Coronavirus is no longer as scary as making new decisions to fight it.

Science has not gone through...

(On the basis of the news)



After Poklonskaya stated that the QR codes violate the Constitution of the Russian Federation, the inhabitants of Cape Verde relieved, but the white bears and penguins got worse, because, apparently, the next place of her work for the next couple of years will be either the North Pole or Antarctica...))



© Dmitry Sviridov

Her aunt called here and told her about her triumphal victory over Mosenergo. Well, or as there is the name of an organization that takes money from the Moscovites for electricity. My aunt is a Moscow woman. Not indigenous, nor descendent, it became a moscovite when a few years ago Moscow annexed a large piece of Moscow suburb. Moreover, Moscow became not only an apartment in a sovhoshny house, but also, what is important for this history, a plot of land with a garden house in the village called, whether Old Hrenovo, or Lower Jopovo, is not. So it turned out that aunt lived with us for a long time, and then went to live in his capital property. And there she was waiting for a surprise in the form of an electricity bill used in this very Old Jopov. The grandchildren paid for the household in the apartment, and did not remember the site, because they were there extremely rarely - young people all this garden masochism is uninteresting. Here comes the account. No, it is wrong: the account! Because he was in the amount of ninety thousand rubles. My aunt experienced everything in her life, the status of a minor prisoner of fascism says a lot, but this surprise, of course, did not please her. She began to call on contact phones, asking to figure out how a garden house with electrical equipment in the form of an Ilyich light bulb could use such a amount of electricity, and not get stuck. Well, what there, not to get stuck, not to drown everything Upper Fuck. Teisha has worked for many years as the head of the Central Committee (central boiler) and understands something in energy! However, contact phones do not exist to contact, but to protect yourself from contacts, so effective communication failed. Excursions to the corresponding offices also did not bring results. Meanwhile, the bills came new, and the amount has already increased to 100 thousand rubles! We knew nothing: the aunt said she was dealing with the payment, but did not say anything about the scale of the problem. Meanwhile, she began to be named every morning by people who with unpleasant voices advised to repay the debt immediately. Their recommendations were intertwined with threats and insults. The situation became quite impasse, but here it was easier to find out some secret number of a very big boss. In the reception room of this same boss gave a secret email address to which she (with the help of her granddaughter) sent the application. Imagine it worked! A commission came, which examined the counter, the light bulb, and issued a verdict: there is a debt! Not a hundred thousand, but ninety. The ruble. What nine red boys the aunt immediately paid, because she doesn't like to be a debtor. That, you agree, is very praiseful.
After that, only she devoted everyone to this story, and at the same time asked me if she could somehow punishment for those who called her. I am a skeptic by nature, so I figured out that for the lawsuit it was necessary to record conversations, go to the medical unit, record an increase in blood pressure and sugar levels... And I think: she, a three-year-old child, won the fascists, managed to cope with Mosenergo... Maybe she will get there? Give to God!! to

The same bottle of water in the supermarket costs 20 cents, in the gym 50 cents, in the bar 1 euro, in the plane 3 euros. It all depends on the place you need it.
Therefore, when it seems to you that you are nothing and not fit anywhere, you are in the wrong place.

When I was 17, I had a best friend. 17 years, you understand yourself, youth, unhappy love and all that. One day, we go for a walk with her. I tell her about our relationship, well, of course he is so ugly, and he doesn't love me at all, and I love him, by the way, very much, and how to live on. I cry, the torso runs on my face, I whisper my nose, in general, the tragedy of the century! My friend is very attentive, silent, listening to me, periodically sympathizing with her head. And in the most epic moment of my suffering, she suddenly stops sharply, takes my hand sharply, and looking into my broken eyes, asks, “Listen, what do you think I should buy?” Black or brown?

The June. My son was six years old and went to the library. He returns with indignation – closed! I ask, maybe an ad on the door? Yes, he says, “Doctor’s Day” is written. I am, of course, a little surprised: since when did librarians begin to celebrate the day of the medical worker (and he was at that time)?

He comes to me tonight. I say: and there accidentally was not the “Sanitary Day” written? The Son: Aha

In order not to directly ask the girls age, always asking who they are according to the Chinese horoscope, the spread by year is 12 years, you can easily guess.

Once a girl said she was born in the year of the Bull, and I told her that she looks good for her 35s.

It turned out she was 23 years old.

When I was a kid, I was sent to my grandmother in the summer. My grandmother kept chickens in large quantities. And these chickens were roasted on water, without sugar, of course, without salt, and put on such a large steak pot in the seeds to cool down. I stole it and ate it. It was so delicious! One day I got caught in this work. The grandmother wept for a long time and said, the child is hungry. I cooked meat on milk and sugar. I tried it, shrugged and said - grandmother, and chickens you make better!

I came from school. 5 the class. On the way I met my mom going to the store.She said now from the store will come back and we will eat.

There was a strong desire, on the plate (brick wooden oven) in the pot was an ear. I decided to eat myself, not small.

He poured his ear and ate. with an addition.

Mother comes in:

Let us eat.

Mom, I have already eaten.

What did you eat? Food in the oven is intact.

The ear

"It's not the ear, it's the little pigs I cooked a little fish with potato cleansing.

I don’t know how the pork was, I liked it.

In matters of property, the most profitable business today is its redistribution.

A ballad about a black biker in four parts with a preface and a postword.

There are a lot of stories on this site about “nonsense” American police officers. And I have a lot to say about it. And this is just one of those stories.

1st Bicycle

One evening, I ride a car on the city street of one of the southern states of America. Behind me was a black man on a motorcycle. He pursued me for a short time, crossed two, and then wrestled a syrene and turned on the flash beacons: the biker turned out to be a cop.
had to stop. In the car I was alone and sat humbly, putting my hands on the steering wheel. The police officer approached the car from the front door of the passenger. I lowered the glass.
Have you exceeded speed? Instead of a greeting, he asked me.
I answered almost honestly.
You have violated! The police officer did not agree with me.
But I was moving in the common stream with the same speed as everyone else!
This is not an excuse! He objected and demanded my driving license.

After receiving the documents, the motorcyclist approached his motorcycle and opened the box above the rear wheel, where there was a laptop and a portable printer. He quickly printed the paper on the printer and came back to me.
Here is your penalty receipt. – Solemnly said the cop, extending me the printed leaflet along with the driver’s license.
A speed penalty? I have clarified.
“No,” the police replied, “this is a fine for violating the traffic rules.
A fine for excess speed?
“This is a fine for violating the rules, not for speed,” the cop objected to me.
What have I broken? I asked again.
“The traffic rules,” the police officer replied.
Not the speed? I was surprised.
- You exceeded the speed, - did not agree with me cop.
Is it a speed penalty?
No is! The police officer started to get angry, you are fined for violating the PDD!

I asked again, then again: such a stupid dialogue lasted for forty minutes. It turned out that I simply broke the rules - without any specifics. On the paper was written only "failed to obey" - a violation of the rules.
The first was not able to withstand the motorcycle, he, walking back, began to move away from my car.
Oh officer, come back! I called him, we haven’t finished yet.
- If you have any questions, sir, you can ask them in court, - replied the cop and ran away.

2nd Office of Sheriff

The next morning I went to the head office of the local sheriff’s service.
What fucking thing is this? I asked the officer behind the glass, extending to him my penalty receipt.
It is not us! The officer said, looking at the paper.
And who? I was surprised.
“You have been fined by the city police,” he replied, adding, “they are all rare fools there.
Give me the address? I asked for.
“Of course,” he smiled and handed me a visiting card from the local police department.

Three Department of Police

In the police department, behind the glass, there was not a police officer on duty, but two civilian aunts, something very similar to Russian passports.
“We don’t know what this penalty is for,” one of them replied after a long study of my receipt.
Let’s ask someone, I suggested.
With whom? My aunt was surprised by the glass.
“You’re not alone in the building,” I replied, “is there someone else here?”
The sergeant? I guessed that.
Take the sergeant! I have agreed.

We had to wait a long time: thirty minutes. He came out to me in the hall of the building, and for the first time in two days I spoke to the police officer not through the window.
“I don’t know why you were fined,” he said, examining the penalty receipt.
And what shall we do? I asked.
- Pay the penalty, the sergeant advised me.
Why a fine? I have clarified.
“I don’t know,” he replied.

And we had the same stupid dialogue with him as we had with the police biker the day before. The captain had nowhere to retreat. He was on duty and therefore surrendered even faster than yesterday’s Negro.
"The officer could not write you a fine for excess speed because he measured your speed visually, not with the help of a radar.
Has he swallowed? I was angry.
- You are better, - did not agree with me the policeman, - on this receipt the fine is less than for excess speed.
We will meet him in court. I declared. Let the judge decide who is better.

4 is Lawyer

Everyone should do their own business, I decided and went to the internet to look for a lawyer. There were many proposals. I decided, in the case of other equals, to choose by geographical principle: who is closer. Half an hour later, I agreed with a guy for three hundred dollars for the whole case and went to him for a meeting.

Well, what to say, I learned a lot that day about the local police. In short, the corruption scheme is as follows: a patrol cop gets $40 per hour. If he began drawing up the minutes at the very end of his duty, then, according to the rules, another two hours of working time is automatically added to his working day. Moreover, these two hours are considered as “processing” and are paid in half a quarter. That is, this motorcyclist, starting my case at his laptop at 5:56 p.m., automatically receives an increase of $120 to his daily salary in any case and it doesn’t matter whether I’ll be fined in court or not.

A month later the trial took place. The fine was cancelled, and the black motorcyclist continued to patrol the streets of the city.

In the shop.
We have three bottles of vodka.
Your passport please.
We don’t have a loan, we have all the money with us.

When I was studying at the university in the 1990s, I had a friend named Chachly from another faculty who once invited me to visit.

He said, “Come somehow to us in the French community! I live in room 356.

It is easy to remember – three plus two – five, plus one – six.



More than twenty years have passed, and I still remember the number of his room.

Sadly but a fact. Man becomes a commodity. It also has a QR code.

Why don’t you talk about bombs? As I went from fishing with a good catch, well, and I see sitting on the tubes burning, with characteristic purple faces. I stopped, pulled out a couple of huge carps, so to speak, the prey. One of them said to me, "Dear gentlemen, the conditions of our existence do not allow us to cook food by thermal processing, and if your desire to help remains as sincere, would you not kindly replace this fish sent by Providence with a simpler product, more suitable for the given situation?" I was so upset that I remembered every word and silently extended 5,000 tenge (about 1,000 rubles). Such a product approached))) Kazakh bombs, they are such)))

The television that tells us that Europe is freezing, starving and suffocating by crime, and the television that tells us that refugees are rushing to Europe for a high standard of living and security are the same Russian television.

I went, I mean, for a little in the garden. I will leave the vacuum cleaner running in the hallway and in the room. In general, clean, but the wool from two dogs, although smooth-haired, runs out. Satisfied with her thought, she pressed a button and went. Well, though the brains were enough to close two other rooms, in one of them a carpet.

I was delighted with my vision, that how well I came up and while I am not, everything will go well, I am not long... Exactly before returning from the garden.

I felt something wrong...Yes, I just heard the key in the door...

In short, the youngest cattle of the Jack-Russell dog breed aged 10 months rushed to the courtyard carpet from the feeling of horror and dullness of being from the thundering vacuum cleaner and the absence of the housewife who will protect her if he starts to eat her.

Well, the vacuum cleaner - that is, he knows that he has to work out all his 20 thousand worth... Here he fell and tried. At first, he seemed to be trying to fuck it all. All the days in the shit, the wheels in the shit. The whole corridor and bedroom in divorces fucking from the wheels, the carpet in general just lulls from the fucking shit in it. It’s such a place that you could even have put it next to it.

But I am a mother.

In short, I first washed and scratched everything with wet wipes, then washed with powder, then water.

But! This was not the last battle. I was waiting for a deadly dust. Here was the horror. Wearing a medical mask, they are now in every house in abundance, and putting wet towels there, so that it did not smell so, I took the business. I scattered everything with a drill, scattered everything at the same time crying that I was so dusty, I had to forge all the seams with a toothbrush, this is all... I was fucking with the vacuum cleaner for an hour and a half, washed.

What I want to say, now I can do everything... In short, as clean as after this cleaning, I have not been in the apartment for a long time. And the picture of the disguised and blurred shit across the floor is still in the eyes😁😂. Fu, as I remember, I’ll be so shaken. Buy a robot vacuum cleaner, dear pickabouts, just don’t forget to turn your brain on when using it, as I did. Now I only turn on behind closed doors from dogs.

It is😂

Xxx: My son asked me to put a hoodie on my jacket. She didn’t go away, she wasn’t there at first. In the tech school, when I was in the closet, there were quarrels about what a cap should be hanged. I didn’t get all my hands. And here somehow from work I come, hang my jacket and see - the son's jacket hangs on the cuff. Do I think you have swallowed myself?!! I take his jacket in my hands, look into the room and ask, “Have you whipped the cock?” He looked confused, “Are you not?” In general, the wardrobewoman came by herself, apparently tired of reminding every time.

The branches of power are constantly cheating their own people in the face.

Peter Ivanovich got up early. He usually walked with Grey at this time. There was no one to walk with. Peter Ivanovich dressed up and went on the usual route. He went and thought about the 14 years he lived with Grey. Yellow dried leaves sprinkled under my feet. Then they agreed with their wife that this would be their last dog. At that time, they were 60 and Grey was 5 months old. The puppy was so touching and thick, uncomfortable, curious and talented. And now it is all over. Peter Ivanovich turned and went to the house. In front of him was a girl, almost a girl, next to her was a young dog with a gray face.
Their own? Asked Peter Ivanovich.
“No,” the girl replied, “in the neighboring apartment a man died, and the shepherd remained. The relatives were given two weeks to fix it, otherwise they would be dropped or thrown out. And Jack is old, he is 10 years old, and no one needs the old man. Here, I go into the 11th apartment, feed him, and walk out. I try to set up.
“Happy luck,” said Peter Ivanovich, and went on.
He was thinking about the old Jack all day, but he never hesitated to talk to his wife. The night came, and I fell asleep in the morning. He slept longer than usual, and when he got up, his wife was not at home. There was a note in the kitchen: “I went to the store.” Peter Ivanovich decided, quickly dressed, grabbed Grey's clue, and almost ran to the house where he met the girl. The September rain bubbled on the umbrella. He called the apartment. He was opened by a gentle woman.
I am about the dog. Are you giving the dog? Asked Peter Ivanovich.
“And I threw it out,” the woman replied, “but I missed the dogs here.
You said you have two weeks.
Not enough what I said. Tired, eaten a lot, and sleeping on the couch. If you need it, look for it near the house, I put it out on the street.
Peter Ivanovich walked around the house, ran around the neighborhood, the dog was nowhere.
“Old man, he will not last long on the street,” thought Peter Ivanovich, “you have to put on a jacket and go look for it.
Peter Ivanovich had almost reached his house when his wife called.
Pete, please do not argue.
Again, no matter what the bombardment fed, or the cat removed from the tree, - thought Petro Ivanovich.
Let me talk, he said.
“You know, I was going out of the store, and he was sitting in the yard, through two houses, right under the rain. And the note was: “Take it, I don’t need it,” and a folder with his documents. I know, Pete, we have agreed. He is grey just like us. Don’t be angry, Pettie.
Peter Ivanovich looked forward. Under the streams of rain, at 20 meters, his wife stood. In one hand she held a bag of food and in the other a phone. Jack was sitting at her feet. Peter Ivanovich ran to his wife. Her gray hair was wet, her glasses were completely swollen. He kissed her cold cheeks and went shopping.
Three of them went home in the rainy rain.
by Elena Andriaš