The spokesman of President Peskov said that Putin is in favor of the change of power. And they say that politicians don’t have a sense of humor.)

Dogs of Cook Islands

Cook Islands is a paradise place, indeed - far away. Very, very far away.
A village in the middle of the ocean. Tourism is not ruined.
I ask for something to eat in the barbecue, the barbecue says, I close.
I explain that I just arrived - she apologizes, and mastery me a thick sandwich - for free. You start paying tomorrow.
There is only a man on the road. He says I go to work. What kind of work is it on Sunday? I am the Minister of Finance.
A tiny resort where we (from the hostel) are allowed to use the pool, lounges, and close our eyes to the fact that we steal shampoo from the shower. The whole hostel is filled with these little green bottles.
The prison is called the "Hotel of Broken Hearts", the only inhabitant is a British who drinks on Saturdays and boasts at the worship. In the sense, it is drunk every day, but it is planted on Saturdays.
On the coins is the local god, Rarotonga. It looks like a three-legged one, but it’s not a foot at all. On the edge is the Queen of England. His Majesty is very pleased.
I give right. There were only five roads. The last point on the road is to watch for dogs.
There are many homeless dogs - all kind, calm, in bandanas on the neck. They are watched by the windpoint. Dogs catch fish in the lagoon. They wander, wander, then hop and dive. Only the ass from the water pulls, the tail flaps.
Sometimes poisoned with poisonous fish, then veterinarians put them on an infrared table - to maintain body temperature. Run then with a bald side, tea, not winter in the courtyard. Weather, with rare exceptions - 26-28.
In the evening, the dogs admire the sunset. A dog pair is sitting in the water, only the wet earring heads are visible, and watching the enormous sun sink beyond the edge of the earth.

If the horses did everything to make sure they could not be changed, then the crossing will never end.

I work in a hospital as a nurse.

Today my grandmother asked me to help call my son (you know, these grandmothers don't know the technique). I asked, what is my son’s name? She says “Daniel.” I'm looking for a phone list for Daniel. not found. He told her about it. And she says, “He’s written on my phone like Taras.”

Tired of living in Pelevin's novel

I remembered the old joke to get to the girl, decided to go. I sit in a cafe, two girls are sitting at the table in front of me, and I think, “You will become my victims.” He wrote on the servette, “Let’s have dinner. Yes, smile to me. Make a salad.” I handed the servette to the waitress. The girl read, looked at me, smiled, stood up and made a salto!
Life did not prepare me for that.
P. S. met, ate dinner, became a gymnast

The plot for the modern screenplay of Gogol's book "Dead Souls": Chitchov buys accounts of deceased people to sell them to organizers of electronic voting

The election has passed, the statistics from Covid can be adjusted to increase.

I take a taxi from Birobijan to Khabarovsk.
The taxi driver of Biobidjan, sociable, says he is storming. I object to:
- Rather, kerim (Russian metys with storms, now this word is forgotten)
My mother is Russian.
Do you know any Jews? I ask.
There is...
Who is?
The testimony is Jewish.
I thought: And a Jewish aunt...
And the wife?! to
And my wife too...
And the children?
The children are Russians.
Are they living with you?
In Israel...

“Mom, where is Dad going?
“Oh, son, our dad has a wacht in Russia, he makes money. My dad works in the state. But don’t worry, he will work and come back to us! Home to London.

For a year and a half full-time freelance for 15-20 hours a day (sometimes two days in a row I work, then a day off sleep) was filled with funny situations. For example, I did not drive a car last winter. After NG went out once to dig it out of the snow, because the car already almost looked like a patan priora, lowered to zero. I often forget what my wife said, a second after the conversation, because the writers will write and perform.

Apophysis occurred this summer. I’ve been sitting behind the compass for more than 30 hours. A woman wakes up in the morning. Her first phrase: "Say you didn't eat from a dog dish at night." And I have a dog’s bowl on the table, and a spoonful runs out of it. My wife washed the dishes with her dog’s dish. I went out in the night to look for boob-eat, took the first "table" from a bunch of washed dishes, sprinkled the strawberries there and, apparently, ignorantly ate xD

People love someone else’s dirty clothes so much because they are not too clean.

There are many legends and stories about the hockey confrontation of Canadian professionals and "amateurs" from the USSR national team. Someone will be interesting. Canada Cup of 1981. In the preliminary stage, the Canadians thundered us 7:3, apparently in memory of 1972. The next meeting is in the final. Before that, Mike Bossi (the surname of his grandfather Bosy) and twenty-year-old Wayne Gretzky (the grandfather was called Terence Gretzky) made what they wanted - 13 goals in six matches. The team's final was led by the winning coach Scotty Bowmen and Victor Tychonov. I think the bookmakers warm their hands well. Our team won 8-1 and nobody was able to bet on them.
After the end of the final match in the dressing room of the Soviet team accompanied by the police entered the main organizer of the tournament, the executive director of the association of players of the NHL Alan Eagles and selected minutes earlier solemnly awarded to the winners the main prize - a huge cup of expensive nickel alloy in the form of half a clay sheet. Iglson explained his actions as follows: "The cup belongs to the Government of Canada, and its place in the Hall of Fame." Previously, the organizers did not announce that the main prize is immutable. This act has caused confusion among Canadian fans. One of them, Winnipeg entrepreneur George Smith, launched a fundraising campaign to create a copy of the trophy. After collecting several thousand dollars, a copy of the Canada Cup was made, later handed over through the Soviet embassy to Moscow and handed over to the CCCP.

After watching advertisements on TV for a day, it was sad for Maxim Galkin...
He lives on credit, charges on AliExpress, holds his wife and children on cash.

I am going to Pskov. Join the Union Press:

Please give me a map of Pskov.

Do you find the cheapest?

Take the cheapest.

Later, I tried to use the map to orient the area and not

could.

I was sold a souvenir card of Pskov of the 19th century.

The more convincing your arguments in a dispute with a woman, the more likely she will understand you and the less likely she will agree with you.

It was a long time, a month or two before I was born. My parents were on a trolley bus to work. When they entered, my mother stuck in the passage - I had to be careful and walk quietly. Dad went to the salon faster, sat down on the remaining seat and called her. When Mom came, Dad gave her a seat. Nearby was a mouthpiece. Hearing that his father invited his mother to sit down, he moved the pregnant woman with his back, pushed her away and splashed into the only free seat from which he stood up. My mother was in a hurry and tried to tell him something. Jolob smiled, stared at his parents and hiccalled disgustingly.

The father reacted furiously. He did not start to shame him, to anger him, not to beat him. He pulled off his gorgeous fur hat from the wretch and threw it out through the door of the trolleybus right into a deep pit at the stop. The man cried out, “You... Etta?” The bullet flew out to catch the hat. His father gave him the acceleration with a pinch under his ass. The trolleybus driver, who, apparently, watched what was happening in the cabin in the mirror, closed the door and not rushed away. The man with a wet hat in his hands tried to catch up with the trolleybus, slapping the cloth and shaking the butt, but the driver did not stop. My mother sat down and safely arrived at the subway.

Once Mr. Peskov opened our eyes to the fact that the unimportant life of the people in Russia is the result of two world wars. Judging only by the hours for 500 thousand euros, both wars were very even beneficial to Peskov himself.

When I was lost, I was not five or ten, but thirty-five, and it happened like this:



On the weekend, as usual, my husband and I went to a large shopping center to shop for food in Ashan. The shopping center was a building in the form of a podkova with a car park in the middle. When we entered the "podkova", I remembered that I needed to buy pet food.

“Slow down here, I’ll buy Vanke’s food, and we’ll meet in Ashan.” I burned up, jumped out of the car, shut the door and ran toward the zoo store, where they sold food for our dog (there is no such thing in Ashan). And the husband went further, to the other end of the "podkova".

On the box in the store found a not pleasant thing - I left a card at home. This is Growth! But in the wallet found a pair of banknotes, it was enough for a pack of food and two toys, the delivery - two rubles. I went out of the store, wanted to call... There was no phone in the bag, in my pockets too. Where did I see him last time? In the car! I held it in my arms and then put it on my knees...What a day!

And then I cooled off from the realization: I don’t have my phone with me, money too, I’m far from home, where my husband is now and where our car – I don’t know.



Relax and no panic! You can ask someone for a phone, but now there are so many scammers, no, sooner or later, of course, someone will pity, but we still postpone it to the extreme. So what else?  Running through a huge, crowded store, hoping to encounter a spouse is not an option. At the box there are sixty. Watching her husband out of the store? But they are two on the ground, another on the underground parking lot and one in the TC. Find my car and wait there. We have such an average sedan, black color. How many are there such? One hundred or two hundred? And there are two levels of underground parking, the husband could also go there. Will he find me in the car?

I can go home – there is a computer, I can write, I can call my husband so that he doesn’t look for me and go home. There is no money for the route. And what, to get along?! to

“Country people, give money on the way home, I was in trouble, I lost my husband (and my car).”

Going on foot? A few kilometers to go, an hour and a half or two I will get, the weather is dirty and the road too, but you can catch a trick. No, this is all nonsense! Try to get in touch with your husband. Appeal to the CCS?



Here I am stupid! Announcements on loud communication in Ashan!!! How many times have I heard: “Seryeža Ivanov is waiting for her mom at the first box office. Olya Petrova, your mother is waiting for you at the first box.”

I ran to the information station.

Where can I send an announcement that a person is missing?

Hi here here. Who is lost to you? A woman answered because of the stand.

I lost my husband, no. I am lost!

The woman looked at me with a very surprised look.

And I began to explain to her, confusingly, what happened to me, and that now I have neither phone nor money (only a pack of horny food and two balls), that I do not know where my husband is, that is, I know he is somewhere in Ashan right now.

“Girl, the thing is that we only give high-speed ads about incapable people: young children, elderly people with dementia. You do not fall into any of these categories. - the employee of the store answered me and at the same time looked so that it became clear to me, in my capacity she still doubts.

And what should I do now? I made a complaint voice.

The woman said, “Do you remember your husband’s phone?” I actively shrugged my head. She gave me a phone call: “Thank God! “Call me...”

I have a scary appearance and women are afraid of me. Those who are not afraid, I am afraid.