It is better to be a living insult than a dead example.

A dog has recently been lost. I thought I would go crazy. All the forces to search, a bunch of ads in the district, reposts in social networks. Any money to get back. The man calls, “I’m an extrasensitive and I know exactly where your dog is. I’m ready to help you for a little favor.” In this state, I am ready for everything. He dictates the address and says, "Take a cream, two kilograms of potatoes and toilet paper with you." They took, they took, they took. He opens the door and my dog runs out. The man cries, he says, found him. And the list was that he was lazy to go to the store.

At one forum in defense of religion, an example was given when a house burned down to the ground, but the entire Bible remained.

“It’s quite cynical when God not only allowed your house to burn, but also left his business card.”

I began to watch the figure. But the figure quickly noticed the watch. And now at night he walks to the refrigerator, waiting for me to fall asleep.

Only in mid-November, and in the United States already sold Christmas jewelry, the street lighting appeared. I’m also looking forward to ending this damned year so I won’t wait until December and tell you about the Christmas miracle right now.

My son was 14-15 years old. He lived with his mother in New York and came to Chicago for my winter vacation. In order not to get bored, he captured classmate and best friend of Mitchell. Mitch’s parents gladly let him go and even sent me some money to compensate for the expenses.

On Christmas and two days later, I picked up a hotel in a picturesque town three hundred kilometers from Chicago. I thought we would go skiing, admire the beauties, play snow, but I prevented the frost. According to our standards, it is small - 25 degrees, but for Americans everything that is below zero in Fahrenheit is classified as a natural disaster. So we moved on the street for short breaks, and rested mostly in the hotel pool and in the room. We taught Mitch to play a fool and had a great time. But that’s all a preface, and the story I want to tell happened while we were driving to this hotel.

In the morning, we drove around Chicago – the same short distances from the car to the landmark. The last point looked at the festive illumination in the zoo and struck in the way. It was not too late, 5 or 6, but it was already dark. I’ve probably lived in the United States for too long because I didn’t feed my kids in front of the road and didn’t take any food with me. I expected to eat along the way in one of the restaurants that were full along the track.

I don’t seem to live in the United States long enough. I didn’t take into account that it was Christmas Eve, a pre-Christmas evening, and the workers of all the street restaurants had long been sitting at home at the fireplaces and watching a movie about Greench. Everything was closed, even the McDonald’s and the 7/11 on tanks. We drove from one dark dungeon to another, and our hopes of eating normally melted with every mile.

You don’t know what two hungry fifteen-year-olds are. This is much worse than fifteen hungry two-year-olds. No, they weren’t crying or complaining, but from every movement, gesture and look it was evident how deeply they suffered. We tried to listen to the music, but the words of all the songs reminded me of food, even it was perceived as eating. They tried to play words, but all the words were invented on the same theme and pronounced with the same desire: oh, pizza! Oh the orange! Oh you nachous!

It was the last beach on the entrance to the town where the hotel was located. At normal times, the Burger King, Taco Bell, Panda Express and a dozen other establishments for every taste and wallet were lit with lights. Now it was dark and empty. I had already accepted the idea that I would have to go hungry to the hotel and feed the children there with the godless snickers from the machine (whether the machine still takes credit cards, or for these troglodytes no little will be enough), as I suddenly noticed the light at the far end of the swamp.

We have arrived. The sign did not burn, but the windows of the restaurant were lit, and a lot of cars stood in the parking lot. Inside us we met people-filled tables, loud music and crowds of people dancing and just snoring around. I was struck by the diversity of races and shades. There were white, black, Arabs, Mexicans, Chinese, Hindus – in a word, all the ingredients of the American melting boiler except the Indians, and some feathers flashed in the depths of the hall.

There was no cashier or hostess at the entrance. I caught a girl’s elbow and asked if the restaurant was working.
“No sir,” she replied. We have an event.
But I myself already noticed a huge poster “Happy holidays, dear employees of the restaurant business of the City-on-Otshibe! Happy Christmas, Hanuki and Quanza! We went to a company of local waiters and chefs.
“Maybe you’ll sell us at least something,” I begged. My kids are hungry.
The girl looked behind my back. Behind each of my shoulders was a six-foot-high child. They looked at her with hungry eyes, licked and cuddled her tooth.

The girl’s heart could not stand. She pulled out of the crowd an elderly Chinese in golden glasses — apparently the chief in this stunt — and whispered to him and said:
Okay okay. We had a cooking competition here, maybe something remains. You can eat whatever you find, you don’t need money.
And she took us through the fun hall into the empty kitchen room. She brought us a glass of water and left alone with long-awaited food.

About “something left” she was such a joke. There were probably a hundred... no, it seemed to me, but no less than thirty pots, pots and pots with American, Italian, Mexican, Greek, Chinese, Indian and god be wise what other dishes. All the national cuisines of the City of Odshibe presented the best they could boast of. Some puddings were devastated by 3/4, others half, others barely touched, but even the most empty would be enough to feed us three from the bubble.

I put a few pieces of the first one on the plate – it was an orange chicken, a Chinese chicken in an orange sauce, I tried it... and I realized that all the orange chicken I ate in my previous life were just pieces of a matte, roasted in machine oil. I tried other foods, what to say? I am not a fool to eat deliciously, I have eaten in good restaurants, even in Michelin, but I went to the gastronomic paradise for the first time. Any Michelin chef is nothing compared to a chef who wants to piss out before other chefs. The masterpieces were everything. I took a spoonful of each dish, then 2-3 tablespoons of the most liked, then, barely breathing, I didn't stand and stuck in for an additional portion of musaki and some sort of plow. The boys tended mostly to the usual hamburgers and pastas, but these hamburgers and pastas had little to do with those served in the American pub typically. I have tried.

After half an hour, we sat on our chairs, filled as never before in our lives, blowing up and blowing off. There was still a dessert, a hundred kinds of varyingly decorated Christmas cakes and cakes, but there was no strength for them. An old girl came, quietly poured these cakes into a large paper bag and led us out. As I walked through the hall, I took the microphone from the host and announced:
Thank you all, this was the best Christmas dinner in our lives!
I was applauded.

I don’t know if it was that evening or not, but Mitch fell in love with Chicago and is now studying here at the university. A programmer, not a cook.

It turns out that it is not enough to have the entire Mendeleev table in the country.
We need at least one Mendeleev.

xxx: Played in the library with younger schoolchildren in a table. There must be some magic during the game. So “snap snurre snurre basilure” and “krible-crable-bums” and “sim salabim, ahalaj malaj” nobody knows, including the student game master. Everyone knows the Avada Kedawr.

Work should be done so that the money earned would be enough for the treatment of diseases acquired at work.

Just just.
(Whoever says about self-determination - go to the ass)
We hold an annual congress in Moscow. About a thousand people came. Finished the official part, awarded the prizes of landscape, chopped and sung "UmeTurman", went to the furchet, slowly alcoholized.
I am a 45 year old man:
Welcome to Ivan Ivanovich! Sorry to distract.
Good evening!
“You don’t remember me, my mom asked you to send you greetings and best wishes!
and???? (Who are you and your mother here?)
I was a little kid, sick a little, forgiven. I squeezed a little for two weeks. Doctors who knew me watched, Dad even brought someone from the department - a cold will pass. But my mother needed a hospital, called a district pediatrician, we lived in Komsomolsk, 33, where "Prometheus". You came, listened, knocked and struck my mother without any x-rays, sent to the hospital urgently. There I became very ill, but I already started dropping and dropping antibiotics, the doctors said that there would be a day - and I would hardly be pulled out. My mom remembers you all the time. You saved my life.

I smile to him, and my eyes are wet...38 years ago...I seem to have drank a liqueur...

Will you marry me and be with me in good and in trouble, in sorrow and joy, in poverty and wealth?
No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no

Xxx: When I was a child, I also shared in the yard that my mother had syphilis. Mother with the fluff was shaken from the questions of the neighbors))

xxx: Well I’t say, we’ve been living in a favela in Brazil in Rio for a month and haven’t even stolen anything 🤷‍♀️



YYY: Nothing... Nothing... Soon you will start stealing!

Zelensky as President of Ukraine visited Russia for the first time. Zelensky arrived in Kherson.

YYY: And Putin was in this Russian city?

He came to work after a vacation, and told me that he spent a week with friends on Ahtuba – fishing, one woman asked:

Driving with your wife?

and no. A purely male group.

I know what types of men you have. You are brought there directly to the coast of the Cossacks. I was told...

I am surprised:

Why didn’t they bring us?

It is dark:

You all say so...

Dear stupid man! Understand that a smart person is not "smart" - he just can't speak otherwise.

According to the wonderful story of Lenka Penki from November 9, remembered. With people I know personally, one day it happened that a melodrama can be filmed. All events are real, I only changed the names.

Beauty-Moscow girl slightly over thirty, let's say Masha, in divorce remained with her daughter. I went on vacation to Spain and I fell in love. It was warmer than in my youth. The elegant Spanish is a pilot, black nipples like the Buddenny, a staten, a beautiful dancer, a ballagour and a joke. Widow, childless, just over fifty. His villa on the shore near Barcelona, there and left.

A romantic life, living soul in soul. When they separated, they both cried for each other. Soon he did not endure, at the first opportunity took his vacation and flew to her in Moscow. I introduced him to his daughter, parents and friends. Everyone came to the unanimous conclusion: although a pilot, but clearly - a man is good, decent, warmly loves her. She made an offer, she accepted, planned a wedding for the next joint vacation. In general, friends were jealous - it must, it happens.

And then he returned to his Spain, and the calls from him soon ceased. He wrote that he could not be with her. To the friends again everything was clear - here the coward, crushed and dropped. Obviously a pilot!

It would have ended up separating, like thousands of similar novels, but Masha grew up with an unhappy daughter! She was 10 years old then. She sees - her mother is coughing, has lost all interest in life, no one else is acquainted.

The daughter urgently taught English and Spanish, after which she organized a whole secret intelligence operation through adult acquaintances, as there happily lives this most insatiable conditionally speaking Julio, which new trusting woman's head shakes.

Intelligence arrived at the scene, in the vicinity of the villa, and found that Julio was struck by the most violent stroke - he was paralyzed. Sometimes he is rolled out for a walk in a disabled chair by an old lady, and no one goes to him anymore.

Further details of who told this news are unknown to me. But it ended up with the fact that Masha learned about it and without thinking flew to Spain to Julio. Here, she urged him to live with her even in a civil marriage, and he decidedly refused - her whole life ahead, and his normal ended.

The wise friends in one voice stated that there is nothing Mashe to leave Moscow and good work, to spend his remaining best years with the paralytic. There was no wedding! She has no obligations to him, and he is right to do what he refuses. All of his people are free people.

I saw this a couple of years later in five, on the same whirlwind. But not in a luxurious villa, but in a modest apartment nearby. My wife and I went to visit them while passing by. Paralytic in a chair. But a clear mind, humor, a sea of charm, a living speech. He did not swim, learned to move virtuously in a self-driving wheelchair with many buttons. Everything was much worse immediately after the stroke, the man recovered already with Masha.

His hands worked normally, he loved cooking, featured us with excellent dishes of his own cooking. He was wearing in his chair between the kitchen and the living room at a speed that is not everybody and on his feet. The highest pilot between the doors. Then he went out to drive us to the power station. Maintained a love of swimming, often rides to swim with his wife, the beach nearby. He swims himself, his hands are enough.

For this couple was obvious - they love each other, interested in each other, happy together. Not all healthy couples succeed after many years of marriage. Six years have passed since they met, and they are still together.

This is the kind of life - you won't wish anyone such a disability, but after this visit I learned to enjoy simple and ordinary things - that feet walk, for example. All four. No, I’m not exaggerating my feet. I’m talking about our legs as a whole – me and my beloved wife. I learned to appreciate how great it is that they all walk, run and dance together. What I wish all couples - to be happy, that is so, not to give up, if the legs start to walk with a violin.

How is childhood different from adult life?
In childhood, nightmares were before you wake up, not after.

In connection with the new policy of the company in each representative office should be at least two gay, the male part of the team badly looked at each other, the boss calls one to the office for conversations, persuades to become a volunteer, promises prizes, but all refuse. In general, they make a verdict, who at the end of the month will have the worst indicators, those will be recorded in gay. And the work boiled, the managers out of the leather, the indicators went up, the drivers rubbed the cars with wax and dressed their best costumes, etc. But came the end of the month, summed up the results, and gay men appointed one of the young managers who went to hospital, and was not married, and a housekeeper, Mikhailich, a lonely man of the 60s, who was to retire, but in exchange for a service to the management he promised to leave.In general, sent their data to the European office, the photo on which they "happyly" pressed their hand to the head was posted on the English-language website of the company,he said, everything we have as gay people have.And closer to the summer from Europe with inspection came a representative, who during the check personally met with "gay", said he understands how difficult it is to work for them in a country where sex minorities are so humiliated, and the company to help them in their unequal fighting gives them a

We went somehow with a friend to rest in the mountains (Archiz) and stayed in the pension for a couple of days. And since the road was dangerous, and in general the ancestors worried about me, I decided to call home. We were not caught in the mountains. In the pension, surprisingly, there was no phone (although not bad in itself)... In general, we asked the director of this institution to call from his home and say that I was said to be okay. She called. When I got home, I learned the details... Late in the evening a call came out. Mom removed the telephone, and there... a male voice, with a strong Caucasian accent: "All Harasho, Katya U NAS"... (we rested, by the way, classy...)

Only the fool tells us everything.

The wise man listens to keep silent.