In fact, the naked king knew very well that he was fooled by fraudsters, but he had no other way to paint before the people in what his mother gave birth.

Business Plan and the Grey Wolf

Grandmother Tamara once became seriously ill and her granddaughter, also Tamara, an eighteen-year-old student from St. Petersburg, moved all affairs and struggled to save her grandmother.
My grandmother lived thirty kilometers from Moscow, in a blooming wooden house, a pre-war building. A garden, a well, a raft, under which the grandfather kept the beaten bricks and rust wheels from Moskovich. It all looked pretty sad and hopeless. But once, when Tom came here as a child and grandfather was still alive, chickens, goats and even goats ran through the courtyard. And at this arrival the house looked empty and thirsty, like an incurably sick patient. Of the survivors, only the grandmother Tamara and Timur were in the house. Where without him?
Timur was a huge gray wolf, but fortunately, he was not too racial as a wolf, so he was considered a dog.
Grandma Tamara, tried to rejuvenate, welcoming a dear guest, but it went badly.
Even Timor did not look like an eagle, which has never happened to him before. An ordinary gray wolf. In the old days, Timur made an indelible impression, he behaved as if the whole house was rewritten on him and grandmother and grandfather were needed here, only to pour water into the bowl, and to shake sugar bones.
Tamara went to the nearest store a kilometer from the house, bought medicines and all kinds of delicacies, drank her grandmother with tea with raspberries, laid her in bed and began to run the house. Well, more precisely, throw away garbage and spoiled products.
Grandma just cried out:

Where is the bread, where is the bread?
Grandma is green.
What a bad thing, green. Cut a little and that’s it. Normal is bread.
How often do you go to the store?
In the summer, once every two weeks, and if the weather is good and I feel normal, then I go every week. I got a car, took it and pulled it. On the way to her I will sit down, rest and go on. And this time, I thought spring was already here. The sun warmed up, I was delighted and ran into the store in one cage, swallowed and got cold here. And in the winter, I am afraid to go so far, well, maybe once a month and I go away. And my retirement is not enough to go shopping every day.

Grandmother, is anyone coming to visit you?
They come in, sometimes.
Who is Aunt Lena?
Lena was two years old when she died. The Kingdom of Heaven.
So then who?
Who is? Who is. Well, it turns out that nobody. Who should go to me? Who needs an old grandmother with a wolf?
- That's what, grandmother, you don't need to sneeze, but to come up with a good business plan.
What is?
A business plan. I study this in the universe. Imagine - every person can come up with and organize for themselves, some powerful business. The main thing is to come up with a business plan.
“Tommy, do you see how I am? What is my business? I am 80 years old. From day to day I stretch my feet. Wouldn’t you leave Timor if anything?
Stop to stop. Can you sell something simple? You also have a track behind the fence, and a bus stop underneath the house.
What to trade? by myself?

Days went by, the sick slowly got up on her feet, and the granddaughter from morning to evening walked through the courtyard and thought about a business plan for the grandmother. At six o’clock in the morning, Tamar was awakened by a wolf. He does not know how to laugh, but to laugh and grind is half-turn.
Tamara looked into the window and saw Timur standing on the roof of the cabin, so it was more convenient for him to look through the fence. Grandma was no longer asleep, she was hanging, listening to the radio receiver.

Grandma, who is he fighting with?
So people go to work.
For what job?
How do I know which? to any. Each has its own. They go to our stop, get on a bus or bus and go to Moscow for work, and back in the evening.

Tamara thought about it:

Grandma, what are these people, in the sense, where do they all come from?
How, from where? These are our villagers. Do you know the lake? Some even come from there. At least an hour from there, a pedestrian will probably get there. What to do? We need to feed the family, and that’s what it takes. It’s good for me, I’m retired yet, and people are forced to go to Moscow every day. There is no hunger, there is no work.

Until the very evening, the granddaughter did not talk to anyone, neither to her grandmother nor even to Timur, and late in the evening she suddenly shouted, frightening her grandmother:

Grandma and Grandma, wake up! Do you remember painting when I was a child? Are there colour pens?

The grandmother was surprised, but gave out a bunch of pencil and long-dried flommasters.
Tamara worked all night and in the morning created a bunch of touching, colorful ads with samples.
And in the morning, even without breakfast, I picked up a tube of glue and left. She reached the village beyond the lake and, starting from there and almost to the house itself, laid out her simple announcement on the pillars and fences:

Dear neighbors!
You can leave your bicycles in the house N2 on our street. (House at the stop, with a green fence) Ask Tamara Pavlovna.
The grey wolf is responsible for conservation.
Payment is purely symbolic, you will like it.”

Since then, three years have passed, Tamara Pavlovna has flourished and changed her mind to die.
Every day, from morning to late evening, in the courtyard of the house, under the raft, there are thirty, and all forty bicycles and even a couple of motorcycles waiting for their owners. Only the gray wolf Timur has more accurate numbers. Timur, too, became sick and looked satisfied and important, as if he had just eaten both the Red Hat and Tamar Pavlovna.
Timor always stands at reception and delivery. Serves people quickly, politely and correctly. He will never let out the courtyard, a client with someone else’s bicycle. Experiments were conducted specifically. Just a wolf blends the smell of a customer with the smell of a bicycle. More reliable than barcode.

The whole village loved Grandma Tamara, because she saves people the most precious thing they have – sleep time. Who has 40 minutes and who has 2 hours a day? Riding a bicycle is not the same as getting your feet dirty.
Students and those who are younger pay grandmother Tamara three hundred rubles a month, the Tajiks cleaned the well, repaired the roof and set up an antenna, someone brings home testicles and bread, someone brings a bowl of milk from under their cow on the big, someone will just thank you, and in case, always to the store for the grandmother.
And so, from the early spring and until the first snow, even in the winter, a pair of snowboards and a motorcycle are left.
Business works like a clock.
To be honest, one day there was a small mistake. Once a Tajik man took his bicycle and tried to chew Timor. The wolf, of course, procompounded his hand.
Very strange case. I, for example, can’t even imagine how it can be thought that in a bank warehouse, receiving gold bulbs from his cell, a armed guard’s head should be bitten in execution.

Downshifting is not when someone worked in the office and then moved to live in the village. The real downshifting is when you come, say, from your own Italian villa on a daytime to some former vice-premier, and you find yourself in an investigative isolation.

In life it is not like in a fairy tale: from beautiful cockroaches grow ugly swanks.

My parents had friends: a complex family, with a walking intellectual husband and a botanical son, Zeney. Zhenya was tall, with large teeth and huge square glasses. Once my mom asked me to "friend with my wife", or the boy is very bad with communication in school. “Of course, mom,” I replied, and this family came to visit us again, and I took Zhenya to the landfill. At the beginning of the 90s, entertainment is relevant. I had a car battery on the landfill. I planned to break it, and out of the aluminum plates to spit a mini bull on a chain. The chain had a dual purpose: to walk the dog, and also to light it in those moments when the thing smelled of petroleum. We discharged this battery, got the plates, in the process of which everything got the electrolyte, for which I got it separately. I look at these plates and think about what shape to pour in the sand. Jennie looked at me kindly and with interest. “Let’s make loads of loads,” I concluded, not to scare Zhenu. I pressed the molds in the wet sand, found the straw, fire, heated, I carefully poured it into the mold, smoothed the edges with water and we have two careful molds. Jenny was in ecstasy. He liked such a simple and exciting process of creation. “Can we cast... the castle?” asked Zhenya. I was a little overwhelmed by his crap. I turned the “design” in my head, as if it should be enough material. “Well,” I replied with no enthusiasm, “the production process has started again, the shape is bigger, we are sitting on top of it. Zhenya himself poured it out of the straw, took a bottle of water and splashed half straight into the shape, into boiling aluminum. I was lucky that I managed to get stuck. The coating, cotton, explosion and all the aluminum layered flatly on everything around, including shoes, ropes, clothes, partly hands and on the Bride's glasses. I was hurt, a couple of large drops fell on the eyelids and cheek, and glued. I was more surprised by the woman’s reaction. He whispered loudly, and said, “Let’s go again!” looking at me through his glasses, which from dioptrical almost turned into mirror aviators. When we came home and stood before our parents, they didn’t even know where to start and how to ask the right questions. The sleeves of our sweaters were consumed with electrolytes, and the pants, shoes and partially the faces were in "silver" as my mom thought at first. Jenny took the initiative into his own hands. His wildly wide smile had not gone from his face since the explosion. He resolutely approached his mother and with a happy voice reposted: "We spilled me a real castet, but it exploded," turned to his father and asked, "Dad, can I take the old battery from the garage?" We should pay tribute to his parents, but we did not stop communicating after that. After our fun his shoes and pants became the object of envy of classmates. The story of the “explosion of the castet” changed the layout of forces and authorities in the school and Zhenya instantly became a “huligan”. But the genes have taken their way and now Zhenya teaches at the University, although I am sure that his self-esteem and the scale of madness have greatly increased after our experiments.

One girl saw a teacher’s salary and became a prostitute.

Atheist programmers are sure that there is no bag.

We built a multi-storey house, I worked there.
And, as in all buildings after removing the plywood, there were a few boards left, which are nowhere - short, broken, cracked - unliquid, shorter. The concrete worker Volodya approaches me (a bad man in general) with a request to give them to him on wood, his private house is melting with a stove.
Yes, for the sake of God, I say, the construction will only be cleaner, but transport and loading, you, Volodya, will provide yourself.
I told the guard that the gazelle with wood should be missed and once a week (on Fridays) Volodya, as a sanitary officer of the building, would honestly clean it from wood dirt.
Man is weak.
And for the third time, when a gazelle loaded with wood came out of the gate, a guard approached me and said that Vova was somewhat overwhelmed and loaded pretty good boards and brushes (a little, 10-12 pieces, but the very fact...), overwhelmed them with unliquidity and left very happy.
I understood that if this is not stopped, then all the saw material from the construction will move to him in the garden, it is a matter of time, and the main thing that I seemed to have allowed myself.
I postponed my education work until Monday.
In the morning it was necessary to make a marking of the columns on the 5th floor, I went up to the floor to check how the work is going and saw how Volodya faithfully painted on the barracks with a floommaster in his hand and under the guidance of a geodeticist on the concrete covering of the axis and the corners of the shell. His jacket rattled a little up and a strip of blue wolf-shaped trusses was visible.
When lunch came (this is holy, exactly at 12:00 the construction is completely shut down, well, if there is no concrete) I went to the concrete workers in the household and asked: well, how well, Volodya, we agreed on wood, and you started to take a good broom from your home building, it's not good Vova.
It is clear that he denied everything, even tried to be offended, which I said with a tired voice: I, Volodya, know everything that is happening at the construction site and I know everything about everyone, for example, I know that you came to work today in blue pants, and you rub me about the blush here.
The pause...
I will never forget those eyes.

Our experts are now so confidently interpreting the technology of cheating in the Ukrainian elections that the question involuntarily arises: where do they have such experience?

xxx: Hearing my mom “she was beautiful, and now she’s so down,” she shaken before realizing that it was a baking cake I got out of the oven.

With years of education, only a diploma remains.

“America didn’t like Babie Gale from the first minute. From the moment the customs officers confiscated a decent piece of salt from her suitcase. Of course, her daughter warned her and ordered her not to take anything out of food in any case, but how could the grandmother know that her carefully wrapped in cellophane bags, glued with a scotch and again wrapped in a thick linen scrotum treasure would find a healthy dog, who rushed onto his grandmother’s fabric bag as if he had been messing his entire dog life with that grandmother’s salty. Only tears and pleasures saved Grandma Gal from a meaninglessly large fine.

Exhausted by the long flight, the grandmother Galia did not notice how somewhere she lost her left beard. Such - frightened, crying and in the same shoe - she was met by her daughter, son-in-law and grandchildren. Later, the grandchildren will irritate her: "Baby Galia brought the salad, and as she ran away from the dog she lost her sandal."

With her son-in-law Vasily, Galina also did not work out from the very beginning, from the moment when she sat in the car and closed the door, she heard from him: "And if you are so kidding, you are no longer in your village and it is not Zyguli to you." The son-in-law was generally a guy as if not bad - a hardworking and decent family man. He worked as a long-haul driver, but for some reason told Galina that he was working as a truck driver. Why a trocist, and not a driver, Galina never understood, but decided what was apparent to look more solid in the eyes of others.

Having prepared dinner, Galina said to her daughter: go call your tankist to eat. Vasily was nervous for a while, but subsequently agreed that his aunt called him a tankist. At any convenient occasion he said, “Do you think it’s so easy here? Do you know how much I pay for morgh, inshorence, eseshment? I currency streets from delivery to delivery, and I also pay for tickets to loyers so that the record does not fail." Intuitively, Galina understood that her son-in-law spoke Russian, but she did not understand anything, so she could not offer any argument in her favor.

Galina missed and longed for the village, for the forest, for the goat, the chickens, and even for the foolish crazy neighbor Valka. At night, she dreamed that she was returning to her village, sitting on a bench at the cherry tree and mashed Valke's hand, who ticked her figure and said, "why are you stuck here, American suck." But, unfortunately, nobody was waiting for Galina in that village, and her house was bought by Valkin's nephew.

In order to get somewhat distracted, Galina walked a lot around the city on foot. At first, the streets of Chicago acted oppressively on her, but over time, in those seemingly gray and monotonous houses, she began to see some unknown beauty. Unnoticed to herself, she could stop and look at graffiti or the old metal bridge for a long time. Every time she went further and less and less wanted to go home.

One day, obeying an unknown impulse, she entered the door of the institution which looked like a gateway to hell and even the music from there sounded hellish. It was a bar full of men and women dressed in leather clothes. Galina approached the bar stand and said one of the few words she had learnt in English: drink!

Back home, Galina was riding a very loud motorcycle, holding behind the back of Don Jorge, a black-eyed beauty man who told her something all night lively, twisting her gray mouths. On the back of his leather vest he had the inscription "BANDIDOS", and the face was decorated with scars and a tattoo under his right eye in the form of droplets of tears. Since that evening, Galina has hardly gone for a walk because Don Jorge was following her on his Harley FXSTB Night Train, whose engine sound Galina could easily distinguish from any other model. This sound awakened the tank driver Vasily and embarrassed the neighbors who said Don Jorge was a terrible man, the former bodyguard of Pablo Escobar himself and is being sought by the FBI.

Vasily pressed Galina’s daughter to talk to her mother and convince her to take the mind. The daughter pretended to worry about Galina, although in fact, knowing the difficult life and early widowhood of her mother, she rejoiced for her and even envious of such rebellion. One day, Galina put her things in her suitcase and said she was going to live with Don Jorge.

The daughter was crying, and Vasily emotionally told Galina about conscience, shame, and what the neighbors would say.

“You understand, Vasya,” Galina said, “the subjective opinion of others is nothing more than a reflection of our complexes, shortcomings and low self-esteem. If you do not stop worrying about the opinions of your neighbors, and all your actions and decisions are limited to the standards set by a particular social group, sooner or later your unfulfilled dreams and unrealized potential can sublimate into violence, family problems, illness and alcoholism. Look outside of your box, Vasya.

Intuitively, Vasily understood that Galina spoke Russian, but could not understand a word from what she said, so he silently left the door, clapping his eyes confused.

Goodbye to Cabron! (As far as I am concerned, idiots) Galina cried out and went out to the street. The daughter was crying, and Vasily was looking after a fairly young girl with good buttocks, tightened with broken jeans and wearing a leather vest with the inscription BANDIDOS. On the street she was waiting for Don Jorge, and from his Harley speakers the song AC/DC Highway to Hell, which translates into Russian means Highway to Hell.

from the network via #crazy_hatter

One girl saw a photo of a teacher in a swimsuit and grew up as a prostitute.

Discussion of Fitness Clubs



We have weights in front of the entrance. They can be calibrated. What do you think our director invented to attract the people? Every Friday he weighed 1 kg. And the people really thought that the lessons were useful! We were recommended! On Monday, it returned to its original state. People thought they ate weight back over the weekend.

First we eat the plants, then they eat us.

History from the early nineties. Then in the city of Anapa began its history film festival. There was no officer. The festival was held in the "Dream" pension. Resting from the neighboring pensions could freely enter the territory of "Dreams" and watch the films participating in the festival. Then, by the way, we first saw the beautiful Elena Korikova in the movie "Barrish-peasant". But I am not about that.
The movie room was arranged so that it could be accessed from the beach. Well, you know, the doors that usually come out after watching the movie (side by side from the scene) were located on the side of the beach. People could enter through these doors right from the beach and sit in the hall, where films were shown continuously.
One day I went in and sat in the room. Some time later Svetlana Kryuchkova entered the hall by the same way. Who doesn't know - the movie "Big Change" and many others. She walked off the beach, was in a saraphan and barefoot.
Suddenly, the electricity was turned off for a while. The film demonstration stopped. Homer began in the room. Svetlana stood up and went out. I thought she would leave the room. But she got up on stage. In the darkness and without a microphone (no electricity) she began to read poems. I don’t remember (nearly 30 years ago), but it looks like a flowery. The hall gradually shrunk. Everyone is deceived. What made this extraordinary, amazing, talented woman do so?
Years have passed, but I still remember the tears in my eyes. This is what a real actress means.
The light lit up, the film continued, she worshipped and quietly left. But the few minutes she held in the hall I will never forget.

I don’t understand how this not graduated and six classes Arashukov, poorly understanding Russian, not distinguishing a million from a billion, physics from chemistry, propane from methane, managed for many years to bring Gazprom with its regiments of effective managers, accountants and lawyers?

Breakfast is a sick thing for me. Eggs, toasts or oatmeal, for more imagination is not enough. From these three options I was already really sick and I increasingly missed the morning meal.

And here I discovered Musli! No, not simply, but super fucking delicious and nutritious. I ate and didn’t feel hungry until lunch.

I was wildly inspired by this discovery, and I was also pleased that it was a type of healthy eating. I had two boxes for breakfast.

I was sure of the accuracy of everything that was happening until yesterday, throwing out the next package, I saw the inscription "5 PORCES".

I work at 112. Once a colleague took the following challenge (K - colleague, Z - applicant):

112, the operator is, I listen to you.

I don’t have the keys, I need rescuers to break the door.

Q. Do you have any keys? Rescue workers during dismantling damage the door, it will not be repaired.

Z is there. They are with their wife.

Q. Where is your wife?

C in the apartment. But she sleeps.

K to? ? to ? to So wake up!

Z – I can’t...

K is why?

I am a drunk...

I decided to play my acquaintance somehow. I had a pack of $100 bills in a bank package. Of course, it was a mule for jokes. An acquaintance comes to visit. I specially placed this "cottlet" in a prominent place. I decided to watch his reaction.

He is: from where! ? to

My daughter has gone to America. I met a wealthy American. Now it’s all in chocolate. It sent me to poverty.

We sit down and drink beer. He sat down all night lying to him how well his daughter was doing. After his departure, he discovered that he had twisted five papers out of that package. I think he is a rat!

The next day he calls me and talks to me. Why did you deceive me. Money is false! I am still in the rain!

How to communicate with him afterwards?