From the miners:
We had a comrade who, working as an explosive, invented a joke. He crushed the cartridge of the explosives, pulled out the detonite from there, poured a dry bulk there, pulled out a piece of fire cable (which non-specialists call "Bickford") and tied this whole thing so that it even when closely looked at it was like a "cartridge-fighter" (such a thirty-centimetre red paper sausage that undermines the main charge during the explosion).
He left at the root of universal sadness and during the break went to the slurry to the drillers and sat down, sad. All the tea drinks - he sits, sock. All the anecdotes poison – he sits, snoops. All his feats on the soil of alcohol consumption are described - he sits, sleeps.
I finally noticed his silence. They ask, what do you say, such?
And he says that no life is pleasant to him anymore - the children are twins, his wife seems to run to the side, ######ina. I met the boss and got into trouble. And not to see his prizes as his ears.
Is it all about me? He is screaming. He gets out of the bag a warrior and the cable is burning. And the rope, as it was, is short - five seconds of force. And in those five seconds, twenty men from the slurryhouse managed to jump out through the fuzzy door. They run away from the corner and breathe. At this moment, a smoking cartridge flies to them around the corner and a scream is heard: "Men, I changed my mind!"
They say, beat the joke long and with taste.