I remember this when I was a little boy in the village. It is a celebration, right? Or probably elections. The elections in the village were also a celebration. All dressed in the club buffet, and of course the concert. The artists came from the city, that you!

And that means there is a concert, some self-activity on the stage, babies there in cockroaches, a man with a bagel, a curly rabbin, all the things. The people are knocking, the hall is fighting. Suddenly, some movement begins in the room. At first unnoticed, one by two, the people begin to stretch to the exit. Those who see it whisper, and also look at the door with interest. What happened there?

Nothing happened there. Just on the club wing sits a guard, Uncle Losha, well drunk, with a harmochka, and next to him two old ladies, sitting. And they turn out to scratch the maternal parts. Okay, they are self-exhausting. with the soul. And the people are moving.

Five minutes later, the hall was half empty, and after ten minutes, only those who slept remained. Then and the artists on the stage, falling into some confusion, decided to see where the people stood, not the fire. The whole public is on the street. With an uncle and two old ladies in the middle.

And the artists what? The job of an artist is to be with the people. Well, these people, don't be fools, first timidly, with a barrel, the basist touched, to Uncle Leche adjusting, and then the babies in the chickens, bowing, pulled into a circle. How a Dalai Lama! It was something that was never heard in the village. The tears even turned from some of our stallions, and the dogs in horror closed their ears to their young children.

This was a show like that. Artists are not allowed! It was almost on hand, the success was stunning! The artists were so happy!
The celebration was shorter.
Only Parthorgu then got a sort of pretext, and Uncle Losha fell asleep, drunk, on the doorstep, with a harmony.

What is hyperinflation? – What is hyperinflation?
Mother: This is when milk "36 kopecks" costs 57 rubles.

In our team there are two Koreas - one married (Serega) and the other single (Vitalik). Often after the service, they arranged for themselves the process of drinking alcoholic drinks. And if the evening was delayed we stayed at Vitalik. And Serega told his third wife that Vitalik is married, raises two children and his wife has already prepared a guest room, etc. This continued until the New Year's corporate, where Serega came with his wife. At the corporation, the host said: "I hand over the microphone to the most envious single of our part" and handed over the microphone to Vitalik. I had to see Serena’s wife’s face. I don’t know the consequences, but Serega is still married.

Hello to all!

On Friday I decided to go to the cinema. I called a taxi. A taxi driver arrives. I sit and look at him. The beard almost to the belly, obviously a guest of the capital. He looked at me and said, “Good evening.”

I said, “Good and clarify the address.”

He looks at me and says, “Hey brother, we’ll go anywhere, stick here.”

I am what? What kind of shaker?”

She said, “Well, you’re what, wow, you’re what!”

I sit and I don’t understand what I’m talking about.

And then he says, “Well, stecker, you are what? You do not know! “Safety shutter!”

I: “Well, if the security plug”

attached to go.

I am waiting for my wife, next to me is the daughter of my wife's friend, 5 years old. We communicate. The teeth are partially in caries.

Jasmine, your teeth didn’t fall out yet.

J is no.

I. They will soon begin to fall out and new ones will begin to grow.

and mmm. The important thing is that gold does not grow.

Do you not like gold?

How cheap they look.

xxx: In order for Sisadmin to understand the hint, it was probably necessary to lay out pieces of the wire "pull me out." Otherwise, I fear, the probability is extremely small. Well, or a sheet A0 on the wall with the same message in large letters.

YYY: Then he fucking pulls out that list. Because TZ must be written literally and clearly.

Oligarchs are fed from oil wells, and journalists from locksmiths.

Charlie, who is not Chaplin.

Charlie, it’s a bird, a strawberry, and it’s also my child. No, not in the sense you thought it was my adopted child.

So the case was so. On a hot June morning in 2008, I walked out on the lawn in front of my house and saw a large black crown seated tightly on a pebble tree that grows right in front of the windows. Then I just thought, “Well, to eat somebody came, probably, the devil’s trouble” – and went back home.

A few hours later, I went out again to cut the grass. To my surprise, the crown was still on the cradle and everyone was trying to get something out of there.

I became curious, I approached, the crown, of course, immediately left.

I looked inside the coil – the first thing I saw was a reversed bird nest. “Everything is clear,” I decided, “I got to the smallest...” And then suddenly I didn’t even see or hear it, but rather I felt some kind of choking downstairs. He lifted up, of course. There the bird's child hangs, without feathers, blind, and the yellow cloth has opened up.

This is the seat, a! Okay, I took this miracle in my hand and went home. And the miracle is obviously about to die, and I understand it - who would survive so long without water and food, getting caught up in a cane, especially when all sorts of predators are trying to eat you?

I was somehow not arranged the intention of the child to die, so I started to spat him with water from the pipette. At first, this straw from my water refused, and then suddenly stunned and drowned the whole pipette. Then I realized that I would agree with him.

First of all, I was concerned about housing. He fled again to the culled tree, took from there the overturned nest, dragged it to himself on the loft, and there the yellow claw and settled.

Drinking a baby is good, of course, but it also needs to be fed. And the birds are bitter. Okay, no problem, jump into the car and get food to the nearest pet store. I bought what I needed, some special mixture for chickens, this mixture looked like a regular paste.

We run back home, with a piece of the test in the hand, and there the bird child is already pulling his neck into the whole fool and cries about the fact that he is not fed.

and feeding. And the child, eating, whispered, and imagined, say, Charlie is his name.

I joke, I joke, the child whispered after the patch just and fell asleep right away. He just whispered somehow like the word Charlie, and since then I have called him Charlie.

The first night I slept next to the puppy – was it too little? He did right, as it turned out. Charlie wanted to drink and eat about every hour, so I served him. What next to be? - I need to work, and the puppy obviously will not do without my care. I went and bought a cage, and with Charlie's parent nest, I entered it, and took it to work.

You would see how my colleagues cracked. Here is Vova Sidorov, and he has a cage with a yellow-roast chicken in his hands!

Nothing, my colleagues have become accustomed to this exit.

Charlie was growing up. The whole was operated, his tail slid and he began to swing his wings.

Here I got into my second seat. By naivety, I thought that birds have the ability to fly on the level of instinct. As it turns out, the puppies should be taught to fly just as much as we teach our children to swim.
So I took the business. He first put Charlie on his shoulder, and began to knock himself on his sides with his hands. Type: “Hop, you see Charlie?” Charlie saw it, and took to knock my wings in response. “But now, cowboy, you see?” Ah, like, I see, and in response to me also the same "chop-chop-chop" with wings gives.

At some point, I felt that Charlie was no longer clinging to me as much as holding his wings for the air. Then I decided to do my most desperate thing. I took Charlie in the hand and threw him. I don’t know who was more frightened at the time—I or Charlie—but he flew. He flew badly, but quite successfully and gently landed on the back of the chair on the veranda.

And then we got things easier. Every morning I sat Charlie on my shoulder, and started running with him on the lawn, grinding my hands on my sides, like my wings. At first, Charlie didn't look very well at these excesses of mine, thought, probably, that I mocked him, and then realized that parents don't choose, and if he got such a strange and awkward daddy, then that's the case. And I started to pull my wings into the unison.

I think you can guess that one day Charlie flew by himself. First he flew to the nearby tree, thought, and flew back to me on his head. I pulled him off, stretched out my hand and said, “Charlie, fly.”

He thought a little, and then scattered and escaped in the crown of the tree.

No, I’ve seen him a couple of times – when the lawn was coming out, Charlie was flying and sitting on my shoulder or on my head. Once upon a time, I even stumbled on my head on an old memory. Then disappeared forever.

I know that the birds have a short life, and Charlie is probably old and dead, and for some reason I look around and try to find my Charlie. Even if not Charlie, maybe any of the birds, his daughters, will fly on my shoulder when it comes, and will say that she is Charlie’s daughter.

Pipe-leggers are very polite people and always skip the asphalt-leggers ahead.

When I was 23, I worked as a publishing editor in a newspaper. Sometimes I had to go to the publisher and control the process, and one day I was given an assistant to a lady whose approximate age I immediately estimated at 35-40. We talked to her and she asked me how old I was.

and twenty three.

The lady thought sharply.

And I am twenty-three.

I have already thought here.

Are you married? She asked.

and no.

The lady smiled relieved:

Oh well understand. And I am married.

Once, while on vacation in one of the Middle East countries, I hired a local guide to join the country’s cultural and historical values. Agreed in price. The road is not close, we go on his minibus. Omar turns the lamb andins a secular conversation - we talk a little about everything - about the weather, cooking, family...

Question: Do you have children?

There is. I answer. The daughter. 20 years of her.

and wow! What are you saying, dear! ? to He cried in English with an Arabic accent. How old are you then?

and forty two.

and waii! You don’t get more than 25! How young you look, dear!



I was not even surprised by such a sincere lust - the culture is eastern, a person clearly expects good teas, and unfounded. Polite thank you.

Having recorded a positive reaction, Omar turns to me and with joyful excitement says, "Well, karafuzzi, now you - guess how old I am?

Well, I think you will have to play according to the rules of Eastern diplomacy – you have to respond with kindness to kindness. I appreciate the appearance of my visavi - a swollen face, bags under the eyes, porous skin, baldness, penetrating grey. From the presumed age I mentally take ten years and confidently say, "Forty?

Omar did not answer immediately. For half a minute, without blinking, he stared sadly at the road right in front of him, before pressing out: “Twenty-seven.”



The rest of the road went in silence. The conversation did not go. Everyone thought of something of their own.

My father called me with a perforator to drill four holes.

Just simply.

I come, scratch the perforator, plant a burr:

Where to heritage?

Speak more quietly!

and? ? to ? to ? to ? to

Lida (his wife) after a night’s sleep!

Is there anything I will do here with a perforator in the wall? I said a whisper.

I want to ask you as the numismate of numismate: Do you love money?

Of the teachers of my university, I now, three decades later, remember almost everyone. I remember, not always on FIO. Many people only remember their names. Until I die, I will never forget Nina Porfirievna. Her passionate voice, a benzopil like: "for any, no matter how small a number of dogs there is such an epsil..."

Mathan she led, mathanalysis that is. In my dreams, I dreamed of her in my student years. It was strictly painful. A sharp dislike was purely external - some old virgin over forty, for the student in general an old lady. Liquid hair tightly tightened into a bunch on the back of the head, excessive high forehead for a woman is revealed. and joke.

A separate outrage that under the action of this steel pile I unbelievably efforted in its subject, but got a four for it. On the backdrop of the other five, it looked like an insult — I invested much less in other items. He went on a red diploma, an increased scholarship, lived romantic adventures. And this lady was just lying down on my life’s path, with her foolish dogs and epsils. I imagine that I would have written about it and how I would have appreciated it if there were websites that could do this at the time.

... but – a strange after-taste remained from her crazy course. Unlike many, where I understood little and floated into the top five mostly thanks to the kindness of the teachers, higher mathematics was very useful to me in understanding the equations of quantum physics. It soon emerged in the material world. As a student I got 120 rubles. rates on the department, against the background of which my increased by 10 rubles. The scholarship.

I still disliked Nina Porfirievna, but I liked the laplacyanas and other basic concepts. I had no love for them, but at least I found out how it worked. On this humus easily went Dirac and Landau. The true beauty of the theory was in them.

Thirty years later, the anniversary of Fitzfak. I was upset by many of my classmates. I saw how we grew old, eaten and surrendered. Our girls stayed better. But when I saw Nina Porfirievna, a storm of emotions swept through my soul. I saw that she was beautiful, despite her ridiculous bump. How little has changed. How much height and strength in her face.

And most importantly, the memory immediately gathered together a rather strange chain of events. It was obvious that despite the collapse of the superpower and the change of profession, Nina Porfirievna gave me an interesting life. It was at the beginning of this chain. Without it, I would probably have gone out of poverty into the business of the '90s. Without gifts to him, he would be lying now somewhere with a hole in his skull. I lived through this terrible time on grants and with my favorite work thanks to this woman.

I still regret not coming to her that evening and not saying a simple thank you. I could not. The habit of being honest with those I respect. But here it meant too much. I would suffocate her in my arms. He would be targeted, would be carried on his hands through the hall, irrigated with tears of repentance. Oral would all the throat - "Glory Nina Porfirievne!"

But all this was not in the genre of a peaceful anniversary evening. So I just joined the common, unexpectedly furious applause to her.

Global oil prices have fallen and continue to fall. Gasoline prices continue to rise in Russia.
The Oil Response:
- You understand that in the conditions of lowering the prices of raw materials, we are forced to raise the prices of the finished product in order to form reserves to increase the volume of production in the event of an even greater price collapse.

Global oil prices have risen sharply. Gasoline prices continue to rise in Russia.
- You understand that the price of raw materials has increased, respectively, and the final product has increased in price.

Global oil prices have finally stabilized. Gasoline prices continue to rise in Russia.
“You understand that under sanctions we are forced to insure the risks of future sanctions and their consequences.

Global oil prices have been stable for several years. Gasoline prices continue to rise in Russia.
- You understand that the power in the country has not changed for almost 20 years, the oil industry is the cow of this power and all the juices are pressed out of us, suffocated by taxes and taxes...

The power in Russia has changed. Gasoline prices continue to rise.
- You understand, the power in the country has changed, the business has finally breathed with relief and now the oil industry can develop in the conditions of free competition and market pricing.

A child placed in the corner has two walls of crying at once.
c) Petrucher

I wrote a few days ago about how my students tragically mourn before the exams. I wrote sarcastically because it hurt. And in the comments I got a post that all the students in the world are the same.

Fortunately, not all, or rather, not all are like that, and I want to tell the story directly opposite.

It was a long time ago, in 2006. I studied with a Vietnamese student. Small and fragile. Sick with leukemia. At the lecture she came to me with a moving dropper, and a needle in the vein. She never complained about anything, was a frequent guest in my office, very much she wanted to understand organic chemistry. It was painful to look at her, she was sweating, her skin of olive colour could become pale-green in half a minute. But she was always smiling. She solved my tasks in such a state that any of us, including me, would have been faint for a long time. She asked for delay only once - she was operated that day, her bone marrow was transplanted, probably. I passed the exam the next day, on the hard four. And with this hard four and finished the semester. And the four I get is not as easy - they in the class gets a maximum of 15-20 percent from the entire stream.

I don’t know what happened to her now, I didn’t have any contacts. And the memory of her remains, she gave me a clever piece of stuff at the end of the semester, you know? - Well, there if for one hidden tip to drag, then the whole slice in the tape will dissolve. I didn’t get rid of it, she gave me this Vietnamese puddle with all her heart. And I want to believe that until now, her fragile, but such a hard mouthpiece is guarded by this shark.

We have two twin sisters in our class. When they quarreled, one called the other ugly.

A friend complained that he can't sell the car, even no calls, I say - Vagin, change the name in the ad to Vadim.

Sold in three days.

And I knew I was advising because I wasn’t Andrew either.

Comments on the picture of the grandmother with a big dildo on the belt:

XXX: So good (especially if you fit in the back)

yyy: Here is where the importance of the right ending is seen.