I go on the route:

You know, Zoyka’s husband had gold. All my daughters bought apartments. When my granddaughter was born, I took a mortgage. As he paid the mortgage, so the repair made the apartment expensive and died later. This was gold, not a man.



I sit and think: the man all his life struggled with mortgages, repairs, and then died and did not live a niqab for himself.

In the fight against poverty, we must not destroy the poor.

The story of yesterday reminded me.

“Brow the good into the water.”

Epigram: “Guest in the house, joy in the house”

During the war, my grandfather served as a squadron in the 1st SISBR. Its full name: 1st Strike Engineer-Sapper Smolensk Red-Flag Order of Suvorov and Kutuzov Komsomol Brigade (who is interested in reading about such brigades, here is the link http://erazvitie.org/article/shturmovye_inzhnery). It follows from the name itself that the title was earned for the liberation of Smolensk. There, in the distant 1943, fierce battles were fought, and the losses among the assailants were enormous, because they were thrown into the very hell, but he was lucky. Years later, the few surviving brigade veterans even gathered in Smolensk for meetings. Grandfather also travelled several times, drank vodka, saw old faces of friends, and remembered things that he would like to forget.

Time runs, 25 years have passed after the liberation of Smolensk, grandfather quietly works as a teacher of mathematics in school and raises daughters. Although the family lives quite modestly in a very old, pre-revolutionary house, in a small two-bedroom apartment, he is quite happy with the fate. Suddenly, one beautiful evening, a noise in the hallway and a knock on the door. He opens, and he has 6-7 high school students and a couple of older boys on his doorstep.

He is astonished,
Who are you all?
They explain that they are young trailers (there was such a pioneer-komsomol movement in Soviet times).
What do you want from me?

He had such a moment in his biography. In 1943, for the liberation of Smolensk he was awarded a Grammy from the Central Committee of VKLSM. Healthy such a sheet, where it is quite pathetically written, how good it is. Gramota grandfather nafik was not needed, because the thing is uncomfortable, and where to put it, and what to do with it - it is unclear, because there is no place to store. Well, you can, of course, fold it and put it in a bag, but the product appearance it will then, obviously, lose. And considering that he is not a rear soldier, and with his squadron all the time on the front, in the snow, rain, and dirt, then surely from the beautiful paper will soon remain only scratches, how do not save it. As a result, he looked at her, twisted her hands, and left her at the brigade headquarters until the best times, because it would be safer. “The war will end, I will deal with it if I survive.“ I thought.

Soon I forgot about it entirely, because between the marches, passages on the mine fields, attacks, and wounds, there was something to do. The war ended in a completely different part, so the document did not have to take. Surprisingly, when the brigade was disbanded, the literature was not thrown out, and in some way it was transferred to the Smolensk Regional Museum, where it was displayed as an exhibition. My grandfather did not even know about it.

These young trailers found the literature in the museum, and... decided to find the grandfather. How they found out the address, I have no idea. But a whole group, having set up bicycles, left Smolensk, the benefit of riding is not very much, 150-180 kilometers. We drove, we drove, and then, in the evening, we fell in with unexpected guests.

My grandfather and grandmother were not rich people, but very salted. Clearly, they were not ready for such a visit, and the time later, the shops are closed, but the village hardening is strong. To refuse a guest, even uninvited, is shame and shame. Therefore, the grandmother, having abandoned all affairs, prepared a delicious dinner for everyone, eating all the supplies that were at home. And while she spelled over food in the kitchen, the grandfather entertained the guests with all sorts of military stories. My aunt, who was then a junior high school student, of course, this event was delayed in memory.

I do not know where these brave trailers expected to spend the night, but, of course, grandfather and grandmother did not put them anywhere for the night looking, all somehow dismantled, giving all the blankets, blankets, carpets, and pillows. In the morning, my grandmother made sandwiches. A funny incident happened, but soon forgot about it.

A dozen years later, my aunt graduated from the medical institute in Leningrad, and here she, like all the young specialists, should get the distribution. Many of her friends went to some deaf villages in Karelia, and she appears to be the same. She, over the years of her studies, became accustomed to Leningrad, and, obviously, did not want to go anywhere, especially to the hell. But distribution is distribution, you won’t argue here. Grandfather and grandmother are not very happy with the upcoming schedule, but "if the Motherland said it was necessary, the people will answer to eat."

And here in the distribution commission is one important uncle. He himself is not much older than her, but the weight there is considerable. Commander of Komsomol. She looks at her papers, notices her name, pays attention to her paternity. He seems to remember something.
Is your father like that? He asks.
Yes, he is answering.
Are you from City N?
is also true.

It turns out, this guy was one of those Komsomol-trackers, who many years ago visited my grandfather and grandmother. He did not forget the good reception, and remembered the girl who listened enthusiastically to her father's stories. Should I say that with the distribution everything went as well as she wanted.

This is actually all. Throw the good into the water and it will return to you.

The pandemic became similar to the career of Alla Pugacheva. It doesn’t end, but it’s all over.

I sit at the reception in the hotel in the morning. I was approached by a drunk tourist who arrived two days earlier. And he begins to tell that immediately after the arrival went to the prostitutes, spent with them for two days, in the end they stole from him $ 500 and a phone. Here I begin to be stressed in the expectation that I will be asked to find all the lost, because for the tourist the representative of the tour company is something of the middle between a personal slave and a wizard. The tourist, looking at me, reassures me:

I am not in complaint. I was drunk and it was worth it. You just call my wife to arrange, I need to tell her that it went well!

I explain how you can call the receptionist and he goes to the room for money. He returns and claims that the money was stolen. He recounted them literally before meeting me, put them in the safe, half an hour passed and now there is no money. I suggest calling the police, but I warn in advance that since a man is drunk at nine in the morning, the police are unlikely to do anything. But he so confidently says that the money was there, and I was so scammed that I was not sent to look for the phone from the prostitutes that I went to talk to the hotel manager. The manager was even more skeptical than I was about the situation, but invited the head of the guard. The head of the guard came and, seeing the tourist, almost died of laughter. On his phone he showed us a series of photos of an absolutely naked tourist sleeping under the door of his room. As it turned out, the clothes with the keys to the room were also left with the prostitutes! Then we went to see the safe from which the money was missing. The security guard and the manager entered, and I saw from the threshold that the room was crushed: the curtains were broken, the TV rolled on the floor, the sailors were all in dark spots, and did not enter there. An angry manager comes out and asks me to go into the room and leads me to the bathroom. Everything is shit there! I’ve never seen so much shit! And in the middle of the damned bathroom lies a pack of money! The happy tourist gets the money, recount, rejoices that everything is in place, pulls out a few bills and offers us all for tea! They say that money does not smell.

In ancient times, in the year 2004 I found a point of sale of red brick in the MO at a price twice as high as in the Orlovsk region. He carried a brick on the "border" KAMAZE, and loaded it not with paddles, but folded it into the body manually. From the wagonets on the KAMAZ 5 loaders of the beautiful floor loaded me 5000 bricks in 2 hours. Break for lunch with a bottle of vodka.

I came to the facility (concrete, village of Jedochi), the workers tell me:

Take a selfie!

Are you crazy? Then we will only bury the hole on the road!

It’s not me, he said.

I raised the body and 12 Moldovans loaded the brick for 6 hours! I even fell asleep on the way back. The workers asked how much I was loaded?

Five women in two hours.

About the break for vodka did not talk, the men were as silent as they heard.

I don’t know what the prorab told them, but the next flights were unloaded in two hours, the same twelve people.

2.4 Moldovan men against one Orlov woman! Here is gender equality.

Commentary on VK Football Group:



I am a long-distance driver. Football is rarely seen. There is no sex for months. I recently went on a tour and wanted to relax. He stopped, and an experienced "worker" was in the car. She has been a prostitute since she was 16. From the long-haul driver and flew.

While she was making me shake, I climbed in that group and watched the news about the transfers. She saw it and said, “You don’t have to pay for services today.” I was surprised and asked why. She replied, "I am grateful that you have signed this publication, because the administrator of this group is my son."

and Vietnam. I meet in the hotel tourists who leave after a two-week vacation:

How did you rest?

The tour operator was fooled.

How is?

I said there is a sea.

The hotel is right on the beach!

What is it in yours?

This is not a sea, it is a sea! We didn’t go swimming here. You can see another shore at night.

You can see the lights of fishing boats at night.)

Xxx: The case was in Moscow somewhere in 2000. My memory of work took me to the area between Timiryazevskaya and Water Stadium. A dormitory area with old five-story floors. It was not there for a long time, it could have been renovated.

It took me, meaning a sharp stomach. So open up in the middle of the yard. Well, in the first, it is not cultural, in the second, in the courtyard at noon around a bunch of people, and there is no hygiene with you. I think we need to move for as long as the situation allows, and then we will see. Quarter, two, three,... and here on the side of the department, then the police. Fuck him, whatever it is. I go to the train with open eyes.

Can you go to the toilet? There is no urine at all.

The look of the officer at this time is invaluable. He could only knock his finger on the right door.

As the process came to an end, the thought dimmed: will they not accept me now, for confidence and overgrowth? No is. Comfortably went out. I washed my hands in the dishwasher. I thanked the officer. There was a monkey there. Those who lived there at the time accompanied me with open mouths.



Yyy: What is that? A policeman is also a man. It’s not always good, but it’s not Nibiru’s donkey. In addition, the officer prevented a possible offence.



Zzz: And could wait for the offence and the penalty fucking. Increase the disclosure.

I remember 2007-2008. In the days of relative youth, we rested with the company in the club. Well, my friend had a rams with a guy on the dance field who hit someone with his elbow. Word for word, let’s go out, let’s do it. This left-handed guy gets a xiva fsbshnik, although you can't see more than 24 years. My friend sharply grabs her out of his hand and breaks her in half. So more than 10 years have passed, and the face of the guy, who almost cried because of this, is still in memory. There was no fight at the end, he collected the pieces and left.

Sometimes people express their feelings in an obscene way. So his feelings are so great that they do not fit into the censorship form.

Do good and throw it into the water.

History was brief. Found the phone on the Pavelecki smartphone, inside contacts associated with the police, photos in the form apparently the employee lost. I found the contact wife and I call there, I say so and so I found the phone come take it, and they on me with a type of ride I pulled out, the thief, I will be arrested if I do not bring to the address. I told them to go to the X%th class with 11 classes behind their shoulders, look for him now, I tried to help you and you hit. He threw a river into Moscow.

In the morning, wash with warm water in the basement. But then all day - briefings, digital, business integration in the technology of the 21st century.

The typical parent: “And if everyone jumps from the roof, will you also jump?”

Machine learning algorithm: yes

I was on a bus from work. The bus was very small. between the usual and the routine. I was sitting at the window in the back of the room. And at the next stop comes an enormous size aunt with a son aged 9-10, but not much inferior to her in weight. They go to my side. Well I thought that on the back row of seats (these are those from the wall to the wall in a row at the end of the cabin). But I did not guess. The woman demanded that I give up my seat because the child wants to sit at the window and in general behind all kinds of exhaust gases (in the cabin) and this is harmful to health. She will sit down so that the child is protected. No problem, I moved to the back. Per someone will say that they should have been sent, but I am not a fan of arranging a scandal in an empty place.

It turned out they had to get out through three stops. And here began the circus. The woman was able to get up. Sitting in one half pocket. His son was stuck between the ranks. I recall, the bus is small, the distance between the rows of seats is poor, and even the seats have somewhat unusual shape.

The roar and cries of this grandmother (scuck, naturally hysterical), the driver's mat and the boy's cry and panic. And this aunt first tried to just pull him out, which naturally did not work out. He did not want to let anyone come and asked for rescue.

Since I did not want to sit and wait in the bus to resolve the situation, and it was not possible to go past this rock, somehow persuaded her, allow me to help her child. Carefully helped him get out (the first physical education and how the average citizen was constructed, I still remember).

The aunt grabbed the boy’s hand and retreated from the car. I was glad I got home on time.

P.S I never understood parents who feed their children to this extent. This is not enough that health problems will be, as well as a lot of complexes (not all of us on body positive). If you don’t care about your health, why should you feed your child?

I had an X285cm number on the previous car. The colleagues had been choking for a long time, exactly until one of them was given the number x107mm.

happened in the days

Next to the house there is a small collective market - cream, milk, eggs, vegetables.

I buy eggs and they are already packed. I ask, what if it is broken? The seller answers - you bring, I change (often I take from her).

I came home, one broken. I took it, went, changed it. I go home without a bag, carrying an egg in my hand. And here I meet three classmates - fun, pick up, vegetables, meat, beer and other supplies clearly for rest. We haven’t seen each other for many years, with one since the release, it’s been 15 years. And I still got away from everyone - the phone number changed, no one knows... They write down my number, promise to add me to the shared chat in Weiber.

It turns out, some kind of hustle is being planned, there will still be half of the group members, they call me with them, and I, as usual, in the night to go to work on a business trip to drive, carry equipment and can not be transferred. Therefore, I refuse to meet with classmates, but I still have no time to say the reason as one of my friends asks:

What do you do with eggs on the street?

And here it took me:

- A new chip, - I say, - training of attention and concentration, you need to carry the egg in your hand for three weeks, not releasing, guard it, sleep with it. So I can't go with you, I'll break up drunk. I can’t, I can’t wash my eggs today.

There is a grave silence.

“Well, okay,” I said, “hello everyone, good evening, I went home to bathe the eggs.

Why have I never been added to the chat?

My first day at school was like this:

First day at school.

I went to the ambulance with my mother.

brought to class.

Second day at school.

Remember the road to school?

I remember it!(But I remembered approximately, and I never said “no”)

I don’t have time, go out alone.

I am OK.

The school found. The office as well (as I thought). I studied for two weeks in second grade.

I often read on Picaba stories about the greed and "adequacy" of individual personalities, but usually in my life I rarely encounter such, but today has become an exception.

I went to the nearest shopping center to buy rolls in a local store. There at 21 starts the sale of the remains of what they have prepared during the day. From 21.00 to 21.45 discount 20%, from 21.45 to 22.00 discount 50%. People thirsty for the maximum discount, start to get in line much in advance and wait for 20-30 minutes.

I approach the seller, about 21.30 and take the last 6 pieces of Philadelphia, some last with acne, in general I pick up a large box for my whole family. And then the aunt from the row indignantly and reproachfully says to me, "Wow, could not get in the row? You see, people are standing. I would stand and wait with everyone.” Apparently the aunt in her head has already planned what she is going to take now and how delicious she will eat, and there is a breakdown. I answered, of course, that nobody hindered her from buying rolls as she came and not standing in a row, but for her I remained a bastard who doesn’t think about others at all)))

This story was told to me by a former police officer in 1996 during a joint trip to a wine and vodka factory. At that time he worked with me in a law firm as a lawyer in economic affairs. He was 60 at the time, so I think this story won’t hurt him anymore.

My uncle was very interesting. Impulsive, after the word in the pocket does not climb, such an electromagnetic. He resigned from the police, not serving until retirement for several years, and for what reason - did not speak.

There was nothing to do in the evening on a business trip and so he told me all sorts of stories from his rich police life. I tell the story as I have heard and remembered. I think that in the terminology of the police and legal I’m wrong somewhere, but don’t be disappointed, I’m not a specialist in this.

A story from the first person.



I worked at the end of the 1970s in a large village near the district center. And I had a local debosher and a drunkard. He did not give life to his wife or neighbors. I planted it several times for 15 days, and in the area he was several times in all slight affairs, such as "going into the cellar, drinking a port wine and sleeping there." And it would be okay for one to behave like that, so no, there were constantly gathered around him all kinds of blurred personalities and local crap.

My wife was drunk often. I’ll take him to the department, get stuck in the corner, I’ll start writing, and his wife comes with a finger, persuades me to forgive him and let go. And so week by week.

Indicators he regularly spoiled me, then hit, then something is broken, then a complaint on me will write. In short, one hemorrhoid was with him.

Once again he got drunk and beat his wife very hard. I was in the district center for my business that day and came to the village already in the evening. From the locals learned the story that his wife he beat heavily, neighbors barely reassured him. The woman was taken to a rural medical centre. I come to the medical center - and her ambulance has already taken her to the district center. He broke her eye and broke her hand.

Well, I think you are such a fucker, now you will not hide behind my heart-sick wife, you will definitely get into the zone. And all of this nervous went to him at home.

I approach the house, and his house goes out through the windows to the street, there is no palace and when you approach, you can see, if the curtains are not shut, what is happening at home. I see - and this fool stands on the board, neck in the loop and looks where I am. See, I realized that now he did not turn away from the zone and decided to commit a suicide attempt to foolishly cut off (and then suicides were always sent for treatment in psychiatric hospitals).

He saw that I was already under the windows, and drowned the table. I first rushed to the door, but then the thought came to my head, sat down on the shop, smoked papyrus. I sat down and smoked in a hurry. He entered the house, examined the body, called the officer, committed suicide.

I fell then from the boss a little for suicide on the site, but the problems became less.

His wife's hand strained, and the eye, as it turned out, did not beat her husband, but only hurt her heavily. The vision was restored later.