was familiar. We met in Sochi. He showed this to his girls. From the phone showed pictures of the type I am on the waterfalls, this is my number. Fuck the whole screen! Per photographed) girls usually scream, friend in paint, said this from personal correspondence. Diko apologized and built out of himself. Everything was laughing and positive. What is interesting. Everyone with whom he turned this number later in his room stayed for the night.

I once worked in a photography laboratory. Instead of a special machine, we had an ordinary computer, where I plugged the flash, scrolled the photos, and the client watched them. One day he brought a flash. I open the picture to the whole screen, I list. The first, the second, the third. There he is with the company, here with the girl. The guy speaks, whether to print or not. In the next photo, he puts the girl in the ass. I was red, he wasn’t. With an indignant look, he said, “This is not necessary.”

To understand a woman, it is not necessary to listen to her.

Mandarinese

Sanitary technician Ivanich was sitting in his roasted kitchen in his solitary berlog. I drank bitter. His company was made up only of red cockroaches, who felt voluptuously among unwashed plates.
Yes, life has not happened. But I dreamed of becoming a teacher of physical education, so that until old age with the boys to pursue football. The strange dream is not to be a pilot, not a sailor, but rather a bodybuilder. He dreamed of marrying his classmate Olechka, a beauty for the whole school, Olya seemed to be building his eyes, and after school went to Tbilisi.
And he what? Sleep a little, and what if you don't sleep, if you look in other people's toilets all day long and you make bottles of sludge. And all of them said to him, “Ivanishch to, Ivanishch to, get there, bring that.” Even his paternity sounds disrespectful in their speeches. No one knows that he is Sergey Ivanovich Krotov. No one knows that he had a twin brother, Dimko, who died of leukemia at the age of seven. He loved his brother, although he was very often in hospitals and hardly played with him. Dimka dreamed a lot - wanted to grow up and become a geologist. I wanted to visit the North Pole.
Drunk tears flowed on the cheeks of the alcoholic: "Oh, Dimka, it's my fault for your death, and all because of these damn mandarins. “Sorry brother...”

Sergey has long been tormented by the ridiculous and childish guilt, spiked in the heart. He remembered his poor childhood. Poor, because the brother was sick and the mother dealt with the sick son, hardly paying attention to the healthy. All the time and all the money went to Smoke. The New Year was approaching, and the father brought from work two balls of gift candy - him and Dimke. The sweets were the cheapest, ladenci, pomadka, batons, but among the sweets were two large mature mandarins. Sergey loved the mandarins.
“You eat one, and leave the other to Dimka,” said the father.
Of course Dad.
Sergey remembered how delicious, fragrant and truly sweet his mandarine was. I didn’t even notice how I ate the second one. When he realized what he had done, he was ashamed. The mandarin skin flew from the balcony.
“It should not seem that there were mandarines in the gifts,” he thought.
He was "lucky", no one remembered the mandarins, because Dimke became worse again, and he and his mother were taken to the hospital by an ambulance. And then Sergey remembered how many relatives came to them - grandparents, grandmothers, aunts, uncles.
The grandmother of Varia all told her mother that there was no place for the child at the funeral, but the mother left him next to him, and he saw himself—depleted and almost transparent in a small tomb. I saw and did not believe.

And then, after the funeral, he was hit by his head like a shoe: "Dimka would not have died if I had not stolen his mandarine."
It was a stupid thought, but it settled in the brain, turning it into a finite hooligan and ham. His conscience was bite from within, he was rude to everyone not to hear it.
A year later, the father left the family, leaving on his childhood shoulders all the burden in the form of an everlasting mother. I went all my life in a crap. Women’s hysterics, screams and tears so tired him that he decided not to start a family. And now he drinks with the cockroaches.
“Oh, brother, I would go back in time.”

Shaken and suffocating from excessive drunkenness, Sergey went out to the balcony. The city had already lit the lights, the stars were not visible. Sergey raised his eyes to the sky and almost trembled. Almost all over the width of the night sky shone a firey clock. Sergey clearly saw the numbers and two arrows - small and large - hour and minute. Sergey looked at a miracle, and the clock looked at him. Then the clock arrows suddenly moved from place and went in the opposite direction. Sergey could not take his eyes away from them, yet he felt strange. It seemed to be reducing in size, as if it was getting lighter. He looked at his hands, where were the mushrooms? His hands are like children. He stumbled, opened his eyes. He stood on the balcony of his child’s apartment and heard his mother chatting in the kitchen. I heard her voice.
“Ma-am,” Sergey whispered surprised.
His mother came out of the kitchen.
What are you noising? Smoke just fell asleep.
My mother was unhappy.
Smoke is alive? He barely stumbled, but held the scream in time. And then the key turned in the castle, and in the hallway entered the father with two bags of New Year’s candy and mandarines.
“One mandarin is eaten by yourself, the other is for Dimka,” said the father.
Sergey finally took himself into his hands and began to think clearly. He knew what to do. When his parents went to watch television, he took the mandarines out of the ball. The smell was overwhelming, he swallowed a thick piece of saliva. He took the mandarines, cleaned the skin and took the room to Dimkin. My brother moved slightly.
– Smoke, wake up, Sonja, I brought you mandarins from Africa, or maybe Georgia, I don’t know.
Sergei broke the piece and put it in his brother’s mouth.
It’s delicious, grey, you eat too.
I had eaten, I had four.
Eat more, eat more.
Do you want me to get rid of my allergies? I do not want.
“Grey, and I don’t want to go to the hospital tomorrow. Tired already.
“No matter, you’ll be treated, Dimka, and you’ll become a geologist. I read that there are whole underground plantations of self-colored flowers in the Urals. Imagine how much there is!
Dymka did the last mandarine.
“What do you think, Serega, will I be able to find some mystery in the earth if I become a geologist?
Of course, you can, just as I will train my football team.
Sergey hugged his twin brother and closed his eyes not to cry.

He woke up from a strong shock in his shoulder: "What do you throw, the shale will burn, the storm!" Sergey opened his eyes. In front of him stood a laughing wart with his eyes and a smile.
The D smoke?! to
And who else? Right from Kamchatka. Ivory brought, and crabs, and a whole druze of mountain crystal.
Sergey looked around. He was sitting on a shop in a cozy pavilion. The winter was just as pleasant. From the house came out women and two girls - his daughter, wife Olga, and the bride of Dmitry Katya. Still not believing what was happening, Sergey entered the house and looked in the mirror. It looked good: tightened, tight, youthful, as the physique is supposed to. Covers were placed on the table. Smoked ears, decorated the table with strawberries and sandwiches with ivory. Sitting at the table, Dimko put a bottle of "white" on the table.
No smoke, I don’t drink. I generally had such a nightmare dreamed of me as if I was a drunkard, torch in the kitchen with cockroaches. And as if I’m alone, and you, Dima, don’t. As if you died as a child.
You are grey? He died because I have a wonderful brother. I was sick, it is, but do you remember how you fed me mandarin? I also lied to me that the mandarins were four. I remember it all, Grey. At that time, I took my teeth for life. It was then, brother, that I realized I couldn’t just give up. Yes, by the way, you want to look at my geological finds, I have a whole backpack.
“Well, Smoke, I’ll come now, just breathe a little more fresh air.
Sergey Ivanovich Krotov raised his face to heaven. There was no figure in the sky, but Sergey said somewhere in the clouds: “Thank you for everything, great thanks...”

Lenin’s real name was Ulyanov. Stalin’s real name was Djugašvili.
The real name of Putin is Rotenberg, right?

When I was in the seventh grade in our school (in the framework of the development of democratic values) decided to hold elections of the President of the school.

In the courtroom, the smaller director announced that anyone can submit his candidacy, subject to the collection of signatures from at least 10 students. The signature collection was commissioned by the library.

After school, my boys and I went home and I proposed to create a double party and win the election. At the primary assembly of the cell of the dual party, I was nominated as a presidential candidate.

The next day, all the two-three-boys and boys with a sense of humor came to the library. So it turned out that in two weeks I collected about 40 votes, and the other candidates (they were all girls - senior classes from 6 to 9), collected from 5-8 (by the number of girls).

I thought I had won, but it was only the first stage.

Furthermore, it was uninteresting, we were given some non-public tasks such as the best poem about the school or to write a composition "how I see the work of the school president".

In the end, we were two. I and the girl are excellent from the parallel class (the favorite of all teachers, the absolute ideal of the school). In order for you to understand the level of ideal, she played snowball all the years she was in school.

A week before the elections on the main stand of the school, a seat was released for two stengazets. We (the finalists) were instructed by Monday to draw up an election program and to place stencils with agitation. In the stengazet it was necessary to indicate what grades you are studying, which groups you attend, what you are interested in and further free suggestions on how to improve life in school.

I thought for a long time what to write and eventually we and the boys painted a stengazette. When I came to school, I saw that this girl was placed.

Then I was funny, but now looking at the election campaign, I understand that the professional staff worked on it)

In the middle was written “Katia Petrova! Do you want to be an excellent? Vote for me! »

And then there were photos of her activities at school. Here Katya is the eternal snowmen, but here on September 1, Katya is ringing the eternal bell. Here is Katya at Molbert's art school, but here she plays the piano in a musician, here is Katya with a ball jumping on basketball, and here she plants trees on a sabbat.

There was a text:

My name is Katya Petrova. I am in this school from 1st grade and I am a round excellence. I am fascinated by basketball, music, painting and pearl weaving. I participate in self-activity and love nature. I was abroad in Turkey and Cyprus, and I also like to rest with my grandmother and grandfather in Kislovodsk.

Vote for me!

—————

I, of course, refrained, because Zavoch clearly said that there is a need for a PROGRAM, i.e. a list of ideas for improving life in school. And I wrote him.

On the stand was my photo and signature.

by Abram Simpson. The guarantee of respect for everyone. »

The text of the agitation was this:

My name is Abram, I am in the 7th grade in three and fourth grade. I do not go to clubs, I do boxing and sambo.

If you choose me as president of the school, I will the following results:

1st School competitions;

2nd The first school beauty contest

Three Classes of aviation modeling (as in a neighboring school);

4 is The right to study computer science for all, not just the A class;

5 is Distribute microscopes on biology on all batches, not so that the first batches are a microscope, and the rest are drawn from a textbook.

6 is Open fire exits to ensure safety. (Here I lobbied the interests of the upper classes, because they were far away from running into the smoke.)

7 is In other schools, they play volleyball / basketball, and we have been running around a circle for a year and sit while he drinks tea;

8 is The teacher objectively evaluates the ability of the students. It is impossible to peel out the bust of Apollo from the plasticine and the plasticine is bored.

9 is A call for students, not for teachers! The teacher is paid money to make a class plan, and in 7 minutes we have to have time to run to another office, drink water, eat, prepare for another lesson.

10 is It’s time to find out where the money goes for renting a dining room for weddings every weekend.

The stengazets hanged until the evening, until the man who was leaving the house saw them. There was no newspaper this morning. I was summoned to the director in the composition of “Class Leader/Zavuch/Director”, there I was long choked on the topic “how I dared to write such nonsense” and I was removed from the elections with the formulation about moral and moral discrepancy, a note in the diary and the indication “let this be a lesson for you.”

A week later, the girl who remained the only candidate made the president of the school, handed her in the acting hall a medal, a wreath and some gift.

Without elections, without votes, without everything. In fact, they just appointed a convenient and obedient candidate who will do what they will tell her for the fifth.

And you know, it was really a lesson for me all my life. I understand how elections work.

According to the results of the exit sexes, I won with a huge gap.

I loved history at school.

And my grandfather, seeing such an enthusiasm - helped to study especially complex and intricate topics, such as WOW, where a lot of different names, dates and nuances.

We took on the role of two conditional enemies. He was the commander of the SS and I was the Red Army. And, based on textbooks and encyclopedias, we sat down at the table, with maps laid down, and moved the "units", which were usually used by soldiers from my old set, playing famous battles and strategic moves. In the form of dialogue. Type

- So you, Herman Gott, decided to put forward a tank army directly? Well, we will come from the flanks (there were the soldiers moving)

It was crazy interesting. RTS in real life. Yes, I know there were similar games then and now, but nevertheless.

Do you know what a school psychiatrist said to my parents after a class meeting when I learned how I was studying history?

Such teaching methods can provoke a tendency for the child to identify with well-known people of the past, and in the future - disorders on this ground. I would advise you to just study the material.

The parents, good, just stunned and warned me not to talk about my teaching methods to this strange woman anymore.



So I became Napoleon and I wrote from the chamber (no) :)

My grandfather was a descendant of the proletariat and a joke-grubian. When I was a little boy, he often entertained me with an unstoppable act: he entered the room, slightly sat down, spread his hands to the side (like Leonov in the movie Kin-za-zha!) And he said loudly, “Let’s run!” After that, he ruined the air and whispered. I also laughed. Now I remember handcuffs, but as a child I it very much.



And one day the kindergarten was closed for repair, grandfather and grandmother went to visit relatives, parents need to work, and I have nowhere to go. My mother decided to take me to work. It was probably not forbidden at that time. And here, I sit in an empty office, painting flowers on paper with pencil. The mother comes in, and with her a crowd of harsh aunts - some commission came to check. When they saw me, they did not argue, but began to friendship how nice I am, how beautiful I paint flowers, and in general, I seem to be terribly talented. Of course, I was excited and decided to show them that I am not only a good artist, but also a great artist. Then I sat down and spread my hands to the side...

Some time ago I noticed that my six-year-olds began to use perfumes very actively. I was surprised, but not stressed: after all, let the office smell pleasantly different caliber perfumes than, for example, old socks. Only today learned what explains their sudden love for perfumes and columns: the mathematician has an allergy to perfume.

I asked my parents to keep the smells away.

There was a water column. Ordinary, iron, pen pressed the water went.



Water Channel decided that too many people use it without paying for anything and for the purpose of saving, renovation and modernization changed the column to a new, beautiful, blue color with a display and work from cards.

The cards were distributed to local residents.



We changed the card three times. At first, it was read once, after replacement, it began to count instead of 10 liters - one hundred. In the fifteen-liter bucket calmly entered 150 liters.



No, we were not forced to pay anymore, we had "unlimited", but there was a limit on the card itself, which we spent for a week.



We gathered, the card was reprogrammed... increasing the limit to some unrealistic amount, everything came to normal.



The frost came. The freezing is minus twenty-five. The place of action is Arkhangelsk, the European north of Russia, so such temperatures are quite in order of things.

The columns are frozen.

The worst thing is that when installing the Water Channel screamed about the presence of heating in the columns and that now there will be no freezing.

The old column, by the way, worked in minus thirty...



Called to the Water Channel, from there answer - while it is cold, we can do nothing but organize the transportation of water. Well, okay, civilization, the twenty-first century is... The car brings water, people stand with the waves on the frost. Elon Musk is?



After the frost, everything was restored, according to rumors, the heating column was not connected. For the savings.



It works again, again the sun and good thoughts, but suddenly the column at the house ceases to give water adequately. She flies three or four liters and cuts off. Think thirty seconds, give out a couple of liters and pause again. There are mysterious hieroglyphs.

As you understand, collecting such water is in principle unrealistic. A 15 litre hose is poured for five to seven minutes.



Water Channel workers arrived a week later, after bombing all organizations in a row with calls and emails, including the Surveillance and District Administration.

They came, came out of the car, looked at the column, and said, “Eye, so what kind of...electronic shell? We can’t do that...” and we left.



After getting to the reception to the head of the Water Channel (this quest) the problem was solved.

Removed the renovation, new, modern column and pulled the old, leverage type.

Do you think that’s all? No is. When they pulled, they dumbly dropped the cover of the well to the side, and then just pushed it back. Usually the columns are pulled out of the covers, pushed through the hole, the workers were lazy to squeeze the hole immediately.



The column began to freeze at minus ten.



The water channel sent the heaters reluctantly, the tenants did it themselves, and as a result, in the frost minus 36, the water channel workers foolishly hit the lever, put water on the strait, with an ultimatum to the locals: "If you turn off the column and it freezes - we will come only in the spring, because you are already busy, fuck."



The column was lily for more than a week, chasing the hern knows how many cubes of water, but what cattle took out the tree and the column froze again.

The controller on the phone directly said that the residents were warned and that now let them wait, because there are no specialists yet.



The column does not work. Complaints are written wherever possible, including the Supervision, the District Administration and the President. Waiting for an answer)

The case occurred in the early summer of 2019. Traditionally, in order not to be mistaken by the heat in the stone jungles, I take my family for the whole summer to the country. Well, accordingly, you need to buy all sorts of things for the summer, starting with food, ending with household chemicals, etc. After this, I went with my wife to the district center of the Tver region. We went into the fifth – that... In general, we got three (!) chariots with a hill, with the final amount of something in the area of 15 000 rubles (plus-minus for a long time I do not remember). When we went to the box office, an employee (who later turned out to be the director of this Five), a speeder for our mini caravan, opened the box office. Money on the card. Payment does not take place once, the second, the third (as it turned out later, that day there was some failure between Tinkoff and Sber, but then we did not know about it). No other cards. I leave my wife at the box and run to the nearest ATM to collect money. Sberbank, accordingly, the result is the same. There are no other banks in the city. I return to the box office, the employee offers to transfer her money to the card, and she will pay for us from her card. I transfer her, money goes away from me, she does not come to me. The situation is pathetic! Here she says, let me pay for you, and if I don't get the money until tomorrow, then you will send it to me tomorrow - here is my phone for communication. He pays our check with his card. I repeat, in the Tver region, believed in debt to people first seen 15,000 r.!



The next day she never got the money on her card, so we brought her cash. And another day, the girl called and said that she got our translation and she is now transferring the money back to us. This is a story of trust from strangers.

Scientists have found that COVID-19 is more active in the ass than in the nose. Does this mean that chickenpox is more contagious than chickenpox?

YYY: It is necessary to introduce the mandatory wear of anal blocks in public places. Imagine the process of checking for anal blockages when entering the store. LOL

It is a great mistake to rely on thieves and thieves. Sooner or later they will sell you. Nothing personal, just business.

I recently witnessed a movement. The teenagers ran along a frozen lake, and the grandmother who stood on the shore mocked them what the light was on. Here the ice broke, and one boy failed, and the others ran away instantly. And only the grandmother rushed to the boy and grabbed him with a clutch for the cap. Then she fell on the ice and began to run out to the shore, dragging a guy behind her. While I and a couple of other witnesses were running to the shore, she had already pulled out the victim and walked over him, waving with her stick. Grandma in the 80s. The Hero!

With tremendous relief and enthusiasm, the factory workers and village workers received the news that the 100 billion palace does not belong to Putin personally, but to his childhood friend.

One day, guests came to us from Belgium and brought wine. I have to say that in wine they do well, and my wife, at the time a future, also began to be interested in this, went to courses and so on.

So they opened a bottle of hamburger, tasting, trying to identify the notes.

My wife says, smell it. I try and say, yes, it smells of acetone. I was fucked, and used to a specialized site to read about the nose.

And whatever you think, the first line there is written "a pronounced smell of acetone", and a rapid shift of superstitious views to respectful ones. Since then, I have recognized the taste of dried finishes and the smell of purple several times, but the story with acetone is my favorite.

Our teacher of literature adhered to the canonical views “the poet thought precisely about what was written in the textbook approved by the plenum of the CPSU...” and any deviation from the “right” composition was punished with a low rating.

Then came the physmat and in 10th class we were transferred to another teacher of literature. The lady is very elevated with the classical image of the teacher of literature, a spiritualized look and a quiet voice. Seeing her so and wanted to start the dialogue with the phrase: "Let me ask...? "

And here, on September 1st, 14-year-old ballbesses, whose blood and brains boil out. One thought on “How do you see your school in 20 years?”

At the next class, the teacher reads the most successful and unsuccessful options, makes a selection, offers to discuss, participate (for us this is new).

I want, he says, to draw attention to one composition:

“Lasers perceive the perimeter of the school, recognizing students. The roof is guarded by blazers. After silencing the reactive suitcase, the first-class students run to the lesson.

We are sitting. And we want to rub, and we understand that the author has gotten. A couple in literature can be corrected, but to get in front of a new teacher is not the best idea.

And the teacher, with her voice from the Essenin readings, says: "This is what I understand, a thoughtful, literate approach to the work. No patterns and clichés, slogans and propaganda. Learn to think on your own. Five with a plus.”

When we lived in the USSR, there was no sex. Now that we have sex, we are not there.

His parents married students in the early 1980s. Once they were inexpressively lucky, they managed to buy a Finnish toilet, unusual then, blue color. Since they lived in the community, the toilet was guarded until the better times. Then the distribution to the north, again common. They finally got an apartment. Then came my mom’s grandmother.
Mom went to check her, Dad followed her, refused from the apartment, so she did not live in her. We lived with my grandmother, but it was not clear what would happen with the apartment too, the parents were on bird rights. Sanitary value in vain decided not to spend, wait for certainty. Everything resolved in favor of the parents, the grandmother calmly left. It would seem, here it is the star hour of the toilet, but the 90s went by. Everyone suddenly became not until repairs, here would survive. My parents were lucky for the second time. The house where we lived was bought for a hotel, and the parents provided another apartment with fresh excellent repairs. The blue friend is out again. I moved to a warehouse.
Years went by, we grew up, and here is finally my first apartment. I was immediately presented with the royal throne, but it did not enter my holopic bathroom. The hopes were placed on the sister, who, far from sin, dropped to work abroad. I got married and lived with my husband, after me they tried to give a gift, which my husband insistently refused, arguing that he already has a toilet.
Finally, the parents decided to repair. For the sake of such a sister came from another continent, to look at the established multi-suffering push. But to our eyes presented modern sanitary, shining banal whiteness. At the questions, the parents humbly turned their eyes away and answered something unclear.
I recently bought a dacha. I proposed to put the old man there to accomplish, so to speak, his life purpose, but my mother was very upset, like this came to my mind. It will be given to the grandchildren. All four immediately. And I wondered why other families inherit jewelry, paintings, books, photographs after all, and we have that.

So one day you will wake up, and all Russia is already rewritten to Rotenberg.