. He was a cool master! After all, then there was no welding, no locksmiths, turning ... Everything was done in the forge.
Let's say - hoops to cart wheels. He had sheet metal - they brought it, then. Wooden wheels for the cart are non-standard. The tire hoop was made for a specific wheel. Cut off a strip of the required length - fit the wheel. The connecting rods to the reapers often broke. I cooked them with forge welding. I swing the furs - two pieces of metal are heated red-hot in the forge, then he puts one on top of the other, and knocks with a hammer. This is how the metal is welded. Segments flew off the reaper and loader knives - riveted them, sharpened them. I don’t know what kind of file he had. After the war, they brought him handmade emery. And then - the plow will be brought - the plowshares have fallen off - it is being repaired. Tie to the carts ... And he made fasteners - he forged bolts, nuts, cut threads with taps and dies. He had some kind of iron bar for the bolts. And there is no suitable rod - it takes a thicker one, heats it up in a furnace, and drives it with a hammer through a hole of the required diameter - calibrates it. Then he cuts the thread with a stick. He did the same nuts - he would heat up a piece of metal, punch a hole, cut a thread in it with a tap. It was a unique blacksmith! I've seen enough of his work. He let me knock with a hammer for fun, but my job was to swing the furs.

In 1941, several families of refugees from Smolensk came to us - they also contributed to the work of the collective farm. They settled them in their homes - which ones were bigger. We have a small house - they didn't join us.
Some of them stayed with us. Even after the war they continued to be called refugees. One could hear - Anka-evacuated, Masha-evacuated ... But most of them left as soon as Smolensk was liberated.

Winter 1941 and rotten potatoes

Everyone knows, especially the Germans, that this winter was very cold. Even the wells were frozen. Chickens were kept at home in baking. And we are children, and my grandmother actually lived on the stove. In the winter of 1941, famine began. Of course, not as hunger as in Leningrad. There was a potato. But the bread was baked - no more than 50% wheat or rye flour. Potatoes were added most often. I remember - my mother will wash two buckets of potatoes, and we are three on a grater. And then she adds the grated potatoes to the dough. And until 1950 we did not bake "clean" bread. Only with some kind of filler. In 1950, I went to Voskresensk to do handicrafts - I took with me the same bread, half with potatoes.
The hungry time of the 42nd passed from the 41st. Both we and the whole of Russia have remembered from this year flat cakes made of rotten frozen potatoes. There were no vegetable stores, as they are now. The potatoes were kept in cellars. And which one did not fit in the cellar - in the pits. An ordinary hole in the ground, filled up, on top - a hut. And the seed potatoes were also poured into the pits until spring. But in the unusually strong frosts of this winter, the potatoes in the pits above froze. In the spring - rotted. This is also in our village, and how much later I traveled as a chauffeur throughout Russia - I asked sometimes - everywhere it is. These rotten potatoes were grated into starch and baked into tortillas.

Deserter gangs

We hardly knew any news - there was no radio, newspapers did not reach. But in 1942 the people were somehow inspired. We got used to it. But then deserters appeared, they began to misbehave. They stole sheep from peasants.
And three houses from us, one grandfather lived - he had a gun. And with him is his grown-up son - he was not at the front, but was, apparently, in the police. I remember one time the boys and I came to them. And this son - Nikolai Ivanovich - was sitting at the table, cartridges were on the table, a jar of butter, probably. And he twisted the drum of the revolver like that - I remember it. And then one day the deserters may even have deliberately targeted them. Shooting began. The deserters outside - these were firing back from the hut. They fought back.
The chairman of the village council was a wounded officer who came from the war - Mikhail Mikhailovich Abramov. The deserters set fire to his yard. And apparently small shells or mortar mines were put into the fire. Started to explode. The people came running to extinguish - he dispersed, so as not to be beaten by shrapnel. The yard burned down completely.
The chief of militia arrived. He arrested two - apparently he knew who and where they were. I brought him to the village council. And to the region to go 15-20 kilometers on a horse, it’s in the evening. He tied them up, put them in a corner. He was sitting at the table, the kerosene lamp on the table was lit ... And the friends of those deserters shot him through the window.
After that, a group came to our village - two policemen, and several more men. And my uncle joined them - he had just come from the front demobilized, was wounded in the elbow, his arm did not unbend. They had a light machine gun. We went to one house. Someone told them the deserters were there. They called the girl who lived there and her old men from the house. They said that no one else was home. A thatched roof was stitched with a machine gun. There really was no one there. But after that we heard nothing about the deserters, and all the pampering stopped.

New cow

In 42, an interesting thing happened. We didn't have a cow, as they sold it in the spring of 1941. And Vasily Ilyich came to us - a very good old man. He helped us a lot. Bast shoes for us, and for the whole village weaved. The whole village wore bast shoes. I made two bast shoes. When they started plowing, a couple of bast shoes were enough for about a month. On plowing - in bast shoes is better than in boots. The earth is not crammed into heels.
And so he came to our mother, said: “Do you have sheep? There is! Give three lambs - we will exchange in a neighboring village for a heifer. In two years, you will be with the cow! "
Thank you, the kingdom of heaven is now for him! He left with the lambs, returned with a little heifer. Taryonka was her name. How we rejoiced at her! He was like a bright future for us. And they raised her - they ran to her, from their table they dragged the crusts and all sorts of cleanings. They admired her, petted her, stroked her - she, like a cat, fawned upon us. In 1943, she took a walk, in 44, she calved, and we - with milk.

In 1943, life began to improve a little. We grew up a little - we began to help our mothers. Grown up - that's me eight, the youngest - six and four. There was a lot of work in my personal garden. We had 50 acres. We sowed rye, millet, hemp there, planted potatoes, weeded a vegetable garden, did everything.
Back in 1943, we saw the Studebakers. Two cars were sent to our collective farm for harvesting - to carry potatoes.

Study and play

We had a grain storage shed. Throughout the war it was empty, and the guys and I gathered there - about 15-20 people. And the evacuees too. We played there, played with it. Now the children are playing hockey, and we will dig a hole and drive some can of canning into this hole with sticks.
I went to school - they gave me one pencil. No paper, no notebook, no book. I cut ten sticks for counting myself. It was a hard study. Mother once took out papers somewhere, I remember. And so - they wrote on the newspapers. Peat is damp, it is badly heated, - they wrote in mittens. Then, when they began to write with ink, the ink froze in the inkwell. We had non-spills. You take it in your hand, squeeze it in your fist so as not to freeze, and write.
He loved to read. By the sixth grade, I read all the books in the school library, and in the whole village - whoever had books in the house, read everything.

Prisoners of war and the 44th year

In 1944, the Saratov-Moscow gas pipeline was being dug past Khutorovka. It is still functioning. The pipes were laid at 400 or 500 millimeters. The Baltic prisoners worked there.
As an adult, I traveled and traveled, and visited former concentration camps with excursions ... In Kremenchug we received cars - KRAZs. And there was a memorial - a concentration camp in which a hundred thousand died. The Germans did not feed. Salaspils is no less scary. Children are ruined there, adults ... Two Sunday men passed through him - Timofey Vasilyevich Kochurov - I worked with him later. And they say that Lev Aronovich Dondysh was there. They returned alive. But I saw tree trunks in Salaspils, from below at human height, thinner than above. People gnawed on tree trunks from hunger.
And in 1944, not far from Khutorovka, we made a prisoner of war camp for the construction of a gas pipeline. They drove the Baltic people into it. They began to dig trenches, cook and lay pipes ... But they were allowed to walk. They came to the village and exchanged herring from their rations for potatoes and other products. They just asked for food. One, I remember, was treated by my mother to millet and pumpkin. He also asked - what is this porridge with. Mom explained to him that such a pumpkin grows here. But my uncle, and others who returned from the war, scolded us for feeding them. They believed that they did not deserve pity.
44 years old - I am already big, I am nine years old. Has already begun to carry sheaves. I still cannot lift the sheaf. We harnessed the horses, drove up to the heap. The women will lay the sheaves for us - they gave us one and a half heaps, it would seem. We bring it to the stack, here again the women are throwing it onto the stack with a pitchfork.
And manure was also taken out from the horse yard. Harnessing a couple of horses to a big wheelbarrow. A box-box on the axis is fixed on it. The axis is below the center of gravity. Women apply manure - we take it out to the field. There he swung the box, released the restraints. The box turns - the manure has fallen out. A box and an empty heavy - one boy cannot lift it. And even the two of them did not lift it. We return - he scratches the ground. Boys of 9-10 years old had such work.

A lot of tobacco was planted then - tobacco was needed. They cast it when it rose - they carried water in barrels. Once they are planted, they need to be watered twice a day. When it grows, it was harvested later, dried under the ceiling ... Mother picked the foliage, then cut the roots, pushed them in a mortar. She sowed dust through a sieve, mixed it with mint leaves, and handed over two or three bags of this makhorka to the state. And I went to the station - I sold them in glasses. She also carried seeds there. And ambulance trains went to Kuibyshev. The train stops, the nurse comes out, asks: "How much is in the bag?" - "10 glasses". He takes the bag, carries it to the carriage, pours it out and returns the bag and money - 100 rubles.

Forty-fifth and other years

45,46,47 years - terrible famine. 46 is a poor harvest. The potatoes are not ugly. There is also little bread. No potatoes - mother mixed quinoa in bread. I once ate this quinoa. I was vomiting with these greens ... And for my father ... my mother took off old sheep skins from the ceiling, singed them, cut them finely, like noodles - there are still some fat on the skin - she cooked soup for him for a long, long time in a Russian stove. And she didn’t give it to us - only to him, because he had to go far to work. But still there were not many potatoes. And she saved us. In uniforms, the mother will cook - this is the second. And the water in which these potatoes are cooked does not pour out. Mash a couple of potatoes in it, add sour cream - this is soup ... I still love it and sometimes do it myself.

About clothes

Throughout the war and after the war, we wore homespun clothes. They grew hemp, mowed, ruffled, twisted threads from it. They brought a special machine into the house, installed it for the whole room. And weaved canvas - such a strip of fabric 60 centimeters wide. Clothes were sewn from this canvas. They walked in it. There was nowhere and nothing to buy ready-made clothes.
In the fall of 1945, I remember my mother and father went to Morshansk, brought me an update - rubber boots. We took the last pair - both on the right leg. Such, for some reason, remained in the store, there were no others. I wore it and was happy.

No whining and murmuring!

And I will definitely say that throughout the war, despite the hunger, hard work, incredibly difficult life, the population did not have any murmurings. They only said: “When this fascist is killed! When he dies there! " And there was no such thing as complaining or taking offense at the Soviet power, at life. And there was no theft. Mother worked on the current all year round - for all the time, only once she brought wheat in her pocket - to cook porridge for us. Well, this is not only consciousness, but also control. You could get three years for a kilogram of grain. Our neighbor came from the war wounded - he was appointed a foreman. The three of them stole six bags each - they got seven years.

How he left the village

And how I ended up in Voskresensk - one of ours sniffed out about the Voskresensk vocational school. And since 1947 our guys have started to leave here. We have nothing to wear or put on in the village. And they come for the holidays in a cloth uniform, a blue satin shirt, in low shoes, tell how they go to the cinema in the city! ..
In 1950 I decided to leave for Voskresensk. I came to the chairman of the collective farm for a certificate that he was letting go. But he doesn't! But the former chairman, Mikhail Mikhailovich, turned out to be there. He says to this: “Your son has already finished his craft there. Why did you let go of yours, but you don’t let this go? ”
So in 1950 I entered the Voskresensk vocational school.
And how we got there in bast shoes, how he studied and then worked in acid, how he went to the army and served near Leningrad and what he learned about the battles and about the blockade, how he worked as a driver all his life - then I'll tell you.

This is the main thing for which I love my parents.

We are different with them in many ways. We look at many things differently. But in the main, nevertheless, I went to them. Until the last exhalation. Until the last heartbeat - live life to the fullest. Don't turn back, don't whine. Do not bend under the blows of fate.

Mom underwent a very difficult heart surgery when she was only 62. Dad defeated cancer in a tense struggle several years ago. Now they are both in their 70s.

And do you know how they surprised me today? They called to consult on buying a new Japanese motor for their boat! To be fully equipped for the beginning of the next summer season.

Mother and father! I love you very much and I am proud of you.

"Don't come near me! I'm offended, I'm offended ..."

Kamments to the news about the upcoming taxi strike in Saratov:

Denis: I want taxi drivers to go to the hospital, and they were told:
“I looked at the picture and didn't want to operate on something. Cancel appendicitis, please. "

Ivan: Which operating room are you in? I've been standing at the table for ten minutes.

Halfambidexter: In general, I have my own polyclinic in Yaroslavl, but I operate for the soul.

sandrrrik: No, the kidneys are too far away, I will remove your liver. And you there already cut out the kidney for yourself in 15 minutes with scissors.

Zverob: It's half an hour's work here, I'd rather operate on a couple of other patients. Okay, let me make an incision, well, there is nothing left to sew up, let's go on myself.

SalotSahr: Do you understand that operating for the amount specified in the contract with a private medical center is not respecting yourself? Pay three times more or get off my desk!

kaktakwottak: Why do you need anesthesia, don't you trust me? I have been with a scalpel for 20 years, everything will be fine!

G.Wisdom: You mean you have a quota? I will not operate, call another surgeon!
How is it that you have a child? We don't have a pediatric surgeon. Yes, let me operate, maybe the Ministry of Health will not stop.

alterlines: Do you have tonsils? I know the route here, we'll delete it through the ass - it's faster this way.

DanielleEllina: The doctor is about to be here, already now, in five minutes, but no, in ten, but no, the doctor went the other way, wait another 15 minutes. Is it not clear to you that this is a hint that it is necessary to cancel the operation and call another doctor ?!

kanda51: Here one already ordered an economy one. In vain. I would have ordered a business, and they would not have amputated my leg. Just put a broken pinky in plaster.

Mukoviszidos: Where to cut, will you tell me, brother?

The provincial traffic cop explained the origin of 22 apartments in the family by the work of his father as the director of a state-owned enterprise in the 90s. Like daddy natyril being a director at a time when people had nothing to eat. The next step will be "Chubais is to blame for everything ..."

Natalia was born in 1947 in Leningrad. In post-war Leningrad, devastation still reigned: there was not enough food, they heated with wood, cooked on kerosene stoves, in the evenings they lit kerosene lamps. When she was born, her mother put up a tent in the middle of their rather large but cold room to warm herself and the baby. But, despite all the hardships of life, an atmosphere of optimism and great hope for the future reigned everywhere: still! War is over! Now we will live, we need to give birth to children! After the war, a very large generation of baby boommers appeared, or the generation of 68, which changed the whole world, subjugated the old morality, and ethics, and pedagogy, and fashion, and music. Baby boommer Natasha went to first grade and was lucky with her teacher. A touching story happened at school: the teacher read fairy tales about grandchildren, about grandmothers. But these Leningrad children did not see old people and old women at all. They just weren't there. And only one student had a grandmother. The teacher wanted to invite her to school, but the grandmother did not leave the house. Then she organized an excursion to the house of this girl so that the children would see such a curiosity: a living grandmother! Can you imagine the feeling of respect for the elderly, which the smart teacher taught these children?

Are these? the Minister of Defense looked at us with disbelief.
Our crumpled faces, fumes, torn jackets and the torn off sole of Lesha's adidas clearly did not correspond to the ideas of the USSR Minister of Defense about the soldiers-guardsmen.

They took us to the checkpoint in our own unit, where, not immediately realizing what was going on, we managed to break a couple of noses to the commandant's office. We did not break the hand of the Chekist captain and the leg of the ensign of the internal troops - they themselves stumbled when they grabbed our clothes. What we immediately announced. We cannot be judged for two broken grunts of unrepresented strangers. And in general, we are only from vacation, we do not know anything.

But it all started so ordinary.

There is no sense from you at the parade, so you will go to the exercises. The task is to check the combat readiness of the security of the specified HF. On the top five - the installation of a simulator of a tactical charge on the territory of the unit. Pick up at warehouse, directions have already been given. But remember: the exercises are not only with us, so I advise you not to shine with the road requirements at the station - the Ministry of Internal Affairs will immediately transmit the information to the KGB. The deputy for "D", as always, was short.

I didn't really want to go to the parade, and in general there was nothing to do - an order is an order. We went to the warehouse.
-You give out the signaling ?! lounging imposingly on the sofa, asked the new head of the warehouse - a warrant officer with a red mustache, for which I immediately mentally called him a cockroach. And without waiting for an answer, he continued: "Go to the soldier along the wall, along the blue line, Comrade Major has already called. Do not forget to sign the receipt."

Vast bins of the Motherland, we whistled and walked a long corridor, found what we were looking for. The fighter snored as he fell asleep on a wooden chair in a cowboy pose. His crossed legs rested on the table on top of the binders, leaving greasy wax marks on them. Almost the entire desk surface was in a creative mess, designed to give the authorities the appearance of a lot of work. The open logs of registration and inventory were littered with numerous forms of invoices and statements. The storekeeper swayed in his sleep and we saw that the chair on which he was reclining was missing a front leg. A bad capter who saves on himself, I thought then, although who knows, maybe he is not supposed to have a chair. But folk wisdom noted this army feature for a reason to fall asleep in any position: the soldier is asleep - the service is in progress. Where, if not in a dream, you can escape from the hateful barracks and the dominance of dirty green paint. After hitting the head, the storekeeper stretched lazily and without getting up from his crippled chair, like a real magician pulled a cart with two units out of a stack. Which one will you take, the soldier asked - big or small?
Soviet abundance and unobtrusive choice - just an American supermarket, and not an army warehouse of all kinds of explosive stuff, I thought.
- The nomenclature is the same, the name is the same, the execution is different - the soldier explained. There only the number is poorly printed, either three or eight. Eight is small, three is large. If you want, call the chief executive, he will clarify. Once again, we really did not want to communicate with Comrade Major. The colorful statements of the chief saboteur about the mind and life experience of those around them, who were unable to make decisions on their own, did not leave anyone uninvolved. His expressions always made even birds hang motionless in the air and fall dead, stunning them with all the riches and eloquence of the Russian language, what can we say about us - simple campaigners.

Having fairly judged the size of the units, we decided that small and heavy is better than large and gurgling, but at the same time it does not smell like alcohol. The sergeant, in general, also did not care what to give out - the pyrotechnic warehouses of the homeland were endless, and it was still far from demobilization.

Having hardly dragged the simulator in a tarpaulin cover to the hostel, a quite reasonable question arose: "Well, how are we going to carry this fool?" Because even after removing the wood sheathing from the simulator, we made sure that it did not become much smaller. What would we choose a "large" copy did not even want to think. But after a bottle of Zhigulevsky, our thoughts began to flow in the right direction, and within an hour we took a refrigerator at the rental point. Well, when they took it, they borrowed it. Many cadets took TVs and washing machines from the local rental of household appliances to the hostel, which they needed, abundantly showering the cashier with compliments in order to get something new. We were no exception, therefore, the dull intuition let the cashier down. She quickly arranged for us to rent a canole refrigerator in her own box for a year and, having received her legal five rubles, returned to tea with her friends.

The refrigerator definitely turned out to be a good packaging option for transportation. Taking everything out of it, we found that our "gift" for the unfriendly part fits perfectly inside. The army's ever-striped blue blanket also organically blended into the composition and filled some of the remaining voids.

Then there was the road. It turned out that taking a refrigerator to a distant city is still a pleasure. A cargo taxi, a railway station, and a gurgling Armenian agreement with the head of the post carriage flew past unnoticed. Upon arrival, we were even helped to unload the refrigerator, quite casually dropping it on the loading dock. The prudently preserved wooden packaging of the refrigerator itself saved its integrity and saved us from unnecessary explanations. Yesterday night, with a bottle on the blackboard, their postmen would have laughed out loud, thinking out loud about our mental abilities - to take the refrigerator to the city where it is produced. But the terrible word deficit, in those years, buried any inclinations of citizens towards comfort. It was not enough to have money and desire, you still had to be able to get any thing.

There were no further problems and everything went strictly according to plan. Having brazenly dragged our luggage into the premises of the military commandant's office at the station, we went to the biggest chief. This is exactly what they demanded. We are forwarders, we say, bring this commander of yours - we brought a refrigerator for the command of such and such a unit. The invoices that were thriftily grabbed back in the home unit and the seal of the iron ruble through a blue carbon copy did not cause any doubts, just like the crumpled box from the refrigerator. Affected by the times of general shortage of everything: from toilet paper and sausage to technology. Even refrigerators had to be taken with a fight. The agile commandant provided us with a shishigu truck and an accompanying person, thanks to which we were there in a couple of hours.

Our mood improved with each crossing of the checkpoint. Leaving behind countless rows of barbed wire, we inexorably approached the goal. Already at the last checkpoint, the soldier, having fired a cigarette at our place, suggested that we should probably go to the headquarters right away and sent his orderly with us to accompany us. The orderly circled us around the territory for about ten or fifteen minutes. I saw through his trick right away when I saw that a major of the quartermaster service was already waiting for us on the spot. The major turned out to be a guy who was not a mistake and was obviously trying on the refrigerator for the purpose of moving to his house. For obvious reasons, this did not suit us. Therefore, having requested signatures and seals on the invoices, we began to search our pockets in confusion. There were no documents. The partner slapped himself on the forehead in a deliberate manner and stretched out: "They left them on the table in the commandant's office. There is nothing to do - we have to go back. You are not ordered to give without a seal and signature." The major immediately blushed and realized that the prey was slipping away, so he began to put pressure on pity: they say lunch is coming soon, let one of you go, and we'll wait here. Leave the box, men, and then I'll pour the roach and gingerbread for you. For the sake of haggling about the number of roach, we agreed that both forwarders would go to the commandant, because one was bored. The major's thoughts rustled like a windmill in the rain. Realizing that during our trip the refrigerator could be seen and taken away by someone else, the major offered to lock it in the guardroom. On this and decided - let the refrigerator, until our return, stay in the locked guardhouse next to the headquarters building. The quartermaster, ridiculously jumping up and down with all the centner of his weight, personally ran for the key and locked the box with the refrigerator in the booth, solemnly handed this key to me. While he was running, we pulled the safety cord out of the box. We had half an hour before the “trigger”.

It worked?! Forgetting the chain of command, the commander of a proven unit yelled in the office of the Minister of Defense. His face turned purple, he screamed so that even the minister himself involuntarily recoiled and took a step back. It didn't fucking work - it DOLL-BA-OU-LO! I have dogs, they still shit from any rustle and I suspect that not only animals are like that. I myself go and look around, and the inspectors in general ... and waved his hand in despair.

Lined up in a row, the generals and leaders of the exercises could hardly restrain their laughter. We pretended in every possible way that we were very interested in this green carpet under our feet and in general we were here by chance. We were reprimanded for a long time, we were promised punishment, prison and a wolf ticket. Each owner of red shoulder straps found something to say to us.

In the end, it all ends someday. We knew this too: a little shame and you are again a promising young officer of the Soviet army. Only 40 minutes later, having sent everyone away, the minister ordered us and the commander of the Airborne Forces to stay. The door had hardly slammed behind the generals of the internal troops, when the minister leaned back in his chair and laughed heartily. The minister sobbed for your happiness that these idiots did not think of bringing your "present" to the warehouse - they would pay the damage until the very pension.
-And you, do what you want, the minister strictly turned to the commander, but take them away from the Union until the "subcontractors" calm down: your guys, of course, are great, but such fools ...

Ivan Shelest "Harp from a footcloth"

The Chief Customs Officer himself was put at the head of the government! And what? Such merits! Sole proprietorships are being closed en masse throughout Russia. Thanks to Mishustin for his online box office! He collects taxes from old women who rent out a room to students using repressive methods ... He also strips off taxes from the "self-employed" ... And here's some advice to Mishustin. Poor pensioners and just homeless people collect scraps from garbage cans. Come on and take taxes from them! They are practically the same "self-employed". Today the rent from the peasants of the Russian Empire and the church "tithe" no longer seem to be such big taxes ...

On the quality of training in the Soviet Army

In the late 1980s, I served in the Soviet Army as a radio operator in the Air Force. At first I got into the Borispol training school. They chased us terribly, for the first two weeks they slept for 1-3 hours a day. But they also taught well. Slowly and methodically. For a couple of months, they practically fulfilled the 3rd class standard. Not only us were taught well. When I got into a boevukha, we were once in Minsk on a garrison guard and during the divorce, I met one guy, a scout, a modest one. Well, when I, laughing, asked him to demonstrate something, he, without straining so much, knocked the magazine out of the machine with his foot and disarmed, but I didn't even have time to twitch. Although by that time I was involved in sports and my reaction was good. And the boy is not tall, thin, not a bully. It can be seen, however, that it is sporty. And by that time he had served only a year. Yes, that was the army.

Whatever you do, you will still be guilty.
---
February, 2009. A friend comes to visit. Not the closest ...

So and so, he was going to buy an apartment, in an elite house, the price tag there is in dollars, the ruble exchange rate fell sharply, and therefore he now has only half the money and he needs to earn money urgently. (And I can see from his eyes, he so veiledly came into debt to ask for what is missing, knowing that I work on the stock exchange)

I pretended to accept his request at face value, and I wonder where it would be profitable for him to invest ...
I say: “Invest everything that you have now - in shares, the price tag is very low, I recommend: Tatneft and Sberbank, they now cost 1/5 of the real price! There is a familiar broker, a reliable one, even today you come to him with money, he will do everything quickly, or - to any other, I can give you a list of reliable offices, it doesn't matter .. "
“What if they still fall! Too risky! No, no, that won't work! "
I show him charts, analytics, I convince - zero emotions ...

“It's your business, I myself have invested everything in these papers, I myself have practically no money left” (this is how I led him to the idea that it’s useless to ask for something from me)
...
8 months later: the shares went up 6 times, at that time (and then even stronger), I meet this friend in the supermarket, and he complains to me: “Why did I badly persuade him to invest in Sberbank ?!” , really hit, almost climbs to fight. Barely reassured ...
In short, since he did not have enough money in the spring, he invested in some other house, at the stage of the foundation pit, like, at half price, and, naturally, this whole construction bunch, having collected money from the suckers, disappeared.
So who's to blame? The one who gave all his money to some clowns? Or the one who offered a person sensible things, but, you see, "not persistently enough" ...
Conclusion: in order to lose friends, it is not enough to lend them, you can not lend, and yes, you can “try to give a man a fishing rod instead of a fish” - the result will still be the same.

I hated my mathematician, who always nagged at me, and especially after she left me for the fall. But when I easily passed mathematics at five in the exams at the Military School, and at the School I was cracking ballistics problems like nuts, I realized what she had done for me and wrote her a warm letter. And she answered me no less warmly and explained that she saw in me a talent for mathematics, but alas, plus her absolute rejection and applied pedagogical and punitive methods in order to unbrak my mathematical subconscious, but you know, she did it. By the way, since then, the memory for numbers has become aggravated. I remember up to half a hundred telephone numbers and I still remember the number of my first automatic machine received in 1967 - PV 6235.

And I think that if all the teachers were like Margarita Vladimirovna, then the country would be different now. But alas and alas again.
There was another case in my school life, one teacher somehow accused me of literally anti-Soviet propaganda, well, it was the mid-sixties, not the thirties. And the thing was ...
We were just passing Gorky, and specifically "On the Day". And I was lucky to see this performance at the Moscow Art Theater. No, after all, the old Soviet actors were Giants. In the dreary repertoire of that time, they managed to make a diamond from any gray stone plot. Fortunately for me (and as it turned out later, misfortune), Luka was played by the Great Mushrooms. The composition of the Moscow Art Theater was then more than strong, but against the background of the then stars Gribovskaya charisma stood out very much. By the way, in the premiere of 1952, Alexey Gribov played with Tarasova and Massalsky. For a number of reasons, I watched the later version, but Gribov still played and certainly shone.
In short, in my essay after Gorky, I chose the theme "At the Bottom", gave out earrings to all the sisters and brothers, and brought Luka out as an almost positive character who helps people survive the black streak.
This is where it all began ... The literary woman, relishingly reading excerpts from my work, showed the class by my example how some people misunderstand the work of "Inveterate Human Beings" (for some reason she decided that Lenin was talking about Gorky, and not about Tolstoy), she accused poor Luka of treachery and perniciousness. I was violently indignant and said that Luka in this little house was the only kind person. And when the literary woman said to this that with his false kindness, Luke distracted the people from the revolutionary struggle, I, in turn, with youthful ingenuous irony, began to reproduce, they say, what kind of revolutionary struggle is there in a flophouse where only vagabonds live, a criminal element and fallen women ... It was then that I was told that what I was saying was almost anti-Soviet propaganda. Well, I didn’t know that for the Soviet regime, criminals were considered class-related and who suffered from tsarism.

P.S. For the term "fallen women" I broke off separately

The archpriest spoke about women living in cohabitation as free prostitutes. I will not say that this is a wise clergyman, but, in my opinion, he is a very sincere person. Although he followed the path of state policy to combat prostitution. A woman caught doing this is subject to an administrative fine, and a complicit man is unpunished. In this case, instead of a fine, moral condemnation. How many comments appeared, and only from men. And I am also one of them. He started with cohabitation and housekeeping. A daughter was born. I went on a business trip in a company vehicle, drove in a group. On the way, we got into an accident due to the fault of a drunk teenager driving. The car is shattered, and we have various damages. The easiest thing for me. In an instant I realized that if the business trip ended there, together with me, no one would pay anything to my child and wife. Neither survivor's pension nor any other options provided. Returning home, and still covered in plasters, he dragged her to the registry office. Do not judge women strictly, they only realize the divine destiny to be fruitful and multiply, and with a man. At the time of this covenant, the registration of this process was not scheduled.

A friend of mine, an Azerbaijani who was born in Georgia, went on business to the United States, he speaks English poorly. After his trip, I asked him, how are you in the states? ", He says, great, only some of them for some reason asked if I had medals. So they said, medalist?" I replied that no. " assumed they thought he was from the Middle East (Middle East).

Today I am walking down the street and I see a man lying at the exit of the liquor store. He periodically tries, if not to sit down, then at least roll over from his back on all fours, but he fails. Passers-by mostly walk by, two came up, lifted the man to his feet, but he immediately "folded" and found himself in the same position.

It’s not very cold outside (about zero), but the man was unbuttoned, his jacket had strayed, he was lying with his almost bare back in the snow ... In general, I could not walk by and called the police. In the police, people were also responsive: the attendant promised that she would now send a squad and an ambulance.

About 20 minutes later, I was walking back along the other side of the avenue, and saw an ambulance, which was driving with flashing lights and turned onto the sidewalk to the store where the man was lying.

Everything seems to be fine: I called - the organs reacted - the person was not allowed to disappear.

But it turned out that this is not the end of the story. An hour later, I received a call from the ambulance station and asked if I knew where the man I had reported to the police was now. I assumed that the car that I had seen took him, but they told me that the brigade had arrived just now, no one had come before ...

“If a person refuses to be tested, we will do it publicly. We will make a stream, bring it to the public and let our active citizens meet outside the checkpoint, pick it up and take it wherever they want, ”said Serhiy Deyneko, head of the State Border Service of Ukraine on February 24.
Humanism splashes directly! The wrong country was named Honduras.

Memories from the 90s

Today we saw off Sergey Mikhailovich, my senior partner and newly-minted pensioner, to Cyprus permanent residence. Pledging to the children to take their grandchildren for the whole summer, he and his dear wife waved their hand to us all and drove off to the warm shores of the sunny island. Over the past 30 years, there has been a lot of interesting and memorable things in Sergei's life, but some stories especially vividly reflected the events and moods of a particular time period. I will give one of them below.

Sergei, what was the most engraved in your memory in the first half of the 90s?
- Yes, a lot. Well, for example, have you ever been beaten in your life? So, what would be real, and not pure kick?
- They beat me. In the 90s, they beat me hard.
- They beat everyone. Well, or almost everyone. But mind you - we are normal men, no perversions, not masochists. Have you ever wanted to be beaten? Right here from ... they drove hard - hard, even to the hospital?
- Of course not. How can you think about this?
- But once I wanted ...
- What is it like?
- I had a partner in 1993. Edik was his name. We worked with him both together and separately, that is, in addition to common deals, everyone had some kind of personal troubles. And once this Edik fit into a very cool scheme with aluminum ingots. I must say that even now in this business they are drinking and swearing, be healthy, but then the people in it were with mugs that were remembered for a lifetime. I clearly decided for myself that I would not get into this story under any sauce.
And Edik, hiding behind the remnants of nomenclature connections, climbed into it as much as 2 cars of these same ingots. The money was clearly someone else's - we simply did not have such money. And after a couple of weeks very interesting people came to our office. Interesting in that their literal level of intelligence just went off scale. Such a quiet conversation (Edik was sitting with them alone, I basically left and they clearly said about me that I was not here at all) Edik did not remember for a long time. It was like talking with a professor of philology at the department of Moscow State University. Inspired by the style of communication, Eduard also delicately responded to the request to forget the road to this business with a refusal due to an acute desire to earn a lot at once. People said they respected such proud aspirations, and yet they needed to think hard. Nobody came to Edik or called him again.
He even insulted half the carriage (his share of the profits) and bought an apartment with his wife in the city center. My attempts to explain to Edik that there are no such intelligent people in this market, and that such communication should be feared like fire, because it can end in tears, did not lead to anything. A week later, Edik disappeared. Forever. A couple of years later, having already strongly promoted and acquired contacts in the field of "security", I carefully inquired into his account, and received an answer that, according to one of the lads, "it seems like someone of ours went fishing with this kent", including plan that you need to look for it somewhere at the bottom of the reservoirs near Moscow.
And then I didn't know what to do at all. Of course, it was clearly explained to the guests that I was "out of business at all." I did not know any details. But at the same time, the business community, and not only it, knew that Eduard and I were business partners. Not to mention the fact that I needed to comfort his wife and daughter, who were left without a breadwinner. A couple of days later, when I was sitting with them, the doorbell rang.
A neighbor stood outside the door, asking for something from the food - she often came to them. But opening the door, two very colorful comrades fell into the apartment. It was at this moment that I remembered him for the rest of my life - I really wanted to be beaten. Right here strong.
Because he knew the golden rule - if they started beating, then with a high probability they will not kill right away. And indeed - having received a couple of strong blows "in the soul", I was asked to explain to Edik's wife why and how long it was necessary to return all the money for the metal, plus a serious delay.
How we sold the apartment and the remaining one and a half carriages is a separate story. As a result, we managed to settle accounts and start a new life.
P.S. Sergei Mikhailovich was very much promoted by 1998, the post-crisis and unsuccessful entry into politics, reset in one of the regions in a minor leadership position, and further joining our team. Now - just a wealthy pensioner.
P.S.2 For those who do not quite understand - if the scenario was unsuccessful for the protagonist, he could get a bullet in the head from those who entered in the format of a frightening act for the partner's wife. And unfortunately there were such cases - with the protection of witnesses in those years there was no word at all.

I took the child to a laser tag for a classmate's birthday, it is fashionable now. They played two hours. It's time for a super game. The presenter of the game invites the children to guess the villain who will play against them. For information - play on the map of the Marvel universe.
Hints from the host: "The villain, he flies, he has all sorts of things."
I thought about myself, apparently decided "Mystery".
Figs there, the host says, "This is Batman."
The children ran away to the map, the presenter puts on a suit. I couldn’t resist, I asked: "How so? Batman is kind of a positive hero, he does not fly and is he from the DC universe?"
The presenter was embarrassed, but he said: "Well, he's a fictional hero. He flies on a glider. In general, we don't have ANOTHER suit."
Children do not care - they liked it :))

20 ruble Tuvan

This story has a mystical overtones, a request to militant atheists and zealous believers of all faiths to skip it.
All peoples have concepts of "not clean" money, which should either not be taken at all, or taken according to some rite. These are "coffin" money in central Russia or "money for the purchase of land" from Tuvans. Back in 1994, one lively Tuvan student Saydash took money from a Tuvan student that she had borrowed for a trip to her Mother's funeral, in order to take it to the faculty and give it away, but she still hasn't given it back.
When he began to spend this "grave" money, he started having problems with his studies and with the police (then still the police), and one unexpected evening at the DK students he received an empty bottle on the head, after this injury he could not study for a long time, stuttered , lived in a hostel as an "eternal student" and never finished his studies. All his attempts to establish relationships with girls ended in failure. An intermediate result of Saidash's life for 45 years: no family of his own, no children, the expectation of a house is inherited from his aunt. What is the price of the issue? Very simple and not very high - 21 rubles a day since the formation of the debt.
It is not for me and not for you, my readers, to weigh the actions of Saydash - for this there are Higher powers, and we will always remember about the "grave" money and act as prudently as the owner of this money, who patiently waited all these years for harm from this money through Saidash did not go to him.
(Full text - https://cloud.mail.ru/public/4CTk/3W51Qbwud)
A. Ananasov, 27.02.2020

Since childhood, a gamer in Civilization 3. Moreover, versions only up to 1.17 (fans will understand why) Why from childhood - but because a man at 40 is only leaving puberty (who came out earlier, for example, at 21, I welcome comments, but only together like them characterize their wives). So, there is such garbage there - a waitress in an asshole settlement graciously accepts the protection of an unknown man (pirate) from the officer's rudeness and helps the pirate with a bottle over the head of his offender. The governor's daughter is another matter. With great pleasure she dances with the murderer who has captured her city, and gives the information, which is a public secret, to the well-danced one. And if the pirate danced badly, then the answer from the local diva is like this - talk to my sister (like, she is also such a fool, she can't even dance). It seems to me that Sid Meier is a great joker. After all, the truth is not a fig not patriotic daughters of governors. And sons too ...

Unsweetened life

After the invasion of Russia and the retreat of Napoleon, in Belarus, a seriously wounded young French soldier remained on the battlefield. A village girl picked him up, cured him, and they got married. In 1915, their great-grandson Mikhail Mironovich Kott was born, later an English teacher. He studied at the institute and lived in a hostel. In 1939, on Stalin's anniversary, a friend of the Komsomol brought the newspaper Pravda with a huge photograph on the first page and exclaimed what a good portrait, to which Mikhail Mironovich said: "The portrait is good, but the original is bad." He was given many years in the camps.

In the camp, a paramedic walked to a pile of bodies, saw a leg twitching there, and told the guard to pull the man out. The paramedic warmed Mikhail Mironovich, cured him and made him his assistant. A term was added to Mikhail Mironovich.

Then he met his future wife Elena Yakovlevna Radchenko. Elena Yakovlevna was born in 1926. Almost all of her relatives (including her parents) were repressed. During the war, Elena Yakovlevna ended up in the occupied territory, went through the Nazi camps, and after the war - the Soviet "purgatory" (there was torture) and the GULAG. Then Elena Yakovlevna worked as a teacher.

Many years passed, and in 2006 Mikhail Mironovich died almost in the blink of an eye. Elena Yakovlevna fell seriously ill, could barely move around the apartment on crutches, and her voice changed, hardened.

In local news, Elena Yakovlevna found out that in one store you can order sugar, a bag-bag, 5 kg and 10 kg with home delivery by phone. She called the store in the morning and said that she wanted to buy 5 kg of sugar. The woman in the store told her that there was no sugar 5 kg each, and 10 kg would be available only in the evening. Well, well, there is a big difference, 5 or 10 kg, maybe 10, said Elena Yakovlevna, and suddenly she heard a cry: "We know you, alcoholics, there is money in the morning, and by the evening you will drink it all!"

I was scheduled to have a leg vein check. This is a fairly simple procedure using an ultrasound machine. When I came to this office, it was closed. They said that the doctor would come soon. She came, it was a young tall girl in a long, closed dress, with a headscarf wrapped around her, so that only part of her face was visible. When I entered, she invited me to go behind the screen, take off my trousers, leave my socks and lie down. She came, began to smear my feet with an oily liquid and drive a part of the apparatus over them. At the same time, I had to turn my legs in different directions. While I was dressing, she wrote and gave me a conclusion. Everything turned out to be fine. Although it is rather interesting, does she tell her loved ones that in such a strict outfit, she examines and touches men without pants every day, albeit in socks?

Probably, everyone has already read Surkov's interview, in which he said that Ukraine does not exist, and that Ukrainianity is a disorder of the mind. This, of course, is nothing new. The usual position of a Russian Nazi. And not necessarily Russian, all Nazis are the same.

Hitler said back in 1939:
"It is unheard of to present to us the Czechs and Poles, this rabble, which is no better than the Sudanese and Hindus as sovereign states."

It is not surprising that with such an idea of ​​Ukraine, the Kremlin here completely fucked everything up. With this we were just amazingly lucky. If the head of the Russian Federation were not dark obscurantists fascists, but a little more sensible and calculating people, we would have had a much harder time.

Somehow a perspicacious person noted here, noticing about whoop-provocateurs. Taught how they annoy society, a beautiful example. I agree with him one hundred percent.
But I just realized why I have watched all the films about the revolution, war, the Soviet era and then I am looking for something else to see (there is no time to read, the director will explain everything). Much truth is hidden behind ideological messages, break away - sit and watch.
And there, in these films, there is such a storehouse of cases of human baseness, meanness, suffering that I have no time to translate my overgrown from Russian into new Russian. And mostly about us.
I won't ask Minin's rhetorical question, I won't explain anything to the shit cops. And the sons of Pozharsky silently drag everything.
.
Old new joke:
Start...
A couple of weeks ago, we were flying with a friend on a sex tourism in Tai. Dumb, but necessary.
We drank everything we took, woke up, drowned out the water, listened to the muttering on the radio.
And then Old revives and shoves me into the bochin:
- Bitch, did they say that half of the women are HIV infected, and the other is predisposed to coronavirus? How so? And what about us? Do you remember, we also flew here 20 years ago, but it was safe to fuck only those who cough? Strive again? What kind of vacation is that ?!
End...
.
Indeed, according to Pronin, before, in the camps, women were taken away so brutally

In the current set of stories: new - 37, sundries - 6.

Immediately he warned: "The men will drink vodka, you are on self-service." In the morning, my daughter, looking out of the tent and seeing that the men, having gathered around the fire, began to get drunk, for everything ...

1 day ago

In outerwear and near the door on the rug, and in his hand the travel card is clamped. His mother bends over him and says: “The ultimate. We arrived. "To the question" what would that mean "my mother's answer was:" I opened the door, you showed me a ticket, said: "Travel card!" and fell inside the apartment. " A source

4 days ago

He served as a senior chef in a soldier's canteen. Before each meal, a female warrant officer came to the hospital without fail to check the quality of the food and the absence of potassium cyanide, nails or broken glass. Baba is quite interesting. I constantly poisoned the stories. And then he tells me on one such visit. ”They brought a young boy to me, only ...

4 days ago

I was afraid to forget, I decided to turn to artificial intelligence. - Alice, please remind me to call at 7 pm. - I turn on the reminder. Evening came, I have not forgotten safely, but decided to wait for the reminder (even though it sounds). 19:00 - silence. 19 : 01 - bewildered: - Alice, why didn't you remind me to call— But I forgot. Good people, this intelligence is definitely artificial! ...

4 days ago

MILK HERO. Valery Gubarev worked as a mechanic at the Samara Dairy Plant. His duties included a tour and inspection of the technical equipment of the workshops. Once, in one of the shifts, he was at the boilers for milk pasteurization. Suddenly, the guy saw the precious white liquid flow out through a small hole in the weld. An intellectual locksmith called for help ...

5 days ago

traditions. Writing letters in the army is not only the legal right of a soldier, but also his sacred duty. When my term of service exceeded a year and the time rolled down the mountain, a guy came to my department. Not painfully, I was glad of such a replenishment, but where can you go. The fact is that a fighter in ...

7 days ago

The difficult fate of an international journalist threw me to Paris! This is how the old journalistic cliché comes to my senses when I begin to remember this story. Of course, this was not Paris, but Elabuga, a rotten town between Kazan and Chelny, with a population of 60 thousand souls. And I arrived there, young, non-smoker, to take business in office ...

7 days ago

The owner of the apartment shows two craftsmen his project for laying tiles in the kitchen. On one of the walls there is a certain axis, from which the tile should lie in both directions "diamond", that is, at an angle of 45 degrees. Nothing new or original. But there is one "but". The project itself is carefully drawn on two large glued ...

The story took place at the bank.
I’m standing at the counter, the clerk is filling out the documents. Nearby, a second clerk draws up something for a man of 55-60 years old by proxy from his wife. The operator asks the wife's date of birth, the man only remembers the year (indicated in the power of attorney). The operator sarcastically: "Call and ask."
I asked:
- Have you been married for a long time?
- 36 years.
- And here I am only 8, and I still remember :-)
A man shyly smiling and lamenting that his wife will be offended now, calls and she tells him that March 15th. Not offended. The conflict over the phone, expected by all the maliciously grinning witnesses of what was happening, did not take place. The topic hesitated, the smiles on the faces of those present gradually deflated and their mouths turned into ordinary Moscow "holes in the ass."
However, the most interesting thing happened in about a minute. The man's phone rang and it was his wife. It turns out that in that minute she opened her passport to check her date of birth and found out that she was born not on the 15th, but on the 20th of March!

She worked as a nurse. I entered the medical school at the age of 16, graduated at the age of 19. I looked younger than my age. To put it bluntly, it looked like that. I worked in surgery, and due to lack of experience, I was first put to shave patients before operations. Day after day, men and women. And you see, every man is shy, denies that he himself can. And our surgeon was strict. For a badly shaved crotch, he could deprive him of bonuses.
So that's it. Imagine. After the daily shift, I was tired as a dog. Give, bring, shave, dressings, dressings. And before you leave: shave! There's an emergency in the hallway!
I am weaving. A young guy is sitting. I say:
- Let's go shave, young man!
And he replies:
- Yes, I do not need!
- Do you need an operation?
- Yes.
- Before the operation, everyone needs. I am very tired to persuade you. Come on, please. You have nothing new for me there.
- OK.
Well, I shaved him. I go out, and there is another guy sitting in the corridor:
- I'm waiting for a shave!
OK. Shaved this one too.
I go to the dressing room. One of the surgeons met me:
- Have you seen where my patient with panaritium has gone?
- No, but which one?
And then this young guy comes up and says:
- I'm with panaritium (panaritium, if you don't know, purulent inflammation under the nail).
- So why didn't you say that you have a felon? - I am indignant. - Why do you shave?
- Well, you yourself said that everyone needs it!
The surgeon whinnied like mad.

Summer of distant 2011. I passed the day shift, changed my clothes and went home.
At that time, as a young professional, I dressed simply, adhering to a sporty style. Jeans, sneakers, a backpack, a sweatshirt with a hood formed the basis of my simple wardrobe. There are circles under the eyes, the eyes themselves are red.
I go down into the subway and here I am slowed down by employees, then still like the police. Verification of documents. Hmm, apparently I got my passport at home, there are no other documents with me. They ask to open the backpack. Themselves asked for, in the same place sneakers and uniforms for washing. After finding the shirt with the words "ambulance" all over the back, we got bored at once. One even remembered me and apologized. We took his partner with a heart attack from the workplace.
I concluded that it was time to change the style and look at myself in the mirror after the change.

The story happened to me two years ago.
I studied at school. The school year was ending, and it had to happen that in the last week of May, there were holidays on the occasion of the 250th anniversary of my great-great ... grandfather (In our family this holiday is celebrated every 10 years, because my grandfather was a very respected person, and now many historians are studying his life (do not make me delve ... into details).
So, I live in Moscow, and the holiday was celebrated in St. Petersburg and I had to take time off from our classroom. It should be noted that our classroom was a person with very modest mental capabilities, and everything reached her for a very long time.
I go to class.
Me: "Hello Olga Yu."
She: "Hello."
Me: "Olga Yu. - could you please let me go a week early, I finished the year well enough?"
She: "And actually for what reason?"
Me: "The fact is that I am going to the 250th anniversary of my great-great .. grandfather, and I have to go to St. Petersburg!"
Yes, perhaps not every family celebrates anniversaries (even the round dates of their long-dead relatives, but the response from my classroom shocked me.
She: "250 years! 250 years! How great, of course, go and tell your grandfather to live the same amount ..."

An interesting story was told.
One emigrant, who came to Australia from Kazakhstan, got involved in fixing a tap in the kitchen for the Australians they knew. For a forty-degree bottle. Smirnoff. The most popular vodka in Australia.
I decided to help good people in a friendly way, so to speak. Repaired. I immediately crushed the bottle with the owners, because, as I said, they were on friendly terms.
And after a while he received a summons - a summons to court. Good Australian friends rolled a slander on him - they say that he is engaged in illegal business activities without registering a business, an independent plumber.
Struck to the depths of his soul, he called them - and fell into an even greater sediment.
His Australian friends sincerely thought they had done a good deed for him. After all, in this way they directed him on the right path, that is, they taught him how to live correctly according to Australian law.

Mdaaa ... for a start anecdote:
a call to the Emergencies Ministry: "Hello, here the cops are fighting with the doctors, so I don't even know who to call."
Now I found myself almost in this anecdote.
I work as a watchman, there is a crash on the road and I go outside the building, turning on the outdoor lighting.
Village, no street lighting, even though there is a federal highway. Someone got up on the ZIL, not bothering much, pull over to the side of the road. A traffic police car drives into it on the move, an ambulance enters the traffic police - both with working beacons ...
Immediately a thought - damn it !!! Well, nothing, alive, whole.
The first question came up: "Guys, do we need fire extinguishers !?"
Kaaak they all looked at me ... However, they also remembered that anecdote.

Once I got to a small grant meeting in Yuzhno-Sakhalinsk. According to the American organizers, each side of the joint Russian-American projects should have been represented by its own leader, one from each country. But by some fatal coincidence, all American project leaders were married to the Russian coordinators of these very projects, and unanimously sent their wives instead of themselves to this distant point of the planet.
Looking at these representatives, I noted with sadness that life cynically puts everything on the shelves - all three wives were beautiful, but the most modest of them was married to Alaska, just a dazzling clever girl - to Seattle, but absolutely stunning - to San Francisco. I guess I thought about it so bitterly then, because my own beloved girl remained in Washington.
But life, in addition to naked cynicism, always retains a sense of humor - the most charming girl at this gathering was still from Yuzhno-Sakhalinsk and was not going to leave anywhere ...

On the anniversary of their acquaintance, my friend's husband made her an unusual and beautiful surprise: a parachute jump from an airplane. She was delighted, although at first she was scared. The whole process was filmed on video - putting on a suit and ground instructions, flying to climb, actually jumping (in conjunction with an instructor), free flight, safely landing on a green lawn in the arms of a loving spouse ... (10-minute video to remember included in the cost of the attraction).
And now she proudly demonstrates this film to her neighbors, also a young couple. The neighbor, in thought, says:
- And we also have an anniversary soon ...
Then he turns to his beloved half:
- Maybe I should throw you off the train?

Today I heard in the clothing market how a clothing seller passed on her knowledge to a young trainee.
P: - In general, listen to the most important thing. All girls, as they claim, are 42 sizes. If you believe their words, then all our clothes will be torn. So trust your eyes and give them clothes their sizes ...

It was this summer in Kemer (Turkey).
The young man is pleasant in all respects, a great lover of women, let's call him Vitya, for the first time got hold of a scooter. After the next arrival, he is asked about his impressions, he replies that it is VERY cool.
- And how cool, as with a girl?
- What are you - for 10 bucks 10 minutes of complete buzz: WHAT GIRLS ?? !!!

My vocation led me to work in school as a Teacher, however, this is a separate story ... and not funny at all (but although ...)! 8O) I'm not talking about that ...
There is a lesson, I am talking with a colleague in the corridor ... A student from his class is walking by with a class magazine.
He asks her:
- Faith! Is it quiet in your class?
She automatically:
- Yes! The teacher just yells!

I had to organize the stairs to the dacha for the porch. Well, I ordered it to a friend of mine from the Energy Institute - he welded me a ladder from metal corners. And since he did all this on the territory of the institute, the question of the day "how to drag THIS through the entrance" stood on edge ...
But everything was solved simply and brilliantly! An acquaintance pioneered somewhere an export form and wrote there: "Calibrator for a substation - 1 pc."
It is worth noting that the staircase created by the genius of our energy looked really strange! Especially if she was on her side. It was almost impossible to guess the true purpose of the strange device.
So, we drag her to the checkpoint (and she is heavy, weighs 150 kilograms), barely dragged her. At the checkpoint sits a watchman - an elderly man who, having seen this miracle of technology, walked around the bush for a long time and almost sniffed our creation. We already began to worry, they say, everything, burned, but the watchman, in the end, let us safely through. And if not for this watchman, then the story would have come to an end. But, thanks to the watchman, this story received an amusing continuation!
In general, the watchman, having changed in the morning, took his comrade with him and stomped to the nearest substation. There, having given a bribe to a hungover colleague with a half-liter "white", our watchman asked to get a calibrator. The local watchman, swallowing saliva, rushed into the bowels of his farm and after half an hour returned with a meter-long iron ruler, in which holes of various sizes were drilled ...
exi3000

I have the following conversation with my wife in the kitchen:
- Well, what did you bring this ice cream monster for?
- Firstly, this is not a monster, but a goose. Secondly, I have always dreamed of trying a ruddy goose, straight from the oven.
- Hmm ... you definitely think that I have nothing else to do ... Hmm ... I don't think that the goose will fit into the oven, so chop it into pieces?
The goose chopped into pieces (even if straight from the oven) somehow looked not quite appetizing.
- What if you cut off your legs? Then it will definitely fit! - dawns on me.
At this moment, a three-year-old daughter flies into the kitchen. The child freezes in place, her eyes widen.
- Not naaado!
- Daughter, what is not necessary? - sincerely thinking that my daughter feels sorry for the frozen bird.
- Cut your legs! (and already with a sob) I want to jump, like this,
jump jump ...
My wife and I are just hysterical. We are trying to explain to the child what we meant the goose, and by no means her darling. She seemed to believe it, but all the same, somehow she looked sullenly.

We are sitting in an international group, drinking tea with cookies. They talked about national hospitality. Kazakh says:
- Once a week, the father calls guests. Person 5. But mom gets meat for beshbarmak, as if they had called 50. You roll dough, cook besh, fry baursaks. Here the guests come. And after them there is a mountain besha. The first day, eat besh for breakfast, lunch and dinner. On the second day, you distribute some to your family and neighbors and eat fried besh for breakfast, lunch and dinner. On the third day, my mother prepares a casserole in the oven from besch. On the fourth day, you watch, cook pies, the whole family rejoices, and they are stuffed with besch. On the fifth, the whole family, led by dad, belittles mom to cook anything, just not mad. On the sixth day, about happiness, my mother cooked buckwheat. On the seventh day, dad calls guests.
They all laughed. And then an Uzbek woman:
- Damn, we have the same thing only with pilaf!


As a child, I loved to lean on the cover of the secretaire. Mom very much scolded me for this, because on top of the secretaire there was a beautiful tea set brought by my grandmother from Ashgabat. And then one day, doing my homework, I once again leaned my elbows. There was a terrible crash. My grandmother flew in, saw the broken service, grabbed me in her arms and ran into the street. And only below did she come to her senses that she was in Leningrad, and there was no earthquake here. Oh, and it hit me then! And in the evening my mother added ...

I am a very calm person who rarely raises my voice. But there is one way that makes me scream - mirrors in a closed room, from which there is no exit. My boyfriend decided to somehow play a trick on me, to make sure that I can raise my voice. One fine morning I woke up in a locked room with a dozen fairly large mirrors. He found me two hours later under the table in hysterics, the nightmares did not leave for several months. The guy is gone.

I work in a cinema for two. Usually couples in love come. Romance, movies, delicious food, wine, kisses ... But how enraged are those who cross the line of kisses and transfer the matter to the horizontal plane. There is a camera, an announcement at the entrance, and even so we tell the guests, but it's a pity that not everyone gets it.

My husband and I decided to take a serious step - to adopt a child. The daughter of our distant relatives, a fire in the house, only she was saved. Immediately she was silent all the time, then she began to speak from time to time. But in two years this has not progressed further. I dreamed that we would replace her family, but she is still cold. I don’t blame anyone, but it’s so bitter.

Recently I cheated on my husband, because he is a fucking workaholic, and our last sex was a year and a half ago. I love him very much, but could not stand it. I went to town to see a friend, went to a club and slept with a guy whose name I don't even know. He fucked my whole soul out of me, and I returned home happy, to which my husband offered to go to her more often. On the one hand, I finally felt like a desired girl, and on the other, the cats scratched their hearts.

Grandmother and grandfather met in the park when grandmother, headlong, ran home, covering herself with her hands from the pouring rain. She accidentally bumped into him, knocking him off his feet. Mom and dad found out about each other at the school disco when mom accidentally collided with his father, knocking him to the floor, falling on top of him to the tune of "slow". And I found my love in the trash, when, without looking, I threw a bag of trash into the barrel, and accidentally hit the guy, knocking him down and dropping him straight into the trash. But I found it.

Half a year ago I was hit by a car. As a result, a spinal injury, a wheelchair. My husband supported me as best he could, blew away dust particles. Recently, doctors said that it is possible to undergo surgery, there is a 50/50 chance that I will be able to walk again, but the condition may worsen. My husband with tears in his eyes begged me not to risk it, he will take care of me. I really began to fear interference. And then my tablet broke, I took my husband's laptop and found a bunch of porn with disabled people there. I will be operated on soon.

I have a strange obsession with coming up with dialogues for various pieces of furniture. Here I was sitting in line at the clinic, a woman tugs at the handle of the office, the door is closed, and I immediately imagine a dialogue between two doors: - Oh, why are you pulling, tear it off! Can't you see? Closed! No, well, did you see? She pulls here! Give me another polish on the handle, erase it! - Hmm, here people go! They kick and clap. Mom told me, go to paper ...

I often select music for performances. This is a laborious process, you can sit for several days and listen, listen, listen, until the catchy notes slip through the heap of music that starts to seem the same. And how many incredible, incidentally found melodies are now in my piggy bank and waiting in the wings! I want to have the opportunity to show all the images that this music paints.

I have a tooth scar on my tongue. According to my parents, when I was two years old, I was sitting on a chair, and my older brother pushed him, I fell, hit my head on the battery and bit my tongue. The parents thought that it would grow together, so they did not sew it up. As a child, a friend called this scar a pocket, since a piece of skin can be pushed aside with your teeth and you can see a depression. The expression on the faces of the people to whom I tell this story and in conclusion I show my tongue is priceless!

My grandmother is 84. She has beautiful makeup, hair, dress and high heels. She has a husband who is 17 years younger, who loves her to the point of madness. She runs in the mornings on the balcony on the treadmill, cooks awesome, sings great, and sews awesome bespoke clothes. And I just want to be like her, at least at 70 years old, and not that at 80 and a half!

No matter how much I get to know people, every time with amazing skill I manage to spoil the attitude towards myself. Because ... Apparently, I do not understand the personal side of each person. A careless action or a word - the relationship becomes strained, and they themselves are already like strangers. How many times in my life I have seen this, I don’t even know. People with whom, it seemed, he could communicate about anything and constantly, now barely exchange a couple of phrases ...

Have a heart defect, you have to fly to the operation. And then a friend says that it is expensive to deliver the body, and many bring ashes back in urns. The positive disappeared, I saw how my husband was looking for a delivery of the body. She said how she spat ... I feel sorry for those close to me - they are worried, and it became scary myself. We are realists, but here it is hard and scary.

In life I am a gray mouse. But after sex, I become prettier. The eyes shine, the lips become slightly plump and bright, the skin turns beautifully pale, the cheeks are pink. I even learned how to use it: if I was to attend an event, I made love in front of him, it helped more than makeup. I did not take into account only one thing, that this feature was noticed not only by me, but also by my beloved husband. My ex-beloved husband, who burned me beautiful after work.

I moved into the apartment where my friends lived before. From their stories: they fucked on the table and made noise as much as possible, for which all the neighbors hated them. On the very first evening, at about 10, I decided to move the wardrobe a little. Five minutes later, all the grandmothers of the world stuck their heads out, shouting that I was a shit and arranging orgies, after another half an hour two police officers arrived. When they saw me in my pajamas and my cat crap from a knock on the door, they apologized for a long time, and then reprimanded the neighbors on the stairs for another half an hour.

I never liked to go to my grandmother. They came once a year with the whole family for a couple of days, and trash began. A booze with moonshine and massacre, in which my grandmother and her sons participated, and after that she tried to educate 7-9-year-old me about sex in all the vile details. In another argument, when she lifted her skirt and showed me where to go, I found out that she did not wear underwear either. It is a pity that I did not recognize the other grandmother - she died when I was a year old (

Recently I came across a series about Katya Pushkareva. My God, then her image seemed terrible, but today she is downright trendy, but everyone who was in style looks like a knot. What a strange thing fashion is!

When the war began, the grandfather went to the front, and the grandmother and her four-year-old daughter went to evacuation. They lived hard, there was not enough food, my daughter was very sick. The grandmother was a beauty, and a high-ranking officer looked after her, brought stew, butter, chocolate. And she relented. The girl on good food recovered quickly. When the grandfather returned from the war, the grandmother immediately confessed to him. He smoked, paused and said: "Thank you for saving my daughter." They lived together for 55 years, and he never rebuked her with a single word.

I hate coins. When you see them, you immediately feel sick. As a child, I had a habit of collecting change all over the house and stuffing it into my mouth. Years have passed, the habit is gone, but only now I understand that it was disgusting.

I hate this kind of spring, because it's impossible to properly lower your phone! You go into the minibus after the street, bend over the phone, and the snot flows down so treacherously ...

For a long time in the office I picked out huge boogers and sculpted them at the table. I thought that I would clean it up later. While I was on vacation, we moved to another office, where the chief sat down. Ashamed to return to work (((

As a child, I was afraid of old people because it seemed to me that they would steal my youth in order to prolong their life. And because I was a sweet child, they often took me on their knees in crowded vehicles. Minutes of horror.

My husband works for an agricultural company - plowing fields and transporting crops. He drives a tractor at work, and when we get bored at home, he asks: "How much is 150 + 150?" I say: "300" - and go to suck at the tractor driver)

Before each flight, of which there are not so many, I put a status from the series "life is so short" or I make a post with the song "If I die young". If suddenly I die in a plane crash, then everyone will go to my page and think that I had a presentiment of my demise. I suffer from aerophobia.

Since childhood, my dad beat me up and morally harassed me until I left home. Now I live abroad and occasionally communicate in the messenger. Once, while telling him a story, she cursed. Dad took out the whole brain that I did not respect him, because "I swore with him." And that if I continue to swear, he will stop communicating with me. And I really thought that I did not respect him and that if he stopped communicating with me, I would not be very upset.

Recently I heard from acquaintances who have a month-old baby that it’s time to baptize the baby. Casually clarified if they had read the Bible (no); do they even know "Our Father" (also not); What time was Jesus baptized and was he baptized at all? The last question drove them to a dead end. Then I asked why baptize such a crumb. The answer was ingenious: "Well, wow, we are like Orthodox ..." Orthodox Christians, who did not even hold the Bible in their hands, but wear a cross as an adornment. Enrages!

Grandma always scolds me when she sees HOW I am peeling potatoes. He says that during the war, my cleanings could feed the whole village.

I was returning home from the store. My five-year-old daughter ran into the elevator, and I drag my bags behind. And then someone calls the elevator, I don't have time. The doors close and I hear my daughter's scream going up. Throwing my bags, rushing through the floors, trying to figure out where the scream comes from. I ran to the seventh. You should have seen the face of the man who was waiting for the elevator. When the doors opened, a small, angry, angry girl stood in front of him, who ran into him, shouting a healthy man with her bass: "Where is my mother ?! Answer!"

I define men by their pope. Rounded chubby asses or loose hips, more like a woman's - most likely, he is lazy, and can still be cunning or a mama's son. How many times have already coincided!

I started dating a 19-year-old girl who smokes, drinks and doesn't mind earning extra money for a blowjob. I wanted to put her on the right path, moved to her, took a higher-paying job to support her and her mother. As a result, in three years he almost drank himself to death, and two times they wanted to put him in jail. I dropped it and left. Fuck such charity. Occasionally we communicate as friends. I do not regret my deed, I am not going to repeat it. I don't drink at all, I'm 27.