Here on the website they say, what is not funny - on other sites!!! to
Guys, watch from dawn to dawn the Camedi Club! It’s always there... Well, right about... you’re riding!
And on this site sometimes it is ridiculous to write, and read, compare, what makes you think or make conclusions.
Okay well.
of patriotism.
In 1995, I, with the spiritual and financial assistance of relatives, bought my first two-bedroom apartment in Khrushchev, on the 5th floor. Heaven is just paradise! Even now the stomach hurts from that joy and feeling of prospects. Holosty!, with a car (six), a young captain of the militia... Oh you! To the apartment in the form of a bonus attached iron garage in a row with the same 20, straight 50 meters from my entrance.
Here you went out on the balcony, out your car in the yard, out your garage, lafa!
Next to my garage was the same, and they owned a man, 70s look. Not a grandfather, but an optimistic man. The height is slightly lower than me (175), always in a gray suit, shaved, the hand is strongly dry, sometimes talking about this.
So he had a garage of the type of an apartment, he spent the light there, the refrigerator, the telephone is simple, the couch, the chairs and everything clean, clean... He will drive out his six, wash for order and sit on the couch, with the neighbors in the garage or on the entrance talks, always a drink with him ready for guests, a vodka I sometimes wheeled him from the generosity of ments, so, from the heart to the heart.
Besides that he — Uncle Cole knew nothing about him, a neighbor and a neighbor. A normal active man, helps if anything, always advises on the subject, always expects from me stories about events in the city.
One day, I had a holiday. Summer, birds in the garden. I go out to the balcony to look at the surroundings and see: a few ropes of 15 years to my neighbor to the garage approach and what he is stuck. Well, different things happen, the type can ask the way, and Uncle Cole suddenly stands up from the couch so vigorously and very slightly to one man on his mouth. He fell down, and this speck fell down. And these demons drag him for the jacket and into the garage.
I drink beer, I remember. I collapse and climb the stairs in my pantyhose, with a remote tube in my hands (I didn’t have hundreds at the time), go to my yard!! to
I flew, in the garage messy, Uncle Kolya Nihera did not give up, already without a jacket, in a broken light shirt, which is all in blood, in dirt, sluggish, but squeezes with his hands, and these pudors crack him, and from the soul with his legs!! to
I do not hide, from courage, resentment, youth and skillfulness (served in the VDV) heracled and ripped these undergrown from the soul. Harry Lee is a puppy! Even when he hit these fools in the corners, oral and muttered with what would be turned under his hand...blowing, crying,...blood, shit and sludge... handcuffs closed “do not need!! Do not need!“!”
“Don’t have to? The fucking!”
And then the Chapaevs (along with the OVD) flew, because it was boring, their captain "died", they drove for a long time and set up accordingly... They flew, looked. And let's fuck the bushes of webcams, well, even under the noise of Uncle Cole didn't get involved...I've already told them that it's all! All of it!! All of it!! Here other patrols flew, but there it was easier, all the necessary lie in the urine, unnecessary uncle Cole washed off, touched... The ambulance was called, he was severely cut off at old age...
Well, there the nausea began, they were 13-14 years old, the parents of the same webki alkashi fought, the children said they dismissed the shameful mints, I then with Uncle Cole and the prosecutor's offices and hospitals patroled, but it turns out that Uncle Cole repelled me and others from the dress. I am Captain! Menta is shameful!
And all that wanted these little pigeons to push the grandfather’s car off. Why? → They lived in the same area.
Oh well okay.
Once again, I will put my car in the garage and go to Uncle Cole, so what are you there? The neighbor...
And he sits on the couch sad, sinking and disassembling some files with newspaper cuts. On the table there is a bottle of drinks, our astrakhan bowl, black bread. “Sit down,” he said. Look, see how I was. I took the yellowest note in the newspaper, and there were two guys in the photo. They hugged me, sergeants. And I read, a group of 26 desant spy detectives was supposed to occupy and hold the bridge until...
During the seizure of the bridge, three scouts were killed, while the bridge was retained, all the others - only two sergeants survived and... among them Uncle Kolya!!! The same thin, hairy, without medals, embraces another sergeant on the photo. In this intelligence group Hero of the Soviet Union received then 4 people! Heavily interfered men.
It is someone else’s!
I read other excerpts, and he turns out to be not Uncle Kol, but Nikolai Vasilyevich, the Order of the Red Banner, 2 orders of Glory, 2 Red Star, for Courage, for the liberation of almost all Europe!!! to
As a soldier, I sat there. They went through prosecutors, investigators, and he never said that a man deserved, believed probably in the force of the law and decency of all for whom he fought.
And this time they sat down and drank 50 drinks, and he did not talk about the war, but about what his fellow servants dreamed of at the war. It is sad, with pauses. Of course it looked naïve, but I didn’t interrupt, I saw that he was there, there, remembering himself. Strong, young, confident, ready to seize the bridge, and not a grey tired old man, who can just so be cut off by Russian boys, for just so.
He took home, handed over to his grandmother, left in tears.
Webkows were punished by themselves, with the help of the district and the drug control department. All of them several times, under the noise and their parents bowed them.
The point is not that these children were muddled on our instructions many times and for today almost all of them in the graves under various circumstances, but that Uncle Cole died six months later, in the winter, people were just up to heaven, the governor, his sword, the orchestra, the laffeet, the accompaniment, speech, salp, and I dreamed of looking at him in the grave, gray and hairy, so that these young guys who beat him, our Russian guys, died a terrible death.
Yes, I read about patriotism.
And yesterday my son, 16 years old, brought 2 transparents for the “Immortal Regiment” with my grandparents, and his grandparents. I did not know where he found photos of grandparents, like asking once, wondered earlier when he with a serious look learned what medals they had on the photo, asked about what I remember about them. I, the fool, remembered myself when I told my son about grandparents, I regretted that I did not listen to everything, I do not remember everything, and yesterday the bull exploded - and who will tell my son about the heroes besides me? As Yuri Nikulin said, "They remember the hands!"So I suddenly remembered my grandparents' stories about Finnish, about fear, about pain, and about the ass after the war...
Happy Victory Day!