Chilala was like one girl who always forgot to take sausages for lunch. All the other ingredients were placed in the bag from the evening. The sauce had to be taken out of the refrigerator in the morning. I came up with a stuff: I put a note on my hat: “Don’t forget sausages, fool!” He goes to the metro. The man sitting in front of him leaned, and so perceivedly: - What, fool, sausages that, forgot?

At my age, it is no longer common to wait for the advent of some mythical bright future. As far as the future can be seen, it is bright.

The small northern village in which I partially grew up combined several expeditions – oil and gas, geological exploration and geophysical. Two main attractions were located on its central square - the cafe "Metelica" and the House of Culture (DC). On the square there was a monument to Lenin. Here all the main events occurred – cultural in the D.C. and less cultural – in the “Metelice”. The first often flowed smoothly into the second. As schoolchildren, we usually attended DC as movie viewers, which were filmed there 2-3 times a week, but sometimes we had to fill the scene.

In April of 1988, we were expecting the birthday of V.I. Lenin, which our school management decided to celebrate with a large concert in the D.C. There were songs, dances, mini-spectacles, a victory on the facts of Lenin’s life, a competition for the quick collection of shalash, etc. I was ordered to find, learn and qualitatively tell from the stage some little-known poem about Lenin, because the usual set of them all got a little tired. I approached this case responsibly, took in the school library a collection of poems about Lenin and at home in the evenings read it out loud to my mother, trying to understand from her reaction which of them she knows the least. As the chief doctor of the village hospital, my mother usually did not come in the evenings, but barely came home, we ate dinner and under my reading of poems she quickly fell asleep, so the task of choosing a poem was solved with great difficulty. A few days later, when the collection was read, I decided. It was a short, but vivid and emotional poem by Turkmen writer Berda Kerbabaeva, who wanted not just to read, but to declare, with expression and revolutionary force.

On the day of the performance behind the scenes was full of schoolchildren, who learned something, dressed up in costumes for the performance, pulled the grasp of the branches for the contest on the fastest shallash and all kinds of trouble. According to the plans of the teachers in the role of the conference was a small four-year-old girl with cushions. To avoid confusion, she had a leaflet with the names of the performances. We had a large DC, there were 150-200 people in the hall, from the leadership of expeditions to drillers, drivers, saleswomen and all-all. Many of them were the parents of the speakers. Everyone calmed down, the representative head of the geological and exploration expedition spoke about Lenin and his role in our lives – and the schoolchildren’s program went on. The girl-conference successfully overcame the first page of the list of performances, dances and other moving performances passed, the time for poems began. There were three or four, I was the second (the names of the children changed slightly).
The conference, in a subtle voice: "Student of the 7th grade Olya Pechenkin with the poem of Alexander Twardovsky "Lenin and the oven!"
Olya boldly and quickly scratched out a rather long verse about Lenin and the liver.
Conference: “Student of 6th grade Petya Sidorov with a poem...”. A long pause, during which the girl quietly stared into her paper. The room was frozen in expectation. Then more quietly and somewhat uncertainly questioning from the scene was heard: “Berdy Kerdimbaev... no...Berdy Kerda... no, no...Kerdy Bermamaev... no! Ber-dy Ker-ba-ma... no no no! Ber-ker-man-dy is not and pause. There is silence in the hall. The teacher quickly approached the girl and gently said, “Nothing terrible, don’t worry! Let’s read together.” Almost in a choir, they began to read on paper: “A pupil of the 6th grade, Petya Sidorov, speaks with a poem... Berda Kermambayev (the voice of the teacher) Kerda Berdambayev (the voice of the girl)”.
Standing near the edge of the scene behind the scenes and preparing to go out as soon as I was announced, I saw the faces of people in the hall. They were tense and barely restrained, so as not to crawl, cries and cries were already heard, although the people were still holding. At the same time, probably from the whole room, only my mother, who sat in the second row, knew how correct the author's name could sound, although this is not a fact. The teacher said, “No, let’s try again.” Here the conference girl couldn’t stand and cried, “I won’t try! I already had the sculls to pronounce this string, I bite my tongue because of it!” after which she dropped the leaflet and fled the stage. The tension in the hall reached a thickening density, red bodies of the leadership in the first rows illuminated the scene. Our teacher turned out to be a good guy: "I'm sorry for a little delay, Petya will announce his poem himself!" I approached the microphone and with a parade voice began: “Poem of Turkmen poet Berda Kardybayev “On Lenin!” I was terrified to find out that I had broken my name. He dared to say, “Sorry! The poem of Turkmen poet Kerda Bekdambayev "On Lenin" Fuck, again wrong... I was silent trying to remember the name. And then from somewhere from the gallery there was a scream: "Well, you guys, tell me, no one knows his right name!" Then the hall exploded. The first rows with the chief were still somehow restrained, lowering their heads and shaking, but the rest of the hall was out in the voice! I looked at my mother who wiped her tears of laughter, and I was ashamed that I was so dumb and I couldn’t remember the name of a person. A teacher approached me and, wishing to correct the situation, leaned and said to the microphone: “Friends! Petya Sidorov will read the poem “On Lenin” of one of our little-known Turkmen poets, whose name is known to the whole country!” The room with this logic did not agree and cried louder. I started reading expressively:
- The leaders from the Bronze Age are counted to our days!
But no man was born to descendants closer and closer to his family.
But no one heard me. The first rows finally broke and they whispered in the voice. From the rear rows were heard screams of “Berds!”, “Kerds!”, “Kerdik berdyk...” and other possible combinations. I raised my voice and almost spoke to the microphone to convey the poet’s poems to these insane people:
He who, despite racial differences and distances,
From mouth to mouth, a working click connected the continents!
The microphone was good, people started listening.
And so great is Vladimir Lenin, that how not to exalt him,
He is simple and truthless, and he is always with people.
Here the voice from the scream in me broke, but the hall suddenly the choir supported me: "ILIC!" and issued such a whirlwind of applause that I almost swallowed the microphone from surprise. After that, a break was announced to calm down the people. Everyone, on the contrary, jumped up, laughed, shouted “Illitch!” Someone ran to the stage, picked up the program sheet rolled there and screamed in the microphone: “Comrades! These were the poems of Berda Kerbaev! “Remember Berdy Kerbayev!” After that, the hall was covered with a new wave of choking and the screams were heard “Illitch! “Kerbaev!” The organizers overturned the further program and all of the friendly crowd fell into the "Float" opposite.

I returned home, where late in the evening I was found by a joyful mom who returned from the holiday. Instead of blaming me for ignoring simple Turkmen surnames, she hugged me and said, “Everyone says this was Lenin’s best birthday in years! In "The Butterfly", everyone tried to remember the author's name until night and almost fought! I’ll go to work because the holiday isn’t over yet and I’m sure someone will bring us and you go to bed.” At the threshold, she turned around and asked, “Say slowly, what is his name? I will have to cure them all, they will ask.”

People once asked God.
Why is there so much injustice, lies, deaths, corruption, violence and wars on this earth? People asked God.
God, in turn, looked at the people and asked them:
Do you not like all this?? to
No, of course not God. People were screaming.
Then God shrugged his shoulders and said:
Well, do not do that!

Xxx: Why am I returning from the journey with clogs, and who is with my wife?



You both come back with blood.

I often see children at the box office ask, “What is this?” referring to condoms. Many parents are embarrassed and don’t know what to answer. And the children are upset, all in the row and the cashier is upset. They see how parents turn out, the parents are even more embarrassed about this.

Not long ago I saw a father whom his son asked about condoms. So he just said "this is condoms" his son asked why they were. The father said, “They are not to answer questions about what they are and what they are needed for.

Usually fighting lenius has to lie down. Therefore, Lenny has a considerable advantage - the struggle takes place on its territory.

Publishing his debut novel “Hello, sadness!“François Sagan got a good reward for the book. During the time of moneylessness, she made her first income to "walk mad."
She also dreamed of buying an apartment, but pushed away these thoughts: the pledge is a pledge, it must be performed.
And here Francoise came to "knead" to the resort of Onfleur and Dovil. After spending almost all the money, I went to play on the remaining in the casino.
Sagan loved the numbers 3, 8, 11. After losing on 3-x and 11-ti, she put everything on 8 black and won 300,000 francs.
After drinking the most expensive champagne from her throat, she went to look for a place to sleep. It is said that champagne confuses thoughts, intentions and ways. In the eye came a lovely mansion, from which a picturesque view opened. It was a private family hotel.
Upon entering, Sagan talked to the owner. He regretted that the hotel was crowded, and Francoise insisted that she was drunk and wanted to sleep. The owner just shrugged his shoulders, saying, you can’t do anything. Françoise asked how much the house was worth? The owner replied, "200 thousand," which Sagan opened the bag, dropped 300 thousand and stated with a confusing voice that she no longer wanted a room, but bought the entire hotel.
The owner could only ask, “And what to do with the guests?” The buyer generously allowed them to stay for the summer, and the mansion she will take in the autumn.
Francoise Sagan spent almost her entire life in this house, calling it "The House of My Heart". Today it is the writer’s home museum.

Briefly about English.
Each "c" in the "Pacific Ocean" is pronounced differently.

Recently, the ruble has grown confidently, but does not yield.

One St. Petersburg publication Roskomnadzor blocked seven times in a row. They were revived under slightly changed names, and for the eighth time took the very strange name sebeanus.online. The idea became clear when reports appeared in the press "Roskomnadzor blocked the anus."

The State Duma proposed to remove all unprofitable articles from the Criminal Code.

Dmitry Medvedev urged to reduce by 2024 half the number of people with incomes below the subsistence minimum.



God, I don’t want to die.

At some point there is boredom, wanting something new is not always the partner for this new agreed. And so if with interest and imagination you can and every day and many times. I had a girlfriend I had sex with probably everywhere. In the afternoon we went to the bushes in the quiet courtyard, under the rain on the street on the bench, in the park, in the toilet at the airport, in the toilet to the cinema, in the short movie where there were few eyes, on the beach under the cloth was even the most extreme. We separated because I was without a house without a car and promising work.



Yyy: Shortly she wanted to try in comfortable conditions.

A very long time ago, in 2002, he worked in a fairly large company as the chief logist. The company produced dry building mixtures (pins, scraps, etc.)

So then. Beginning of December.

These mixtures, at this time, are not needed by anyone. Everyone buys trees, guirls, gifts.

But the plan must be done...

Then the director comes to mind with a wonderful idea. He gathers the entire sales department (I, why so, was also invited) and gives a wonderful speech.

Because we are one team, we are the best, we will win. and! Every manager who fulfills the December plan will receive $1,000! (At that time, the amount is very large).

Two managers (of 12), I don’t know how, but this plan was implemented.

At the end of January, they come to the cash for their salary. You know, they are asking questions.

Where is the promised $1000? “!”

Treasurer, I don’t know, nothing, I say, I don’t know, go to the one who promised.

They took courage and went to the director.

“Yes, say and say, did you not forget, Mr. Director, that you promised a promised $1,000 for the execution of the sales plan?”

And the director thought, thought... and said a phrase from the headline.

“I promised, but I did not guarantee.”

The managers went astonished. They worked for a couple of weeks and left.

xxx: We were so bitten ten years ago at a corporate, the damaging aunt of the chief. I couldn’t really take a few minutes, I didn’t know how. She was bitten by a young woman who worked as a sales representative. The conflict between them had grown long, they were drunk and the fight began. I bit her hand, there was no blood, but the bleeding was huge. The girl held her hand with her teeth, and her hands were able to beat. The accountant did as much as he could. The most interesting thing is that nobody liked the headbuck and therefore did not rush. In short, we had fun, no one fired anyone.



Yyy: You have great corporations!))

Often people who have everything in chocolate smell bad.

How the nobles do, not the courtyard - Benkendorf's speech in the Decembrist investigation.

Just a completely new perspective on this historic personality.
In the investigation in the case of the “Decabrists” – Alexander Christoforovich Benkendorf for the first interrogation gathered all the accused and told them the following:
“Are you claiming that you have risen for freedom for the bonds and the Constitution? and praise. I ask those of you who gave this very freedom to the servants - not to drive them out on the street, so that they die like homeless dogs, hungry under the fence, but let go with the ground, lifting and strength help - raise your hand. If there are such, the case against them will be terminated, since they actually act according to their own conscience. I am waiting. There is no one?
As strange as it is... I let his serfs go to Livonia in 1816 and to Tambov province in 1818. Everyone came out with the ground, with the initial means. I paid for each of them taxes for five years ahead to the state treasury. I do not consider myself a liberal or a liberator. I am more profitable. These people work better. I make money from mowing, grinding forests and other things for my former peasants. I have already covered all my expenses and got a profit from all this. And I do not go out on the square with crazy statements or protests against the Emperor, or even more, against the Empire!
Since you cannot prove that this is a political matter, we will judge you as rebels and traitors of the Fatherland, like Yemelka Pugachev. Everyone on the cameras! At one stage with the criminals go, shit!”

He stood in the airport with a sign, met a man. Tatarina named Zamir Zakiev. Meeting the dawn in the KPZ.

When ordering a car from Europe, there are sometimes strange requests. from recently:

- Dmitry, you know, in some cars, namely in the luggage compartments there is a special pen, for the case of different force majeure... well you understand... if suddenly someone is in the luggage compartment, you can knock inside and the luggage compartment will open.

Yes, there is such a system, we can pick up a car with it.

“You didn’t understand... It is extremely important that there is no such lever in the car’s luggage.