We moved to this apartment a week ago. I haven’t had time to meet anyone yet. And here one day.

There is no more than nine in the morning. The Saturday. I wake up, I don’t touch anyone, I drink coffee, I read Picaba. Day by day at the door. I open. On the threshold a bald man in a maid.

Is there a shuffle?

No greetings, no greetings. I was sitting.

It is.

to go.

Somehow I begin to realize that something is wrong. I say.

First of all, good morning. Secondly, from what to be?

I need to collect the closet.

and collect.

Give me a shrek.

What to do, fucking?

What about you, difficult guy?

to Goodbye.

Close the door. Good morning.

My mom was in the next scene. My classmate was given a low rating for a piece in which he expressed his own opinion. His mother came to talk to a teacher of literature. In the words, “But the child can have his own opinion!” The answer was: “Maybe, but it should not differ from the generally accepted.” We’ve had these words since then like a saying.

xxx: My neighbor loved rap mother to listen, in the day, at night, in the morning, and louder, and bump with friends in the entrance, for five years I struggled with him by legal methods, sometimes a month for three was enough, and sometimes a pofig was! And then he died.

YYY: I like good endings.

Patience and work.

These are the main merits of the slave.

We stand with my sister in the evening on the street, admiring Sirius, the brightest star in the night sky. I tell her:
Let’s get closer so we can see better.
And we went.
30 seconds later she arrived.

Rice Court in Perm decided to block a site with instructions "How to make an atomic bomb at home", which began with the words: "Send a girl to the basement, let her bring 27 pounds of good weapons plutonium..."

When a horse changes the steppe to a feeder in the courtyard, and a rider on a chariot with grain, he becomes an ass.
The Monolithic Proverb

I was three years old, although many years have passed, but I remember this adventure clearly. Mom and Dad were lying on a stone going into the sea, sunbathing. Dad covered his face with a newspaper. My mom is doing something too. And I, as a brave pioneer, moved to the very edge of the stone. The water in our part of the Caspian Sea in the summer is cold, but very clean and transparent.
There was a bull on the bottom.
What do brave heroes do in three years? They boldly step from the stone into the sea. Well, what about the fact that there is a meter deep, well, that we can’t swim. The fish is there! Have any proposals? There are no proposals!
My mother heard the bullshit. The child was no longer on the stone.
She rushed to the edge of the stone and grabbed her son for his hair, raised his head over the water and heard an angry excuse.
What are you doing? Do you see, I’m catching a bull?! to
As if the bull did not catch you.
Fortunately for me, a guy was swimming in the aqualance next to me. Almost a cosmonaut at that time, 1977.
He immediately understood my male concerns and caught me a bull, which was placed in a litre bowl.
Satisfied and proud of my prey, I protracted to the house, where I did not delay to boast my bull to the domestic cat Vasske.
Here is! I said, look at what I have!! I showed him the bank.
Vaska Bull didn’t value as I wanted. He sharply pulled his foot into the bowl and a second later rushed with the fish in his teeth from the roaring child.
My mom hugged me and decided to calm me down.
This is a cat, they eat fish.
I am myself! I wanted to eat it myself!! She heard in response...

I have lived in the white for so long that I remember how once in our country socialism was replaced by advanced socialism, which was about to turn into communism, but missed the necessary turn and, disengaged during restructuring and acceleration, jumped immediately into wild capitalism. Which, in turn, has smoothly reincarnated itself into a vertically constructed feudalism and is now sailing toward a slave-owned democracy on all its vessels.

When snow falls, the cultural level of the inhabitants of the area becomes visible on the surface of the lawns.

A positive story.

In every family there is a person who has not gone. This is my grandmother. After my grandfather’s death six years ago, we moved her to ourselves.

My parents say that this Fate is avenging them for the lack of obvious teenage problems in both of our children, i.e. me and my sisters.
For example, in July, after receiving a pension, she ran out with her best friend at sea for a week, switched off the phone, and called when the money was out. My mother almost went crazy. I had to go pick them up. At the same time, the father was roaring and asked his aunt to take him with him the next time.

She has diabetes at an initial stage and when a district doctor with a super-serious appearance began to list that she can’t, she stopped it:
What happens if I eat it?
“You can die,” said the doctor with the most tragic and threatening appearance.
Okay to you! What seriously? Is there a chance at 86?

In short, we take insulin and eat what we want.

She plays chess on the boulevard with men – and wins! She sings in the choir “Welcome old ladies”, goes to the theatre and attends all free city events and concerts. I recently had a widow boyfriend eight years younger than myself.

Now they break up together.

Last weekend he played her races on quad-cycles. And then they drank 2 liters of homemade wine at dinner and fell asleep in front of the TV in a hug on the couch in the living room, where we stuck them, returning from the country, like a couple of teenagers. So Col’s grandfather was introduced to the family – a fainted mother, a fainting grandchildren and an invariably fainting dad.

I adore my grandmother – she is more positive and energetic than most of my young acquaintances. She loves life and knows how to enjoy it. “And how much of that life!” she replies to my mother for all her “mama, how about that?”

I want old age.

Not only does Putin himself not retire, he does not give it to others.

Russians are people who can do everything, but, unfortunately, not always.

The grandmother was fat, wide, with a soft, singing voice. “The whole apartment was besieged!” cried Borkin’s father. And his mother obstructed him timidly: “Old man... Where does she go?” “In the disabled home, her place is here!”
Everyone in the house, not excluding Borky, looked at the grandmother as a completely superfluous person.

My grandmother slept in the drawer. Thro the night she was hard rolling from side to side, and in the morning she stood up before everyone and grumbled in the kitchen with the dishes. Then the son-in-law and daughter-in-law woke up and said, “Samovar has fallen asleep. Rise up! Take a hot drink on the road.

She approached Borka: “Get up, my daddy, it is time to go to school!” “Why?” – Borka asked in a sleepy voice. “Why to school? The dark man is deaf and dumb – that’s why!”

Borka hid his head under the blanket: “Go, grandmother...”

In the woods, my father shrugged a venom. “Where are you, Mother, Galashi Deli? Every time you’re in every corner because of them!”

The grandmother rushed to help him. “There are they, Petra, in the very appearance. Yesterday they were very dirty, I washed them and put them.”

He came from Borka's school, dropped his coat and hat on his grandmother's hands, sprinkled a bag of books on the table and shouted, "Baby, eat!"

The grandmother hid the cloth, hurriedly covered it on the table and, crossing her hands on her stomach, watched Borka eat. In those hours, somehow involuntarily, Borka felt his grandmother as his close person. He told her about her lessons, comrades. The grandmother listened to him lovingly, with great attention, saying, “All is well, Borjushka: both bad and good is good. From a bad man becomes stronger, from a good soul he flourishes.

Naively, Borka pushed his plate away from him: “Tasteful jelly today! “Have you eaten, grandmother?” “Have you eaten,” the grandmother nodded her head. “Don’t worry about me, Boryuška, I’m, thank you, full and healthy.”

Comrade came to fight. Comrade said, “Hello, grandmother!” Borka joyfully pushed his elbow: “Let’s go, let’s go! You can’t say hello to her. She is an old woman.” The grandmother wore a coat, fixed the sweater and quietly moved her lips: "To hate - what to hit, to lick - you need to look for words."

And in the neighboring room, the comrade said to Borka: "And our grandmother is always greeted. Own and foreign. She is the main one for us.” “How is it – the main?” – interested Borka. “Well, the old woman... raised them all. She cannot be offended. What are you doing with yourself? Look, my father will warm up for it.” It will not heat up! A struggle broke out. He doesn’t say goodbye to her.”

After this conversation, Bork often asked his grandmother, "Do we hate you?" and told his parents, "Our grandmother is the best of all, and she lives the worst of all - no one cares about her." The mother was surprised, and the father was angry, “Who taught you to judge your parents? “Look at me, I’m still small!”

The grandmother, gently smiling, nodded her head: “You would, fools, have to be happy. Your son is growing! I have lived my own in the world, and your old age is ahead. What you kill, you will not return.”

* * * *

He was interested in the face of the grandmother. There were different wrinkles on this face: deep, small, thin, like threads, and wide, carved for years. “Why are you so painted? Very old?” he asked. Grandma was thinking. “On the wrinkles, the pigeon, the human life, like a book, can be read. The need and need are written here. The children were buried, crying – they lay on the face of wrinkles. The need endured, fought – again wrinkles. My husband was killed in the war – there were many tears, many wrinkles remained. There is a great rain, and it is in the land of the hole.”

He listened to Bork and looked in the mirror with fear: did he do little in his life - will the whole face be stretched with such strings? “Go you grandmother! He cried out. You always say nonsense.”

* * * *

In recent times, the grandmother suddenly squeezed, her back became round, she walked quieter and all sat down. “It grows in the ground,” his father joked. “Don’t laugh at the old man,” the mother insulted. And the grandmother in the kitchen said, “What is this, you, mom, like a turtle moving around the room? I’ll send you something and you won’t wait back.”

My grandmother died on May Day. She died alone, sitting in a chair with a tie in her hands: an unfinished socks lay on her knees, on the floor - a cluster of strings. I was waiting for a fight. There was a ready tool on the table.

The next day my grandmother was buried.

Returning from the courtyard, Borka found his mother sitting in front of the open box. Everything was broken down on the floor. It smells of stuff. The mother took out the dirty red shoe and carefully straightened it with her fingers. “My,” she said, and leaned low over the drawer. “My...”

At the very bottom of the box there was a box, the same, the most precious one that Borke always wanted to look into. The box opened. The father pulled out a tight cloth: there were warm sweaters for Borka, socks for the son-in-law and a bracelet for the daughter. They were followed by a tailored shirt of old coloured silk – also for Borka. In the corner was a bag with slides, tied with a red ribbon. On the bag something was written in large letters. The father turned him in his arms, squeezed and read loudly: "To my granddaughter Borjushka."

Borkka suddenly pale, pulled out his bag and fled to the street. There, sitting at the door of other people, he looked long into the grandmother’s carakula: “To my granddaughter Borjushka.” In the letter “s” there were four sticks. “I have not learned!” thought Borka. How many times he explained to her that the letter “sh” contained three sticks... And suddenly, as if she were alive, a grandmother stood before him – silent, guilty, who had not learned the lesson. Borka looked at his house confusedly and, pressing a bag in his hand, ran down the street along someone else’s long fence.

He came home late in the evening; his eyes were swollen from tears, and fresh clay was attached to his knees. He put the bag under his pillow and, closing his head with a blanket, thought, "Baby will not come in the morning!"

Valentina Oseeva

A wise authority fights the causes of protests, a foolish one fights the protesters.

The more I look at our spiritual leaders,

The more I believe in atheism.

Everyone knows that in the territory of the former USSR, the men have an eternal common theme - the army. No matter how many years a man has - the number of stories and topics about "service", about the steepness of the army and the character of the fathers-commanders, does not decrease, but only increases with the years. At the same time, everyone is inclined to exaggerate, attribute, hyperbolize to the absurd "bey experience" and "movement" of their service. And it doesn’t matter what served with the spade – the Dembel album will be decorated with a photo of a warrior hanging with a weapon, who alone prevented at least 10 world wars, not counting the secret operations during the next vacation.
Now to history. So it turned out that my mother married five years ago for the second time and we moved to live "with him". Good was where. Compared to our city, it is still more vibrant and warmer. Relationship with the father seemed normal. And after graduating from school and entering the university in the neighboring city, I can say and do not get confused under my feet at Mommy's happiness. But I noticed a strange feature behind him - when men who do not come from the nearby circle gather at the table and engage in traditional conversations about serving in the army, the eye becomes modest. Speaks served in the building, ordinary, and especially about the service to tell and nothing... About the service is and speaks. But only when the “next circle” comes together. And all there is not below the rank of Colonel, it turns out. Some still serve. There are no photos in his “family” album. Only two were found in a separate albummaker, and there he was without signs of distinction with one of the nearby circle against the background of brown-yellow mountains in camouflage clearly not built-batovsky - the desert is something with camouflage. And in the breaks of the conversations, they were clearly not engaged in construction there, because among their jokes they whispered the mention that the father of the "night", "the sun did not see and the white returned from a trip" and "that it is not for you to climb at night after night." And despite the jokes, his comrades are extremely polite and respectful to him.
In the summer I went to handcuffs. The coach was familiar with the father and they sometimes train together in an empty hall. And in appearance, the father is a tuffy, relaxed retiree.
And like a man, he’s right, but he doesn’t seem as simple as he wants to seem.
The soul does not drink in it. And a little...

Few of the accountants know that if in the expenditure order to wrap the grass and smoke - it turns into a revenue order.

From the cosplay discussion.



xxx: Lucky her guy, he may have sex with Wonder Woman, Lara Croft, Elsa, Arwen, Legolas, Jack Sparrow...

Yyy: The last two are clearly superfluous for 99% of guys

Zzz: You just didn’t have Legolas normal.

Yesterday, I explained to employees the impact that high charging costs can have on seemingly profitable commercial activities.



Take history as an example. In 7th grade I distributed leaflets at the subway and earned 50 rubles a day. On the road I spent 17 rubles there and back. Also at lunch I bought bread and kefir or juice rubles for 20-25.



But the point is that I spent my mom’s money and earned my own.