A few years ago I had a companion who truly believed that if you ask a girl: do you need a bank? She will say, I need it. Then her wife will become the housekeeper of the home.

By the way, he himself was a little dispersed, and he faithfully believed that the cranes in the apartment should be repaired - a sanitary, and to change the sockets - an electrician.

And he could not find the one that the bank needed.

Then he calls and offers to drink. I ask: What happened?

There was a conversation with a cute girl in the park. Traditionally, do you need a bank?

The answer is: I need it!

I said, marrying her almost called in the same second.

And she replied: Do you need a screwdriver?

With a smile on my face, my friend.

At the beginning of the decades, when we were younger and not fully grown with the fat of family relationships, our company had a tradition once a year, in the beginning of August, to go for a couple of days outside the city on the shore of the Gulf of Finland. We talked, listened to music, cooked something and swam there. It was fun, we still remember.

Being in the midst of nature is harsh and ascetic. We tried, as we could, to bring some comfort into this wild life.

And one day, arriving on the place on Friday, one of the first, Egor took over the arrangement of the camp. Among the main tasks was the equipment of the toilet and to solve this problem he took up with all possible responsibility, using false means and natural cleansing.

Having chosen a place, he first excavated the appropriate size of the pit and strengthened the edge, and then even built an improvised chair. The pit was located between several young trees, which allowed to surround the debris with a polyethylene film. The walls were ready. After that, Egor took care of the details. I invented a fastening for a roll of toilet paper. Cut out of the film the valve for the entrance and attached it properly. I did not forget to wash my hands. And finally, remembering that the party would last until the very morning, Egor elegantly resolved the issue with the lighting. On the way were hanged lamps indicating the way, and in the clozet itself was fixed a good walk lamp, allowing the visitor to navigate inside at any time of the day. Satisfied with his work, Egor lowered the entrance valve and went to do the rest of the preparations.

The Dinner. Cars came in one after another. People came out of the cars, pulled out their bags, set tents, sat down at the fire. They made toasts and drank. The fun burned up every minute.

When it was already dark, Anton decided to explore a newly built place for isolation. He entered, turned on the lighting and sat comfortably, intending to make full use of the toilet. There was a loud party nearby. played music. Several people left behind and, standing next to the cars, had some conversation. One of them looked deep into the forest and died astonished: in the darkness of the night a plastic rectangle shone brightly, inside which the silhouette of the sitting man was clearly visible. Theatre of Shadows. After a moment, absolutely everyone in hysteria observed an improvised representation, visibly showing all the mystery, but without extra details. Egor deserved a portion of applause for his engineering creativity, and Anton went back to the fireplace and asked the attendees: "Why are they rotting?Bringing us back to tears.

He pulled the goddess into bed, so fit.

Chile always knew how to make good wine, and the crew of the Galactica (the name changed unrecognizable) CRT, sent to help the progressive regime of President-Marxist Salvador Allende, was convinced of this immediately upon arrival in the port of Valparaíso. There was the usual socialist mess, there was neither fuel nor supplies, so instead of exploring the fish stocks, the vessel stood by the wall, and the team, enjoying the absence of a commissioner (there were usually no vessels in this class) day after day tasting wonderful and, most importantly, fabulously cheap wines in the port establishments.
But everything good comes to an end, and one day the fuel, fresh water and supplies were still received. The crew was somewhat disconnected from the tasting, the steam boat departed, and moved towards the sea. The third assistant, standing on the wing of the bridge, tried to take the peleng to the nearest lighthouse. Peleng he took, but, because of the alcohol mist, for some reason told him to the driver. The driver was also in alcoholic fog. Having decided that this was the route to exit the port, he paid all his attention to the compass, and was little interested in others. As a result, he precisely drove the steam on the stones at the foot of this same lighthouse.
It’s called swimming. Arriving trailers of the Chilean Navy removed the steamboat from the stones and took it back to the sailboat. In anticipation of repairs, the team relieved stress with increased doses of wine in the same facilities.
One morning, a military patrol approached the trap and announced that a military coup was taking place in the country, but it is an internal matter, and the crew is not affected. Everyone was polently asked to stay on board, so as not to accidentally fall into unrest, if any. At the outrageous screams "we have the pipes burning, we are only to the nearest bar and back" the patrol did not respond, and when the most outrageous organisms went to breakthrough, they were slightly beaten, after which the entire crew was locked on the steam boat. A few days later, they were all taken on a plane and sent to Moscow. They flew in a dark mood, preparing to respond with all strictness for everything they did: the steam ship was broken, the program of work was disrupted, and even arranged a debush in a foreign port. The future seemed unhappy - they will be expelled from work, the visa will be closed, and this is even in the best case. I tried not to think of the worst.
They were met in Moscow as heroes. Those who sprang out of the lips of the Chilean Hunt! Their resilience and resistance to the black forces of the international reaction were enthusiastically written in the newspapers, girls whispered on their necks, pioneers beat in the mountains, beat in the drums and gave flowers. No one remembered the crash of the mission and the abandoned ship.
I had to communicate with the participants of those events. Their stories differed in detail, but in one thing they were united – had it not been for El General Augusto José Ramón Pinochet Ugarte, their fate would have been sad. And, meeting each other, they slowly, so as not to hear strangers, exchanged greetings "Viva Augusto Pinochet!"

In my time as a student... oh, it was a long time ago... I was somehow stunned when instead of “take away” they said “take away”. Say, “From 10 take away 5.” It seemed not Russian. Then I grew up, and when taxes began to be deducted from my income, more and more varied, I realized that the word “deduct” was still more appropriate.