Girls, don’t envy seaweed, they can’t stretch their legs.

Funny little, but still.
An employee, living about 1.5 hours drive from the capital (in a car), on Friday took home important docks - to subdue, time pushed. On Sunday, he called his boss with the news that he had pulled out his leg, broken his ligaments and would lie for a few days.
The boss grabs his head - the originals are needed, the scan does not roll, and there is nothing to scan the poor. On Monday morning, a colleague is charged with a car: go to the village and bring a docks. At the same time, our sick man has his favorite fists plus the sympathy of the department (it needs to be him, yes).
In the words of our courier:
"Ele found this wreckage village. The navigator led to some village, eat-eat - hail, hail! Asked the Aborigines, it turns out that the bridge has long collapsed, now you have to go back on the highway, drive another two kilometers, turn where the gun is on the stand and go on the other side. The Yandex cards! I went where they said, oh, this is the center of the world. I ask the street Spalopropitočná, there are no signs anywhere, they said how to get there, they say - and which house? The third, I say. Aaaah, it’s not you with Propivkovna, but out of that courtyard of the left of the Khrushchev you have to go. Okay, I walked out of the yard and stumbled into his house. My dear mother, I’m kidding. A natural two-storey bar. In any case, I went in from the side of the street and... there is no street in general. There is a roof of grass with holes, where you will leave the wheel. Behind this type of street is a promzone that smells of creosot. It smells like iron. There is really a spat factory. He still smokes, his mother. At the end - a bunker with garbage and everything around is overwhelmed. And the smell, of course.
Okay, I went back to the yard, I hear shit from somewhere. Imagine a bucket. And at the entrance of the grandmother in trainers and coffins on the bench seeds click. As in childhood gold got, only in our courtyard apples smelled and there were no such scary hoops.
Hi to you. I say.
And to me in response:
Paint it up! Do I need? I didn’t let Mishka go, Ninka strictly told me not to bite.
I am in the fourth, to Dmitry Sergeevich. I am from his work.
This type of container turns and rolls, like a sirene, into the right window:
by Dimkaaa!
He went out on the window and said:
Baby, it’s about me.
Aaaah, then come in.
I am at the door - there is no homephone, so it opens. Although with such a border there is a homeopath. Wild somehow. To get into the entrance and just a wooden door on the spring...brr.
At the entrance... tears flowed. Fuck - I think - innovation is somehow promoting... you would have repaired the channel first, fucking. And even better people have moved out of this rot. A wooden house! The staircase to the second wooden, dark, boards under your feet play. In the corridor on the walls of the pelvis hang, a whole room is great. The Dark!
Dmitry has opened the door, oh, the beam of light in the dark kingdom.
Well I went in, and this smell of shit just chases me, although in the apartment it's lighter. The threshold at the entrance is unbiased. Sanctuary forty. The door to the floor.
I gave him wishes, wishes, wishes. I take the file and ask:
– Smoke, what is your DEZ or who can’t repair your channel? What Affairs? It is impossible to live.
The channel is working. We just have a burial hole in the basement. I have a window under the window, there the barrel enters and pumps out once every two weeks. It was cold, it wasn’t so cool. Everyone will have a salary, let’s get off and call the barrel.
What? → Are you paying yourself?! to
Well who? The money ended in the nineties. Under Soviet rule, it was exported for free, and now that is the case.
How can we live here?! to
As I lived forty years, so I live. The floors here Daddy started to strengthen, I still laid the floor and hydroisole made. You see, I do not pull.
The fuck doesn’t pull!
Or rotting the floors. The smoke continues. The neighbor died, fell through the floor and drowned. She was a good aunt.
Do you know where my aunt drowned? Fuck her mother!
I was driving from there, I couldn’t get in. Shame on the Spanish people! We are rubbed in our ears about innovation, about digitalization, about robots, about... space, fucking! And an hour and a half passed and here you have a barracks over a dirt pit in which people have lived for decades. Fuck those robots! You are going to get people out of the shit!”

Three reasons for rising food prices in Russia:
Reason No. 1: The price of the ruble falls
Reason No. 2: The rate of the ruble is rising
Reason #3: The ruble is stable