I walk around the office, the local radio calls in my pocket, I answer, the director asks to come in when it is convenient.

I knock, I go to the boss, the general and the commercial are sitting at the table, I joke "do not get up", I sit opposite.

The mood is good, I laugh, I wait for questions.

How is it?

Ask the Director

Oh well.

Probably problems.

No, it is all normal.

In general, a few more non-specific questions, they sit with wandering smiles, looking around. I am asking completely confusingly.

So called what?

- Emm, no one called you, we sit here, we meet, here you come in, you sit down, you ski...

And then I realized that the voice of the new buyer is very similar to the general.

On the evening of December 31, crew members saw the commander of the aircraft falling from a seat in the cockpit. They this to law enforcement agencies. The police said that the amount of alcohol in the pilot's blood was three times the permissible level.
Who are they recruiting for pilots? Just 0.6 promile, and they are already falling off the chair...))
The permissible rate is 0 promile. He had 3.
Send a greeting to your school teacher of mathematics - she is an outstanding teacher!

The old cardinal, his name was Felice Peretti, offered himself as pope when he saw that two aristocratic Italian families could not agree on a single candidate. And this was very important: the pope crowned European monarchs, so it was a very monetary position.But Borgia, for example, wanted theirs, and Barberini hiss.And then this old man said: "My children, you can't agree now, and we can't endlessly sit on bread and water at this conclave. I suggest you choose me! I am an old and sick man, I will soon die. And they chose him under the name of Sixtus V. And he immediately rejoiced, immediately recovered and ruled for a long time, swallowing all his rivals. In fact, as in an anecdote, he was regularly cold at their funerals.

I traveled through Tunisia on New Year's holidays and watched just a crazy picture. There is a guy-tourist, his hair is painted in bright red, dressed in some crazy ethnic coft violet, on his legs - sizeless pants with blue patterns like the alibaba. He proves something Arabic on a mixture of English and German. Here the guy has a phone call, he plays some Jewish song of the type of "habibi-habibi", he takes the phone, minutes three find out something with someone in Chinese (!!!)) clears the phone, sends an Arabic in x## in pure Russian and jumping away somewhere at sunset. I don’t know what it was, but I seem to have fallen in love.

When Gorbachev was allowed abroad, I went to America for the first time in my life. And my friend took me to a Mexican restaurant. I was afraid that everything was sharp there, but she explained that the sharpness was suppressed so that everyone could eat. We took some blinkers with meat.I bitten them and fell into a trance. At school, I remembered that we have all kinds of taste receptors in our tongue. So, when I bite this blink, it turned out that most of those taste receptors in my tongue had never been involved. That is to say, I lived half a lifetime at that time, but those tastes were not known to me. And I was surprised to listen, or rather, “taste.”

Women suffering from the collapse of the institute of the traditional family would be well aware that their family would be extremely strong if their parents sold them into an indestructible marriage at their discretion. And the husband, who, by the way, until the middle of the twentieth century could not leave officially absolutely anyway, could well be gay. And as for life-long love, this love is perfectly successful if the duration of this life is short.

A young man was driving through an unknown city, saw a beautiful woman in the window, fell in love. He died on the field of defense or from the plague. Or even marry a beautiful woman. Two or three years later, she died in another birth. He is later. In the field of defense or from the plague. Here is love for a long life. This is, of course, the Middle Ages, but there were also later grievances. Remember, the hero of one of the Chekhov stories, travelling from the country to the capital, was asked to bring a tomb for a neighbor's baby. Yes, I gave birth to everybody. Half died in childhood.

Only an absolute bastard can call January 1 at 9 p.m. and ask the innocent question, “What, are you still sleeping?”

I watch chip on speed (blitz) chess with the comments of the grandmaster Sergei Shipov:
Sasha recalls, now somewhere the A7 horse will play, cling to that elephant. I’ve seen something similar in one of the videos..."

I am starting fireworks. I like this matter very much.
Because this is the only day in the year when the frogs can take revenge on one hand and the fucking kids, and their non-separating papas with the perforators, and their eternally whirling on the ultrasound hysterical moms, and the dogs constantly laughing and scratching the floor, and listening to the full TV to the grandmothers!
Suffer at least once a year, as we do every day. Feel all the pain "and why do you live not like everyone else and unhappy?"and "you have no right to complain, because normal people should not want to sleep at this time!".

And cats are unfortunate, teach cats not to be afraid.

Canakau: the first word was "meat"
Diamond: my first word was "Papa"
Diamond: a first sentence: "Dad doesn't have to sing"

To the doctor, who served for the New Year, a recommendation on the complaints of the robbers. Do not let go of honey. Testing for alcohol. Such goats must be taught by their own methods. Let the hospital have a record of the state of alcoholic intoxication. And I’ll see how the joyful accountant will pay them for it at a minimum (or even at all...)

Looking in the indicated direction, I saw a surprising picture: a cottage village stood far away.Great houses, with racks, columns and balustrades, were stunning in scale and cost. The genius of the thesis “life succeeded” was ruined by only one nuance: all oligarchic structures stood shoulder to shoulder. From your window, you could see how a neighbor counts his millions or orders a competitor.This was built in the 90s, when there was a lot of money, and it was not yet decided to sell the land. Therefore, the citadel was built on almost the same six hundred.
In addition, then they thought they would be friends forever and go to each other for tea with strawberries. But life has made its own adjustments: the owners of cottages have long lived on their hectares in Spain, where their horses and racing people can walk, and on their first sub-Moscow construction experiments, which were given to abandoned wives to separate themselves, long and hopelessly hang the tablets "Sold".

I recently read The Three Musketeers. In general, it turns out that Pidaras is just D'Artagnan.

Revenge is the last thing. You must love your enemy so as to exhaust his whole soul.

The history of the 31/12 deficit.
The deficit of Soviet time is now perceived with negativity. But this medal has two sides. As a person who was 14 years old in 1985, I have the right to have an eyewitness note. I will not talk about servings and 40 varieties of cheese - here the achievements are undisputed :)) I will say about bread and milk.

First about today.
Today I went to the market with my minors (9+12) to buy fruits and salads for the New Year’s table. We loaded up, drove to the exit and suddenly I see a turn. The man 30. He came closer and found himself looking for bread. A small tent from the "sovkovo" bakery, the products of which I did not get in the shops. The buttons lay in wooden pots, well-known to those who were over 40. Bread was needed, the look at the turn caused nostalgic notes and another fighter was added to the squadron.
The kids did not understand me. A couple of times they approached - "Daddy, it's cold on the street, why are you standing, let's go near the house to Dixie / Cross / Albuquerque and buy bread."
But the turn passed quickly and adding 2 classic buttons (a-la 25 kopecks) to the bag, we moved home. The bread was fresh, but not hot at the sale and we went home for forty minutes. But! At home, 2 batons of children (and not only) efforts "left" in an hour. The bread was delicious.

Since I was 7 years old, I have been the main supplier of everyday home products. Returning from school to run to the bread store, to the dairy, and sometimes to the butter/cream became an imperceptible and easy task. There were rounds in the shops, each of which I spent 2-5-10 minutes. Sometimes there was nothing and I had to go to the store again. One day I couldn’t buy anything.

The food was fresh!! The bread was brought from the bakery immediately after the "night", "morning" or "day" baking. Yesterday’s bread or milk was not considered a purchase option at all.
Milk was purchased in order to drink, cook cakes and make cheese.

What we have achieved now. Trade chains, destroying specialized stores of Bread / Milk, put producers in conditions where they simply cannot produce a quality product. As long as the networks put him on the shelf, everything is gone.
All unsold bread is returned to the bakery, which is forced to add it to the new bakery. Up to half of the “new” bread consists of the “second.” Because of this, the taste of bread is simply absent, and the mold, on the contrary, is in excess. According to Soviet standards, the investment should not be more than 5%
Bread everywhere fast cooking, with breweries, and milk with preservatives. It doesn’t squeeze, it squeezes!! to
Manufacturers simply cannot send networks to@"%, to sell products nowhere. Keeping your points is not expensive.

We lost a quality product "in the row" and got ga@but in the range. Maybe somebody likes it. I found my tent.

I was in Peter for two weeks. Now I understand all kinds of rain: rain with the sun, rain with the wind, rain with the grail, rain with the snow, steep rain, vertical rain, small frost, rain with the wall...

The artists will understand.
and xxx? He is a sick perverse, he has a porn girl lying in the same folder with seeds of executions and torture.
xxx: please note, this folder is called "REFERENCE"

Psyches are everywhere, only those who burn are in the psychic.

The sergeelectric
Bloggers and journalists. I thought that one today was already, usually there are so many of them for replacement is not, but there is an exception.A guy and girl aged 30-33 with a tablet, shoot me, commenting on the time of arrival, the time of the call, ask my name.I call, please indicate the problem, but the soap-wiping starts with "show the certificate, the permit group, and where we know you are from Emergency.."I say, like a hundred times before this: No certificate, name called, check my "authenticity" can with the controller, if there is no problem, then I go away.The problem is not burning the light in the kitchen.The electricity is there, just does not burn the light "isclose the luster".I get up on What’s wrong with them?I push my shoulders – was it a problem? Is she no longer? Danger is eliminated. With a celebration. Bloggers look at me, on each other, in the background the singer sings narrow-cut, young people clearly naeblai themselves.

One of the volunteer organizations has issued maps for refugees in their native languages.
In large cities, important places are marked for them: mosques, points of distribution of charitable aid, etc. Bright colors indicate dangers (police stations, military and strategically important objects, etc.).) is

And as brightly as possible on the schemes are the quarters settled by the Russians.