It is a pity that in our time, fewer and fewer agree to black work and more and more agree to black affairs.

So, I decided to collect puzzles under the tea with fleas tonight. Ordinary banal puzzle, puzzle, piece by piece.
Okay, it did well ?

I have these puzzles tightly linked to two people. The first person is my daughter. I used to be a DJ on "Master Radio" once in the broadcast that my child loves puzzles.
The DJs were very loved and danced. My daughter gave me two puzzles. Being a smart kidner, she quickly studied them and in a couple of days already folded as a Korean soldier the Kalashnikov machine. It always took me, I could watch her collecting puzzles as they look at the fire, the river and what else.

And the second person is one of my former bosses, Pasha. A man he was, though young, but very focused, purposeful and demanding. He worked as a pharmacist and I worked as a translator. The discipline in the office was iron. The working day began at 8:00 p.m., who did not reach - for every minute minus a dollar from the salary.
Pasha treated me respectfully, but once because of the strong ice I was not just late - I was late for an hour and a half. Just the transport all stopped, because the ice road from the sky still rained. Pasha thought, but still everyone who was late then fined according to the scheme.
I lost almost half of my salary.

Evil I have hidden. And on her birthday she gave her favorite boss a gift individually from herself - a huge puzzle the size of a carpet on a wall, a landscape with a castle.

The next day at eight in the morning, Pasha was not there. Everyone was surprised because he wasn’t drinking at all. In other words, the boy was right.
He was not there at nine. There was no ten either. He appeared only without a quarter of twelve. With terribly red eyes and although restrained but blurred sight. Without removing the calculator, he told the accountant to deduct $225 from his salary, after which he removed a paper with his own order on fines from the wall.

And passing by me, stealing showed me the fact and quietly said:
And yet I collected it.

In vain you laugh at those who burned the 5G tower in North Ossetia. Do you understand physics? No is? And they all have 100 points of EEG there.

xxxx: I got the stuff! Is this a high difficulty for you? hands - two, legs - two, eyes - two, head - in availability, you did not lose when creating a Persian, you did not have a career in India or Somalia, did up to adulthood, free-to-play up to 18 years minimum, education free, from the crane almost drinking water, a roof over the head and an internet bonus - AND ALL THAT, SCKO, THAT IS LITTLE! And amins are goats, and donuts, and stuff shit, and more exotic complaints! It is all in your hands! All the manuals - there is, roll any branch (except magic - hz when fixed), and you want - be a multi-class (boxer lawyer - not a fiction) - but you did not read the manuals, did not listen to the mentors who said "learn", and now you do not know! I don't like - *RosComNadzor* and on rep on the Indian system.

Yyy: Can I get another specialist in the service?

One day, in a break between work, I decided to do it again. The Russian philosopher. Since the outcome of the admission was me, in principle, not important, my mood was extremely pofigistic. I would even say, a playful mood. And I got a difficult question at the literature exam: "Revolutionary themes in the lyric of Nekrasov".

My yo...

I, besides that this work, Vanya, was a terribly enormous and dull-poor Belarusian, remembered nothing. at all. Therefore, when I went to the examiners' table, my sight was insanely confident, my sight straight, and my speech clear and firm.

I said, “I fear that this work of Nekrasov does not quite correspond to the stated themes and does not reveal revolutionary nature, but I want to tell you about it...”

And with a glass eye and pathetics in his voice, he issued a two-page composition of a 17-year-old ballbess named Vitaly, that is, a poet who poets himself.

Brad type: And in the hot spot he gets, and in the high castle that on the rock runs. The men gathered together, strangely smiling. A large crowd is rushing out.

Moreover, since I declamated without speech and with a worthy Stanislavsky intonation, I was sure that I would be stopped in the second paragraph. But not. The fifty-five-year-old chairwoman and her young colleague raised their eyebrows and listened to everyone! Until the end!

of course! Absolutely unknown work of the great writer. Several times during the Benefit I was laughing, but I resisted, realizing that without it I would now be taken to clean water and crucified. Maybe even a couple of times...

Again I was wrong! The chairwoman fixed her glasses on her nose and said, “You o-shi-ba-e-se!” I stumbled in anticipation of the phrase "This is not Nekrasov", but Madame continued: "Nikolai Alekseevich in this work speaks precisely about the predisposition of society to rebellion. The meaningless and merciless" and further explained to me how the great poet was guided by creating this verse.

Assessment of 4. Free...

The call. The Polite Man (VH)

VH (the old friend’s tone)

Good day! We and you in February 2019 wrote to (the name of a well-known website for sales) about the stangist belt..You haven't bought it yet...

I: Yeah... well, probably yes...

VC (with enthusiasm)

- I have a great offer for you - Belarusian shower at a favourable price!

I :...

and Taxi.

I arrived at the address, waiting for the client. A woman comes out. He goes to my side. A mask, which, unfortunately, is rare among passengers. I think I praise her, because I work in the respirator myself. She sits in the car, looks at me and takes off her mask.

Why did you remove the mask?

I’m tired, I’m walking all day today.

I am a virus.

These masks do not help. I can also get infected.

I: And without it you can infect me.

You have such a job...



Well, yes, I went to her.

When I was in the third grade, we were asked to write a story about any family member. The choice fell on my grandfather, because from him I often heard some stunning stories from life and colorful material was enough. The task included five questions from the answers to which the story itself was subsequently built. I asked my grandfather who he was working for. Grandfather spoke about working in the circus, about how he trained elephants and giraffes. Giraffes walked the arena on their back legs. And the elephants balanced on the rope under the dome. He told a lot of interesting. I have never been so proud of myself. My story was the best! Who else can boast of something like this? Everybody listened with open mouths. One boy started laughing at me. He said I invented it. But I knew he was just jealous of me, because he wrote a boring story about my mother’s baker. I came home and began to talk about my triumph. Grandfather began to roast like not himself, grandmother began to mock him, but periodically crashed to laugh, like the mother who came later from work. He said he was joking.

I remembered the story from my rehearsal experience (I teach English).

I was invited to a ninth-grade girl with a request to draw grades in school and help with homework, "or it is difficult for her." Classes once a week.

The Week 1. I come to the first class, my mom accompanies me to the student’s room and excitingly blows something like “Mashenka, do it well!” The elderly Mashenka whispers and irritatedly answers, “Good, okay, go already.” I begin to suspect it won’t be easy. Not wrong - the next ten minutes clarify that Masha knows English somewhere at the second grade level. The most unpleasant situation for the tutor is that parents ask for "strengthening the assessments", and there is a good need for more than one year of intense work, so that the child begins to understand the current material in school. Okay, let’s start with the tasks. Under my constant bullshit, Masha slowly tries to get into the process. She was obviously not used to stress. Explain, explain, please learn the rules next week, I give a homework.

Week of 2. Of course, nothing has been learned. I warn you that if this happens again, we will not continue the class. Masha is silent.

Week of 3. The car mother reports that the class will not be, Masha is sick. Okay it happens. November in the courtyard.

Week of 4. My mother is healed. Oh, you know, she’s recovered, but she still has a little cold... Let’s cancel this week too.

A small cold. In the ninth class. It makes an hourly English lesson absolutely impossible. Nina is fine.

Week of 5. Mamma Mia calls. The cold has passed. Let’s continue the lessons in a month.

I am? ? to ? to

Momma Mashi: Well now is the last week before the holidays, she is no longer in the mood to study. Then a week of holidays, then the first couple of weeks of study she too will not be able to study immediately, she needs to return to the process, to adjust.

I, of course, a teacher and even with a diploma, but Nihren did not understand. He courteously refused further training. My mom was very surprised by this decision.

Oh my parents.

History is the science of a hypothetical past.

I am Soviet.
In the flash of coronavirus outbursts, reorganizations and refinancing, he did not pay any attention to the memes that appeared in the messages. Until now, such a "funny" mem with a "dirty" Soviet symbol has not stolen into business correspondence with a very reliable and very decent Moscow partner. Also a former Physfakov, also from MGU and also from OIAI. and unexpectedly. With a good person with misunderstandings you can only talk long and carefully. Such relationships are valuable. The answer was long. Here is he:
“You know that I was born and raised in Frunze. Now it is Kyrgyzstan. And 10 classes before the physical facade of the Moscow University graduated there, in the simple Soviet school number 2. At present, Frunze (Bishkek) is a deep hopeless province. My thanks to the unified Soviet textbooks and the unified Soviet school program. The school program and textbooks were the same - both in Moscow and Kyrgyzstan. Everywhere in the USSR. Soviet culture (culture, as Harari even interpreted it in "Sapiens") created a small fractal there - in our "academic" house in the very center of the city of 82 apartments, about 70 were for visiting specialists. The Soviet specialists. Which from scratch raised everything the outskirts needed - science, medicine, production, cinema, trade, even dance and circus, you name it... The center at the same time won at least twice - sent specialists had a fantastic career growth, impossible in the center, and the outskirts produced themselves, - and products, and people. Yes is. produced the people.
The production of people in Soviet culture. Where to find research staff in Kyrgyzstan? My parents, both mom and dad, were schoolchildren in the villages, they only spoke Kyrgyzstan. Both of them were pulled out of the village by a commission arriving, capturing gifted schoolchildren throughout Kyrgyzstan. There were only Jews and Russians. To avoid local “protection”. All tests (then "tasks") were virtually independent of the language. It was in Stalin’s time. My future parents and other gifted children were selected by the commission (in two different regions), and they were brought to the 5th school-internat, in Frunze, where they were taught Russian and prepared for the necessary subjects to the university - future chemist and biologist, future professors. All this was already done by a local university, also with a single Soviet program. It was also part of an integrated program.
The son of these parents enrolled in the physfak of the Moscow State University, graduated from the department of quantum statistics and worked at the OIAI (Soviet Nuclear Institute, established in the 50s) at N.N. Bogoliubov. It must say something to you already.
When Gorbachev, Pavlov, Yeltsin, Chubais and others with them made life absolutely impossible for the salary of a physicist in the IAEA, this same guy from Frunze left with his wife and children to Los Alamos, to the state nuclear center, he was taken immediately, lightning as he indicated the readiness to move. Here, the potential opponent appreciated the quality of Soviet training.
You know that this guy lives and works in Zurich. And in this life he is not only engaged in science, - those very Soviet special courses in philosophy and Marxist-Leninist political economy have proved very useful for the development of Swiss space and European humanitarian material.
The ability to learn, immersed in it by many dozens of exams at the MSU, made studying at a Swiss business school a simple walk. Why am I all?
I was often asked and asked here in Zurich: “Do you have a Russian wife and you speak Russian, do you feel Kyrgyz or Russian?”
I always answered and answered the truth: “I am Soviet.”
Ideal countries and cultures in history have not been, are not and will not be. But the Soviet Union was and will remain unbeatable in the true greatness of its fantastic victories, innovations and breakthroughs, and the main of them is Soviet culture. She is now forever. With all the Soviet wounds, problems and tragedies caused not by systemic but managerial errors in an absolutely new system. And the further, the better it will be seen, history will tell it all.
I am a Soviet. I am afraid of the Soviet symbols. And I see in them the light of what they thought.”

Do you remember who worked?? to

Yesterday I read a story with a wizard. He knocks his right foot - the table with food appears, he leads his hand from left to right - any door opens, and right to left - closes! He knocks the earth and turns into a dragon.

The son says:

On the one hand, I’d like to be such a wizard, and on the other, I don’t.

I ask :

Why not?

- Well, it is necessary to remember everything, to teach - when to tap with the foot, and when to move with the hand and in which direction...

This story was told to me by my mother-in-law.

She grew up in a small Siberian village. All the children of the village always played together on the street, all year round. On a frosty day, they consumed frozen birds and decided to bring them into the house to warm up, and then release them as the fierce frost ends. Young heart-healthy ornithologists among others picked up a frozen canyon. They brought everyone into the house and went back to the street to carry out rescue work. Kanjuk warmed up, looked around and decided that it was he who went well. Or maybe he thought that he had already glued the laws and got into the bird’s paradise. One bird was saved that day. They even fed well.

At the age of 18, six months before the army, he took a new company of the same youth. I then had some quarrels with my father about my future, by the way – I’d rather listen to him more. But I already smelled the smell of freedom, waiting for the agenda, like a ticket to an independent life, and held my father for all my eighteen.

In the company somehow shared impressions from a fresh scandal with my father, some were stuck in my sharp statements to him. The boys were mostly silent, ticking more than the girls. One father, but kind and traveling to the sea every year, the other father does not allow to paint, but allows to bring the boys home to drink tea in the kitchen. And most of all I talked about my father Nadia, a girl I liked very much, an interesting but shy, a constant victim of our jokes on the subject of "Hope dies last."

Nadia spoke overwhelmingly, jumping from topic to topic, unusually long for herself: that her dad has a stone-maker, that at her forty-five he is strong and muscular, works twelve hours, strict but fair, can give a belt, if it is a mess at home, but it is also right, he feeds her, you must also perform your duties, finish the PTU faster and go to work with the sewing.

I remember how some of our companions darkened during Nadine’s story, especially the girls. And Nadina's fellow then in the side told me that Nadia doesn't even go to the pool with the group, because it's all in blue.

A couple of weeks later, I visited Hope. She lived on the third or fourth floor of the fifth floor. Perfect cleanliness and order everywhere. There were already vacations at PTU, I came in the morning with a cake, we drank tea in the kitchen and then listened to her music in the bedroom. I gathered with the spirit to embrace her, kiss her, well, and in general sweetly melted. Nadia smoked on a tiny balcony, looking at the clock, then in the yard, and from a certain time began to listen to my treep somehow dispersed, and smoked one by one. Then she interrupted me and told me that soon her father would come for lunch, and when she saw him in the yard, I would have to go out, get up on the fifth and go through the roof to another entrance. I shrugged my shoulders and agreed not to burn in front of my parents was not the first time.

And literally five or ten minutes later we hear the door to the apartment open, Nadia jumps in horror, makes me a sign of silence and jumps out into the corridor. I hear her talking to her father, he is not in the spirit, speaks to the elevated, asks what for lunch, by the voice it is clear that he has already dressed. With every word in the voice increasing aggression, Nadia answers with an apologizing voice, but the father is already shouting that the house is a mess, that a healthy cow rolls home instead of work, that the cow has only learned to argue with the father, and the cow's arms grow from the ass. And after another Nadine excuse, I already hear the selection mat and the sounds of strikes.

I jump out of the bedroom, go to the kitchen and see Nadia sitting on the floor near the door, trying to cover up with her hands, and on top of her hangs a bald man, one hand grabbed in her wrist, and the other methodically scratches her ribs, stomach, kidneys.

I caught my breath so much that I could only by force shout “Fuck!“And he struck the man with all the crowd, dropping him first on the table, and then on the floor. I myself am not large, a meter ninety and I have been preparing for the army for a year and a half, but I did not look at this shit. He was indeed all lively, muscular, strong and wide-armed, below me, but not much, let him stumble from my jump in the back - and I would be uncomfortable. And I, repeatedly going down the crowd on the crowd, furiously slandered this animal with his legs, not allowing him to get up, fucked his bald bush with his fists, he put under the table - I bluntly turned over the table, grabbed a strong wooden plate and nodded him on the back, while he tried to slip past me in the door, first with his legs in the back, as if he was trying to bring to the ground a hoodie, and then grabbed his legs and sat down on his head, scratching the baldness and fiercely wanting to break the skull.

I was already in the state that I wanted him to die, waiting for him to finally whisper and silence. But Nadia, who had taken me by the hand before, suddenly stumbled between the table and my father, facing me, and shouted long and hard: “Enough!”

I stopped, dropped the taburet, I was shaken so that I scratched my hands and pressed to my stomach to calm the shake. The speech came back to me, and I, speaking through the word, began to whisper that he was fucking, if he even touched Nadia with his finger, that I would find him with the boys at the construction site and beat him to death with bricks, or at the entrance with an armor. Nadia pressed her back into the hangover with her clothes and cried, covering her face with her hands. Standing up with one knee on my back and pressing Gandon’s head to the carpet in the hallway, I asked through my teeth: “Have you understood it?” Hearing a frightened and dark “yes” in response, he took Nadia’s hand and took her home.

At my house, she cried and said that it happened two or three times a week, that her mother knows everything, but she lives with another man and doesn’t want to take her to her. At four o’clock in a row, until I got tired and fell asleep, she told me stories, after each of which I had a desire to go back and get cold. I did not hesitate to ask if he harassed her, and she didn’t tell me anything like that, I don’t know if there was really something or not. But even then I heard so much that I was already crazy by a few words.

The next day we went to collect a suitcase with the necessary Hope women’s things. This finite thing was sitting in the kitchen and, when I saw it, stumbled into his room. I did not insist on communication, and there was no drop of fear and uncertainty - I seemed to have grown up with the armor of my own right, and looked at this creature like a cockroach.

Nadia lived with me for a week, we had nothing with her, I just saw how far away she was from the desire to be close to anyone. Then she moved to a friend, then her grandmother's girlfriend began to rent her room, Nadia was already working on the sewing of rescue vests. During this time she regularly went to her father, cleaned up and cooked. Then I went to the army.

I’ve never interfered with family fisting in my life again, and I remember this case in the slightest details, I even remember the color of the wallpaper in Nadine’s bedroom and what was on the table when I turned it over. Thank God I don’t think about it often. Since then, I have been firmly convinced that such haters must be mocked and swept, so that they have an animal fear of dying from another blow. There is no excuse for these fools. No need to be afraid of them, no matter how physically strong they are - they must be afraid, realizing that in the event of something - to fuck them will be a whimper. I don’t know, maybe there are some freezers who, in five minutes, will have nothing to do with them and they won’t learn the lesson – but at least once they have to be brutally freezed.

I hope that the girl who wrote the post I am responding to will never have to cross with her Gandalf father again. But if you still have to - a sister, take someone stronger with you, and let him cleanse this hatred with his feet. Happiness to you.

I read recently: "If you get lost in the forest, go to the tree and see which side of the woods."

I immediately remembered the case and decided to share it.



One day I went for mushrooms, in the area of Eromino. He drove into the forest and put his car next to the crossroads of two roads.

I looked around, I saw the egg shell rolling, I thought, “Oh, how, there were already representatives of a competing firm. Well, and her with them, all the mushrooms will not be found anyway. I would like to stay.” He went on a “silent hunt.” It was not long, 40 minutes. Then it rained and I decided to go for a walk. Going to the side of the car. Directly along the road (in the forest wet, well, it is moist to climb through the bushes). I went out to the crossroads, and I think about myself: as soon as I arrived, there should be five minutes to walk on my fingers. But the point is that the crossroads are already there. And the place where he left the car, and the shell of eggs... And the car of nichren is not! I stumbled out of surprise. My eyes wiped, it did not help. There is no car. On the road out, there is a trace of a protector, but barely noticeable, rain. The point is playing stronger. I know the car was stolen. The rain, the forest and I in it, with a bucket of mushrooms, I stand like a fool and think - what to do?! to

There was a second phone in the car. I start calling him (well, and suddenly the thieves will take the trumpet?). No one takes. I begin to throw SMS with promises of heavenly punishment and other terrible shit - the result is zero.

I approached the tree... And then I realized on which side of the tree the loch was standing. I didn’t get 300 meters to the car. No, well, everything coincided: the crossroads, the place in front of it, the egg shell...

By that time, I had already torn all the mushrooms out of discomfort.

In short, he went into the woods, shaken his nerves, scratched his mattress on his phone and threw out the collected mushrooms - all the time spent!

Life teaches one thing – of all scenarios, the worst always happens!

To say goodbye to the famous producer and film director came three famous actresses. All three were dressed in dark, but with a look at style, and all three were measured with sad expressions of faces, but with notes of cocktail and looking at each other – does not the competitor play this scene better? After playing a farewell and pressing the clothes to the faces a decent number of times, all three stood up in the corner of the hall in a dramatic circle.
He was such a man! I shrugged my head, the actress said. Galanty, attentive and smart. A real old school gentleman. I loved him.
"The words of love are silent when separated," Shakespeare's second quotation did not refrain. But I could not love him. There are no more such men.
How he was able to give you a good mood, sweetheart! I squeezed my third nose. Look at him, he is still smiling.
All three looked at the quietly lying film director, whose lips, indeed, froze in a half-smile, exactly he liked the game of actors and he was ready to get up and command: "Stop! is removed! It was great, we move to the stage on the street!”
Fifteen years ago, we almost got married, the first one began to remember. He fell in love with me as a boy and was crazy about me. I also lost my head. I agreed to play in the movie for half the fee, just to be around. His driver brought me baskets of flowers, he drove me through the restaurants. And one morning I came in a white Mercedes, in a frake and kneeled. He got a box out of his pocket and said, “This is my main family jewelry. My grandmother’s golden coffin, noble. Take it as a sign of my love...” And then the shooting ended, life scattered us across different cities, and the wedding did not end. But I always remember that he gave me the most precious piece of his soul.
The actress slightly broke the dress, showing the satellites a golden knot on her chest.
I looked at the second one. He gave me the same during the shooting. I also had a crazy novel. But he told me that it belonged to the French president’s wife, and he bought it at a Paris auction.
The second actress pulled off the dress and showed a similar golden hook on her chest.
"And he told me that the coffin was inherited from his aunt, who was the mistress of Brezhnev," said the third actress.
The three actresses stared astonished.
Are you willing to play for half the fee? I asked the first.
Even less, whispered the second. “He promised that we would get married, and all his money would still be our common.
I only paid a quarter. What a wretched thing! I sing, said the third.
The old school! The first actress went through, looking at the film producer, who continued to lie peacefully with an ironic half-smile.

We are in the same boat!
Yes, but you have a lifeguard, supplies and weapons! And I only have waves!
Close up and scratch!
© by

I have a friend named Cole. Kolya and I have known for almost 10 years, we have been friends before, but how did life lead us on different roads and over time the communication slid to "hello / how do things?"

This afternoon, I saw a post in my news tape on social networks. Post from Car. On the subject of “not real close and not real friends.”

I think I will read. In short, it is:

“My wife left me because I was cut off because of the coronavirus, greedy, you live 3 years, and then you are thrown at the first turn...”

many more words about true love, about the love of the wife for money, about what today the simple man is not appreciated and so on.



Everything would be nothing, you could scramble the post, writing a few words in support, no. Just because, I know this story of “betrayal” very well.



Starting with the fact that his wife left in February, no caronavirus was even mentioned.

And Nicholas was not reduced, but fired, in January, because after the New Year's holidays did not dry and decided to go with his head to another drink. And by the way, when he was going to be fired, his wife - the "traitor" went to his boss and asked not to fired this fool. The boss gave him a second chance, but Cole bought another ticket to Alcoyland and missed the opportunity to rehabilitate.



His wife, well, the one who "falls on money," endured him drunk for a year. For a year he promised to code, promised to bind, but in vain.



At the end, she could not stand and left. She picked up her bags, filed for divorce and left at sunset.

And yes, in their family everything was held on her, because all Colin's earnings went to the bull. Well, part of Col’s wife’s salary managed to drink.



Friends and acquaintances of Kolya "well-behaved" fucked. Because he was addressing everyone with only one purpose – to borrow money. Make him a company. Here, in his angry fast, he has not forgotten about all of us, for “all have cast him away.”



I’t, but I read his post. He is poor and unhappy. Everyone dropped him and dropped him, and he was all so purple and white.

Well, and comments to the post al-la: "Zabe, Kolyan, this prostitute is not worthy of you and friends are not friends and generally foolish", and he replied to them: "Well, yes, well, yes" and how badly it became on the soul, let me think I will write in the comment as it was in fact, but changed my mind, because Kolya will remove it and will continue to play in the regret. Therefore, I just removed Kolya and realized that some people do not learn anything from life and instead of working on mistakes, it is easier to turn on the regret and deceive everyone and yourself. It seems easier to live...