I went to work at a call center. I have not been there for a long time (spoiler). I went through training, got acquainted with future "colleagues", everything went well. Often the guys in the smoker mentioned a girl, calling her no other than a "gorilla". I was intrigued, asking everyone what the gorillas were, why, and so on. And here I saw her. A cute girl. Yes is high. More than 2 meters. Higher than me by half the head (I 195), and wider in my shoulders. Unfortunately I had her. She blinked in her eyes for no apparent reason. She did not communicate with anyone, came, worked on a change, left. I decided to approach her, talk to her. I shyly sit down and greet me politely. And then I get a “greeting”: “So we won’t get anything out because you’re crazy. You can say nothing.” I sneezed, left with a pale face and didn’t even look at her again. Soon she resigned, and then I. And what was it? Ultimate stupidity or confusion?and :)

I remembered the story of the aircraft.

A fun Friday evening, I sit with my friends at the bar. It was just beginning, so it was too early to think about the clarity of the mind... Suddenly, a call from an unknown number:

- Allo

Hi to you! Do you sell any_object?

- Yes

Are you changing on the phone?

No, it is not interesting.

You don’t even know what the phone is.

What does it matter to me what kind of phone if I am not interested in exchanging on the phone?

What should I do with him now! ? to ! to ? to ! to

Gothic...



The next evening I was in some confusion and even a bit of guilt.

The youngest son was taken to kindergarten. They were worried, but they went home. The hour was written with the teacher. How is? What? Relaxed and dependent...What to do? Quiet at home. Cases are rearranged. No one cries or cries.

They turned on the TV and watched the cartoon on the Carousel channel for five minutes until they realized that they could switch.

A man is given a wife to argue boldly with her. Not really engaging with the boss in disputes.

Here you are waiting for funny stories and trying to write funny about the WOW. But it all comes down to mate and sex. I read fictional stories about veterans and offended them. So 11.05.18 story No.947488, 947489 by signature –Serge, well “natural hills” as said in the comments – tracer. War cannot be written funny. It is always hurt. I will try to write about my relatives. My father, Ivan Afanasievich, was in the army for 7 years. Called into the army, then war with the Germans, then with Japan, and demobilized only in 1946 was a front driver, carried shells on the front, fought on the Kursk arc, in Poland, in Sanok was wounded, awarded with combat medals and orders. He was very modest. I’ve never heard of his mother’s word, although he’s seen a lot. But he didn’t like to talk about the war, but in 1991 he wrote memoirs to the newspaper Veteran to tell “the younger generation how they liberated the freedom and independence of our Soviet Motherland from German-Fascist enslavement.” The part where we carried ammunition on the spot was not backwards, it went forward, breaking the enemy's defense, and we followed it along the wheat-roast fields, shaken with bullets, and approached the unusual wall. A wall of human corpses, about two meters high, was neither visible to the right nor to the left of the wall. The corpses were laid as ordered by the ranks of German and our Soviet soldiers, who, then assaulted, then retreated through these corpses, and they were crushed by hurricane fire, building a wall. I saw roughly the same walls from the corpses of German soldiers and officers, but there they were laid specifically when cleaning the streets of St. Korosten. Looking at these walls is wild, horrible. What nerves does a soldier need to have to survive all this horror of the war?"My mother, Elizabeth Nikiticna, at the age of 16, in 1942 was mobilized to the military plant in Krasnoyarsk, making parts for aircraft, shells. I remembered that it was so hard that they were constantly asking for the front, for the front. If you work at night and fall asleep behind the machine – the court! I could sleep out of weakness. I have always eaten and always wanted to eat. The master regretted the girl, walked around the shop, woke up. My mom was constantly performing.
100 percent or more. She said that if there were any inaccuracies in the details of the aircraft, such details in the flight could be refused and they were very responsible about their work. My mother was awarded a medal "for courageous work in VOV". My grandfather, Athanasius Nikolaevich, was wounded in a battle with a shell fragment, right in the heart. the shell fragment stuck in mm from the heart and the surgeon said: - if I am to remove the shell fragment, then the soldier may die at my table, and so can still live. My grandfather lived 70 years, worked, built houses, raised five sons. I’ve never heard from him a mother’s word, and I don’t remember that he remembered the war. There was some kind of taboo. My other grandfather, Nikita Egorovich, having armor, volunteered for the front, for the front. Also no talk about the war, the only case I remember, my mom told, my grandfather in the colchon had a family, children. And the collective farms, too, during the war, were hungry, because everyone was delivered to the front, there was a plan to deliver milk and tobacco oil, etc. Do not submit to the tribunal. And here my grandfather receives a letter on the front that his only son (there were only girls) died of hunger (maybe not from hunger, but there was no doctor in the village). Grandfather from sorrow stood on the brustover let the Germans kill me, why live.high, 2 meters tall, a beautiful man stands in all his height, bullets with a windsurf whipped from all sides and none even hit. Then our people started shouting, “Sit down, otherwise we’ll kill you because you’re giving out positions.” He fell and cried, hugging the ground. Grandfather died early, at 50 years old, but I remember him as a kind, never-mother, and he sang beautiful songs he had a beautiful voice. I grew up in the post-war period, there was famine, destruction, but our generation grew up in the conditions of love for children, for life, for peace! Our parents and grandparents rebuilt the country. In our time, mat and tattoos were a sign of a bad tone, as campers from places not so remote were mating and accumulating. But today’s young people don’t think it is shameful. On the Internet, it is “fun” to joke all mat and at the same time get a bunch of likes (even the name dog). The singers sing their native songs, earning millions from it. Is this our culture? Lolita, Shnur and even Kirkorov, the king, pop star, fell down to this cheap authority, taking a shameful clip-"color of mood blue" on the eve of the holiday on May 9, where there are bombs, addicts, alkashi, a small child drinking wine from his throat right in the store and Kirkorov himself matures, and deliciously, with taste. And then he rejoices like a boy: “Ura, I have ten million views!” My daughter, a modern woman, 34 years old, when I begin to say my opinion about all this, says: “Yes, it’s just such a joke. Millions of our descendants have rebuilt the country from the ruins, so that now, because of the incident, you have looked at them, and they are already all in the world and can not defend themselves. And now the day of Victory has become a source of profit. It is a pity that fascism in our country is furious about our veterans. She wrote the true truth. Sorry for not being funny, but with tears in my eyes.

Donald Trump has promised to deport all illegal immigrants from the United States. The Indians finally rejoiced for the first time in several centuries.