In a country where bombers are more intelligent than journalists, people are interested, not gossip about them.

A call like that in the morning.
There is an Ipschnik, engaged in repairs and small construction.
Hello, Sirog, you are my last hope.
Hi what happened?
- I make coffee, opening on Saturday, and I have a lot of shortcomings, plus all slightly.
What a little thing? What are the deficiencies?
Actually a one-day job. and alone. Two can do it in half a day. The diode tape on the shelves in the bar, the lighting of the bar stand, in the kitchen a couple of rosettes to add, street advertising to connect, in the shield several machines to change...
Do you have three electricians in the brigade? Where did it all go?
I’ll tell you now, but you won’t believe it.
and try.
In short, Ruslan gave him a holiday that day. Ruslan is younger than that, thirty-five years old.
Looking like a Caucasian?
My parents are Russians. Well, Ruslan on the weekend, and two others - Nikita and Losha sent to a neighboring house with a cafe in the shield there was something to change. Work for a couple of hours, money on hand, I thought - the guys will be a kind of gift, especially since the cafe is almost over, and there are no new large facilities yet...
And they forgot?
No, not at all. They got the money and decided to drink a beer. They are so low-drinking, in five years of work I have never even seen a whimper.
Are they broken here?
Do not guess, do not try. In short, they sat down in the park, started drinking beer, it was hot, summer - you understand. And Losha, and he unmarried, began to rub Nikita, that all, say, babies cheat, like that is why he does not marry at his forty-five.
Nicky is the same?
- Oh, and let us offend him, he and his wife have been together for twenty years, read - a quarter of a century lived, so the words of Lohina hit him. They took another beer, and Nikita began to demand evidence. And Loisha is like this: his wife, say, puts his phone on the password and does not show you? Are you constantly sitting in messengers? Gifts that are strange sometimes given to her, then at work, then a friend, right? The main thing is that you are not given, but given to her. Enrolled in fitness? Mood is good? It is cheating! This is a 100% option!
What about Nikita?
- And Nikita loves his wife very much - this is the time, and in the second, all Lehi's hints directly into the target, to see, hit, because Nikita slightly touched.
The psychic?
type of that. He took Nikita out of his tool bag a long hole and twisted Losh in his neck several times. Then he removed the hole in the bag, hanged the bag on his shoulder, took the remainder of the beer, sat in the taxi and went home.
Nirvana to yourself!
Listen to further. He rushes home, and the house-wife really with the lover! You will not believe!
I do not believe!
Nikita sent a SMS to his wife in the morning that he would be late. SMS has arrived. Well, Nikita acts according to a proven scheme - he ticks a hole into his lover's throat.It rolls in the corridor to the floor. The wife, seeing such things, realized that the jokes had ended, wrapped herself in a shirt and walked out of the balcony.
Did he live on the third floor?
On the second. The wife in the family of cats had no scratches, fell on all four. And Nikita removed a pot of fresh watermelon from the plate, got a bottle of watermelon from the refrigerator, called the police with doctors and began to wait, pumping himself with alcohol.
The cape just...
I lost all three electric drivers in a couple of hours.
and stop. Why three? Well, Lohha and Nikita – understand, but where did Ruslan go?
Did not go anywhere. Ruslan with a broken throat in Nikita's apartment was lying.
The Danube! I do not believe!
Do not believe. He and Nikita’s wife have been troubled since the New Year...Now I have one electrician under investigation, and two in the hospital.
Have survived?
and yes. It will last a long time, they say.
The O-Fi Ghetto!
Well what? Would you help? We have to do everything for tomorrow.
I can help you, no problem. Once this is the case, I will enter.

A man clicks on a smartphone in a search engine: "How to distinguish a telepath from a schizophrenic?“”
The Voice of the Kitchen:
Schizophrenia would have killed you.

You buy the fresh low-salt saliva, elastic, like the ass of Jennifer Lopez, divide it, clean all the bones, lay it beautifully on the saliva, pour on rings of onions and water with unrefined sunflower oil. Here comes the wife and the eagle - "Again the whole kitchen was wrapped with his silk!" And then in the evening you go into the kitchen - and she is eating it!! to

My son was three years old.

We went to my grandmother and we were going to go.

The things are gathered, we are at the exit.

Grandma says to her grandson:

Could you write on the road?

The grandson is tired and condemned:

is OK. Where is this road...

I go on the bus. A non-Russian family with two children. They go quietly. The little ones whisper silently. Then they ask something about their father. The Father says so well.

In which city are we?

Children in Moscow.

Then we speak and ask only in Russian.

The kids are dad. Why did we come to our stop?

Father, how did you go? Oh shy grim...

Happy in bed is the one who loves a woman, not sex.

In the eighty-third century, Petka decided to marry him and persuaded Emma to marry him. Everyone believes that the young man was called Peter and his bride was his Emma? and right. Even the militia never believed him when he was represented by Petrov Petrovich, and all because they thought that Ivan Ivan Ivanovich or, for example, Sidor Sidorovich sounds no less credible than even Ilin Ilya Ilyich, not to mention Petrov Petrovich. Emma Frenchwna is a bride. That is, it looked like it wasn’t much that Emma Franzen was still a punk. The fifth is almost livery. Now they are an honorable family of two doctors of sciences and two candidates. The candidates are minors.

So these two untrustworthy in the militia citizens organized a boy and a girl on Friday evening according to the city tradition to marry on Saturday. Their classmates shared as appropriate: the girls went to the right, and the boys - to the left, to the bathroom. In my opinion, it was Strochanovsky baths, and maybe even Sandun, although it is unlikely.

In the bath, the boys drank beer and ate a snack of dried fish brought "right from the Volga" from Akhtuba. What the girls drank is unknown, although it is judged by the result that there was no champagne.

Vanka, invited by Petro Petrovich to witness the marriage, cuddled in the measure of cold beer, wrapped his teeth in a luxurious tiger and clearly said "vuvudu?", which was meant to mean "tasteful, yeah?". No one understood him, he hardly and regretfully pulled the tiger out of his mouth and repeated, "Damn that?" I was surprised at what I said. Ivan did not want to whisper at all, only two front teeth remained in the hard-salted fish. Such a tiger is innocent, and two Vankini's artificial cutters are cut out of it. and half.

- He testified to his own, - all also whispering said Vanka, and you can imagine yourself what he got, - capeci, look for another.

“No, Wang, I’m not going to look for another, you’re a witness and a point. There will be no others. I marry Finngall and I'm not worried about this, Emma's arm is broken, thank God it's left, and you don't notice anything unless you smile and be silent.

I have to say that Petka and Emma went to Tsakhkadzor to ski on mountain skies and what happened – it happened. Petka has a finger, Emma has a hand, and the witness on the side of the bride generally has a leg. One of the two, we don’t even care which leg she broke then.

Ivan was convinced. You just have to be silent and not smile widely.

And the next day, this companion, accompanied by friends and relatives in the background, entered the open doors of the wedding palace number one in Moscow.

Seeing all sorts of types of a registrator aunt only was able to shake her hands and pronounce "save, lords": Peter with a pencil on the half-face. A bride with a broken hand. Witnesses in the coffins. Only Vanka, whole, in a new suit, looked a decent person and decided to save the situation.

“No problem, aunt,” he whispered boldly and smiled.

Today I saw a guy with the inscription on his T-shirt "God + Truth = Life". I hope he understands that it follows that Truth = Life is God, and God = Life is Truth.
Study mathematics!

I left my nephew, 4 years old, but he had a trap - his ass wasn't wiped out. Whether it was HZ or HZ. Taщемta, when he joked and began to shout, "Uncle Archie, I was rattling!" I ignored him for about 2 hours. He fucked half a piece of paper in tears and sneezing, but learned to wipe out his ass. by Nihil

I remember when I went to the kindergarten, we had two girls in the group, crazyly similar to each other: the same height, the hair of the same color and the same length, even the face were similar. Once in the winter, they realized that it would be great to change clothes. They changed, wrapped their face with a shirt, so that they did not know, and when it was time to take the children, they quietly left home not with their parents. I just can’t imagine the spectrum of feelings experienced by parents when they removed their children’s jackets and shirts.

In the modern world, the tail should not be held with a gun, but a Kalashnikov machine gun.

We live as in a fairy tale. For a long time, we have worked with two Tatars, the brothers Rif and Raf. They were normal guys, and everything was fine until a cleaner named Ruth came to us. All three are small, swollen, and all talk loudly. They roasted for a long time and were nicknamed the “three pigs.” Well, they don’t get offended, we crack all together. Then everything somehow quieted for a while, until the technician Wolf came to work with us.

The State Duma is considering a bill to replace pension savings with an honorary letter.

I have enough brains to realize that they are obviously small.

I will tell you a story that happened to my girlfriend many years ago. Following her words.

Then Katya met the guy and brought him to us for someone’s birthday. Japanese-shaped silent boy of 5 years older than us, she introduced him to Pavlik, he grabbed everyone's hands, since then we periodically crossed by acquaintances, at concerts, in short, communicated a little bit.

It was a little strange that Pavlik did not respond neither to Paul, nor to Pasha, nor to other derivatives, but we were accustomed, Pavlik so Pavlik. Moreover, among our acquaintances was Natasha, who wanted her to be called Taia and Darya, who fell into hysteria, if she was called Dasha, it was possible only Dashka, Darya, Darva and there was something on D, I don't remember already.

Four months passed, Katya and Pavlik decided to get married, stood in line with ZAGS after the New Year's Eve and filed an application for a "beautiful date", after some time we received invitations, in which we were invited to the wedding of Catherine and Dmitry. We call her and wonder where Pavlik went?

And she answers, you can imagine, I only learned in a row that Pavlik, it turns out, is his name. He is Dmitry. Dmitry Stepanovich Pavlik.

Fuck, we called a man by his name for a few months, it was uncomfortable.

Increase the salary!
It is done!
Fuck me, not myself.

It was in the late 1990s, at the time I was about 5-6 years old. My parents, as I think, and everyone at the time, were strictly forbidden to open the door to strangers. Every morning they went to work and said, “Don’t open it to anyone until we come in the evening and open it to you.” I was an obedient companion in this regard to such an extent that one day my grandmother decided to come to us, but naturally I did not let her be afraid to get a whisper from her parents for not fulfilling the order. Grandma, by the way, acted with understanding and said that she would come in tonight. One day, my grandfather decided to come. Naturally, I did not let him go, too, for which I was sent three letters and the door opened with the key he had. Despite the fact that it was my grandfather, I was so scared that somebody would enter the apartment that I, as a guerrilla, stood forward in the passage and started screaming that he would be killed away, because his parents did not allow anyone to let go! Naturally, my grandfather answered me with a weary lust, left the bags from the country in the kitchen and quietly left, closing the door behind me, leaving me stuck and reconciled to the defeat in the hallway. When the parents came, they laughed so and did not understand my childhood outrage, but made amendments to the rule that grandfather and grandmother can go home.

He was on a business trip at the factory, in a press office. The press more or less

civilians, but one... An enormous unknown of what gathered swamp,

dirty (or covered by God knows what), thundering like the Victoria Falls and

It creates a cloud of dust around it. The Industrial Masterpiece

end of the 19th century.

The local workers and engineers called this press briefly and gently.

My mother Mia. The etymology of the name: a few years before it came to them

the Italian to install on the press programs purchased by the factory for his

The Firm. When he saw this terrible press, he could only say, “O mom.

by Mia...”

And it all happened on the same day!

Ordinary travel in electric. The most different people. Everyone tries to do something during the trip. A grandmother and granddaughter sit in front of me. Small five or six years. We touched, we went.



Like all the children of his age, the boy has questions:



Grandma, how many stops are there?

"Look out the window of Mish (I will call it so), we will not pass by.

How long do we have to go?

for a long time. Take an apple and try it better.



And all in that spirit. Grandma tries to guess the scanwords, and the little one clearly distracts her, distracting her with questions. I try to read. And then, forty minutes later, the boy suddenly asks a question quite unexpectedly:



Was Lenin an Indian?



My grandmother was not prepared for such a turn. I thought at first what I thought. Grandma asks, suddenly he heard, and the little girl repeats her question:



Is Lenin an Indian?



I was stressed. Why an Indian? I began to listen more carefully.



What did you do, Misha?

What if he was the leader?

It is right, the leader. You don’t have to be an Indian in this case. He was the leader of the proletariat.

“He was the leader of the Red Army,” parishes Misha.

Okay the red. The pale faces. The grandmother explains, adding even more color to the understanding of who Lenin is.

Was he the leader of the pale faces? Was he an Indian from the Blind Faces tribe?

No, it is not right. He was the leader of ordinary white people, but only red people.



The little one thought. He obviously could not understand how it was. And white and red and the leader, but not the Indian.



Red or white? The boy asks again.

“White,” the grandmother answers, and thinks. No, the white were enemies, says the grandmother out loud.

Lenin is an Indian. It summarizes Misha.”