How ironic things sometimes happen in life. This story was told to me by a friend. further from his face.
At the age of 14, I played for the youth national team of the USSR. It was the 80s. I had an American rival. In all competitions, wherever we crossed, we crashed not to life, but to death. Such a normal man in life. After a match between the USSR and the USSR, we exchanged t-shirts. I gave him ours with the emblem on his chest and the inscription of the USSR on his back, he gave me the thickness with the American flag in the whole chest and the USA on the back. White, beautiful and warm. I wore it without shooting.
There was, I remember, a general school re-election of the Komsomol assembly. I came here after training tonight. You are alive, there is no strength. I sat with my classmate in the back row in the acting room. There’s some nonsense from the tribune. Sadness is deadly. A friend of mine brought Crocodile magazine, as I remember. Well, we read something funny and let’s roast. When you can’t, you want to laugh even more. The speech was pushed by the chairman of the Komsomol Committee of the school. Idiot is full. There is silence in the room and only we laugh. She turned her attention to us and said, but let these beautiful guys, who are riding here like horses, get up and tell us what they have so much fun with. Maybe we’ll laugh together too. We stood up. When she saw me with the American flag on her chest, I thought an epileptic seizure would happen to her: she was pale, all shaken. And how let’s scream to the whole hall: Komsomol, you look at it! Not only hindered he the holding of our Komsomol assembly, but he also wore a sweater with the flag of the capitalist aggressor country.
Let us, shouts, for this non-komsomolish act, here, now, without leaving the place, let us remove it from our organization. Who is for? And raise your hand sharply up like a karatist. The whole room, like one, hands up too. against it? and silence. Who abstained? My friend pulls my hand, indecisively. He says, “We will deal with you afterwards. I flew past the European Championship. It was held in Austria, and the non-komsomolists were not allowed to go to Kapstrana. Many years have passed since then. My American rival friend helped me move to the United States and get a job as a coach. I forgot that story long ago. Here it floated.
I have two sons, you know. The elderly for the summer came to Russia to his grandmother and brought the younger a gift: a red maid with a serpent and a hammer in the entire stomach. The younger dressed this maid for some school boy Scouts assembly. He was noticed in this maid and disgracefully expelled from the assembly. The next day after the general vote in their organization, unanimously!, he was expelled from the ranks of boycotters on the grounds: violation of the rules of the organization, prohibiting the wearing of symbols of the Communist dictatorship or something like that. The circle is closed. Wonderful are your works, O Lord!
The drunken air of freedom played a wicked joke with Raouf Arashukov. Approaching the Federation Council building, he did not notice a flower pot carefully displayed by Aunt Valais in one of the windows. It was a conditional signal: “In the meeting room Bastrikin and Tchaika.” Already in the corridor, several senators proceeded to him, not pressing his lips: "Make your feet," but the poorly-understood Russian Raouf continued his way to all-Russian glory.