I work as an expert. There was one very interesting case. One day I peacefully drank tea in a break in proud solitude. The door opened and a 55-year-old man entered. With a scream: "Save, help, we need to examine the lock and the door, and you can also fingerprints." Please tell me the subject matter. The man reports that people come home to him every day. They don’t steal anything, but they put the furniture in places, they wear clothes, they twist the bulbs.

The first thought was waiting, the first crazy in my career. The second thought – I have lived in the white light for a long time, I know about human greed. A man asks if he lives alone, if there are savings and real estate, if there are loved and adored relatives. Yes to all answers! Does the family have the keys to the apartment? No, there was a scandal with her daughter, she became a fierce follower of the pasta monster (or "daughter of Christ", which is the same for me), the keys were taken from her. The thought that the daughter decided to bring the father to a psychic and take possession of property, beats in the head more and more.

The man said he was a frequent visitor to the police and prosecutor's office. However, no traces of theft were found.

Idiots do not work there, if no traces of the breach were found, they are not there. I will not find either. A man is advised to buy a simple camera or video recorder. I say goodbye to him. Until last autumn. We came back with the October rains.

He said there was only one hope for me. He, on my advice, set up a registrator and filmed a stranger entering the apartment and eating his spice. Directly from the bank. I ate almost the whole bank. An unheard of boldness. He took the video to the police, and they gave it to a psychic for some reason. Showing the video on the phone, and there... as already guessed, he himself, personally. That is where I was scared. Without showing up, she said that I will not be able to help, because "we are forbidden from above to enter the police affairs." And advised to go to the experts of the Ministry of Internal Affairs, type their profile. I know that the CPC will not go further, there can work with such individuals.

He refused to go to the MVD, he does not want to go to the psychic again. He said that there was the last sting in the sleeve - he will go to Malakhov, there they will believe him.

It was in the winter of 1997, and he was still in school. We go with a friend past the house, from the window of the second floor a scream- "Hey fools go us" and disappears. A friend makes a big snow and in the fortress. We stood for a couple of minutes, I was waiting thinking the shots would go down and give, and under what pretext I dropped. Two years later, I went to Crimea in the summer. Drinks, walks and so on. One company, another, there talked, a guy from my city. Where from which area? I know this house, I was there a few years ago and I tell this story. He is in the cockpit! He tells his version. A couple of years ago in the winter, the parents are not at home, with friends eaten, I (He) smoke in the fortress go two-"Hey fools go on" and under the window. His friend just exploded to the window to add as he got a portion of snow in the fucking. They sit on the floor waiting when they get up and give them.

Not only are we held for fools, but also on a short thread.

We separated in autumn. Rita left me.
And I went. I wanted to swing. I was afraid to take revenge on her. And Diko wanted to drag her back into the night again. So much emotion in the head of a young fool.
30 years have passed. My God, thirty years. In front of me was Rita, the treasurer of Rita in the “Five”.
The fifth, the box. I put out my kefir with garlic and cigarettes.

The treasurer quickly greets, without looking at me, knocks, “That’s all?” He throws away the painted cloth. What a familiar gesture. But I would have gone if I hadn’t looked at the badge that everyone has a cashier on his chest. by Margarita Averina.

Rita is you?
She finally raises her eyes at me:
And what... God! by Loyola?
I didn’t expect to meet you like this.
Summer of 1988. My husband and I are going to Moscow on Sunday. She is in a black mini shirt, lean, with beaten and lacquered hair, in her ears huge plastic earrings, grimps. She talks about aerobics.

Rita has beautiful legs, a slightly loose walk and an eternal light smile. It’s like she’s running away from me, and I’m trying to catch her. Rita is wildly sexy, men turn around. And I am proud to have such a girl with me, and I am angry because she doesn’t even allow herself to embrace.

I tell her that I dream of becoming a journalist, Rita smiles:

I think it is boring. I will be a singer. It is certain.

We are 20 years old. Rita graduates from music school, piano. But now it is summer, there is no class, so she has long nails, with red lacquer. These hands and those nails also make me crazy.

Rita says strictly:

I want to eat! Out of coffee!

I only have a rubber in my pocket. I was going to live for him for a week, my mom left before leaving. And this cafe is worth the hell knows how much it seems to be cooperative, to collapse. But I make a careless face: of course, go! I think it would be enough for the red, but it would be enough.
In the cafe, Rita ordered pizza and champagne. We drank, and I didn’t care, just to take Rita home from here for the night. But there was the Mirage group.

Rita jumped up and started dancing under her alone, boldly and passionately. All the fat around stood up on Rita, forgetting about the vodka snack. And Rita still sang: “Music has bound, the mystery has become...” She felt like a star.
I almost had no money, but Rita carelessly threw the ruble on the table:
Okay we go for a walk! So what next?
And we went to me. It seemed to have been the longest and best night in my life. Excellent aerobics for two. “Music has connected us, the mystery has become ours” – it sounded in my happy chambered head.

Three months later, in the autumn, we split up. Rita left me:

“Listen, I met a guy, very nice, sorry. And he also said that he would introduce me to the right person at the recording studio. I want to record an album, I even came up with a title – “My Happiness.”

A silly name, I answered.

And went away. I wanted to swing. I was afraid to take revenge on her. And Diko wanted to drag her back into the night again. So much emotion in the head of a young fool.

Thirty years have passed. My God, thirty years. In front of me was Rita, the treasurer of Rita in the "Five".

Do you remember being a singer? I smiled.

Rita smiled nervously:

“We all wanted something... But I know you became a journalist. Sometimes I read you, you are good.

I left the store. I thought about Rick. Well, you can say, I’ve been revenged, let’s say thirty years later. I did not deliberately give up. As funny as it was, there were exactly ten rubles. The coin.

Only now they are not at all those ten rubles, not drinking in a cafe with Soviet champagne. Music stunned, Rita became fat, her life ends at the box office, accompanied by barcode. The grief.

A few days later, I went into the same “five”. I rarely go there, but I went there. With an unclear purpose.

She was there again. He saw me and was pleased:

You are smoking, right? Let us go! I’ll ask Nail to sit at the box.

Rita put on her jacket and we smoked. Rita said:

I was a fool then, sorry.

Rita, it doesn’t matter now. Thirty years passed. I have a third marriage and I have three children.

And Rita smiled – as then:

I suddenly understood. You are sorry for me, right? You think – here is an unfortunate aunt, dreamed of becoming a star, and now at the box, weighing potatoes.

Well, not that...

I see. You are regret. Remember, I wanted to name the album “My Happiness”? You know, it is not stupid. I would call it so now. Just our happiness is changing very much, our notions about it. For twenty-five years I have been married to a very good man, Dimka. Yes, he’s simple, he doesn’t have any music hearing at all, he snores at night. But he is a good car mechanic, he has put up the furnace in our country, he knows everything. We have an adult daughter, a beautiful woman. She is twenty-two, more than I was then. She is a lawyer, such a businessman, not like me at all. She is married, and we have a granddaughter, also Rita, she is one and a half years old. I am a very happy grandmother. I had a great life. The job of the cashier? I could not work, my husband has normal money. But why not work while your granddaughter is in the garden? I am sociable, you know. Okay, I have to run.

Rita, I finally said. You are right, fucking right. And I do not regret you at all. Run, I was glad to see you.

Already standing in the green door, she suddenly turned:

By the way, I became a singer. I sing to my granddaughter, she loves it. So I am a star. A real star for my granddaughter.

Once a long time ago, 30 years ago, my wife’s aunt brought her future husband to meet her mother. She prepared for the visit, cooked a whole mountain of blines, planted a potential snail, well, let him eat, let him ask. And that sluggish one, eats without a special appetite, but does not refuse the supplement.

Here the aunt decides to eat a blend, bites, chews a couple of times... Fu! and splashes out.

Have you tried your own blends?

Not yet, not yet...

And you try!

Mom bites...yo-yo, and the blines are nauseous some, bitter! They conducted a small investigation and realized that instead of sugar, she generously poured soda into the paste. My mother is surprised:

Oh, and I think, how wonderful, what gorgeous blades have been made! Honey, why did you keep silent?

I didn’t want to hurt...

I laughed, and at the end, my mother said:

“Well,” said the daughter, “at least he’t get angry with your scratch!

They have lived since then.

My daughter, like all children, learns at a distance. The lessons went on all subjects, the most pleased me was the teacher of work. She asked the children to wash, chew, clean up the room, prepare lunch and send a video report.

Our country is governed by a secret government.
That is, we, of course, know where it is and how it looks, but what it makes useful to us is unknown to us.

The French historian Bulange a few years ago came up with the theory that all the geniuses of medieval France – artists, scientists, commanders – were born the following year after the country had gathered a good harvest (and, accordingly, pregnant and nursing mothers received enough nutrients to develop a full-fledged child). During the collection of evidence to confirm his theory, Bulange, however, faced unforeseen difficulties - a single accounting of the crop in France in the Middle Ages did not exist, the accounting books of the duchies and counties for the most part did not survive, and the records in the historical chronicles were uncertain ("in Aquitaine collected as many apples as not seen since the times of the world flood", but in the same year "in Burgundy all eaten bear and hammer").

Then Bulange came up with a trip around the archives in four parts of France and searched for menus and business books of old courtyards and hotels. It was accompanied by luck: it managed to find such a number of preserved old records to track the history of French lunches each year for centuries. But how do you know from the old menu the amount of harvest or non-harvest? After all, many courtyards and tractors had their own kitchen, and many dishes were not served to the table due to the harvest, but because of the craving of the cook.

The hero of the study was the vineyard. For centuries it went to the food of the poor and the rich, if the country had a shortage of bread, vegetables and meat. Relying on the appearance in the menu of dishes from grapefruit, Bulange concluded that in the years of his interest in France there were non-harvests, and the price of the grapefruit determined their scale. These calculations were subsequently confirmed by other indirect evidence and allowed the historian to prove the truth of his theory.

The sheep chose a wolf to be the leader of the herd. The wolf, in order not to be caught by the shepherds, brought the herd to the shady side of the hill and appointed friends from his herd as shepherds.
After some time, the rare grass on the pasture ended and the herd turned to the leader:
“O our Sunshine, do you not see that we have nothing to eat and our children are starving, let us go to the other side of the slope, where the sun illuminates the slopes, there is thick and juicy grass.
“What are you talking about, sheep,” replied the wolf, “you don’t need to shake the boat. I don’t see any problems with food.

Two weeks of quarantine, people get bored at home, and everyone knows that everyone goes crazy in their own way. Today at work, the boss told the story of his self-isolation.

For reference, the man is under 60, a military pensioner. I do not know his wife personally, but I know that the lady is also serious, 2 of the highest rule the whole institution is not the first year.





In the words of the boss:



In the second week the roof started to run. My wife and I are watching a movie. There the girl (according to the story of the film, she is a police officer, but something more clever, I don't remember exactly), kidnapped by bad bandits, put a bag on the head and on the whole screen show a view of the package, where she suffocates with her eyes opened. Well, I think to myself, “Didn’t there be enough money in the film’s budget to hire a consultant who would explain that when a packet is suffocated, the packet should just be roasted and breathed calmly?”

The wife heard, began to argue, saying you can't bite the bag when you are suffocated!

I disputed.

First, my wife began to squeeze me with a bag of Ashan, biting me.

Next was a pack of magnets, a bite.

My wife said the packages were very large. She took the smallest and thickest bag in the house, bite. They laughed like two psychopaths.



As a result, the boss won my dispute, admitting that it was the funniest half hour in the entire quarantine.

Children of the 20th century dreamed of growing up and flying to other planets.

But in the 21st century there was only a government on another planet.

In September 1993, a very strange phone call came to the police station of a sleepy suburb of Helsinki, where there were only two fights and five small thefts in a month. A young man named Riku, whispering, that he was being pursued by unknown persons who had already thrown two envelopes with bad notes into his mailbox, that the envelopes were black like resin, and that he was accused of some cruel crimes, and he was 18 years old, and he had never offended the flies in his life.

Arriving at the call, the Mykola conservatory was convinced that the young man’s story seemed to correspond to reality. Riku came to Helsinki to study at the university and rented a tiny studio apartment with a view of the park – it was so small that Mikola was able to explore the room without leaving the place and only turning around his axis. In fact, the studio had a bed, a book closet, a plate, a washing machine and a cage with a cloudy poppy.
“He usually talks a lot, but he’s afraid of strangers,” Riku said.

Mikola looked at the puppy and asked the young man for anonymous letters. Riku handed him two envelopes, very carefully made by someone from black paper. On the envelope was written: “Rico Sarinen, the wretch.” Consteble got out of the envelopes notes written with a female handwriting, and his eyebrows popped up:
“Do you think you can continue to slay defenseless animals? The payment is waiting for you!”
“We’ve seen it all, Sarinen. You destroyed your whole family last weekend. Be careful, we will come soon!”

Did you have any other pets besides the puppy? He clarified the container, looking at the young man.
and no.
Maybe you recently abandoned a girlfriend?
“I haven’t had any girlfriends yet,” Riku turned red.
Why not? You are a sports boy.
“I didn’t have any girls, especially those who were shy,” Riku said.
What did you do last weekend?
He prepared for laboratory work, read, walked around the park.
Have you seen any suspicious people?
and no.
Well well well. Find out where your knives are.
Riku showed him all his three knives – for bread, for meat and for pear. As expected, all three were clean.
- Letters I, with your permission, will take and send for examination, - said the constable and once again stared at the cloudy, squeezed poppy.
Is he always so evil? Maybe he has something hurt?
No to Constable. He is just... shy. I rarely have guests.

Returning to the police station, Mikola sent Newman's younger constable to observe the young man's apartment and the mailbox. Mikola slept badly that night. He was afraid of the pope. We had to find a reason and pull the bird out.
In the morning, Newman called and proudly that he had just detained two girls who had thrown another black envelope into Rick’s mailbox. Neumann soon brought them to the department. Both detainees were dressed in T-shirts with environmental slogans and had harsh, convinced of their rightness, Decembrist eyes.
“Girls, I have to tell you that this is not a joke,” said Mikola, holding the envelope in his hand. Not only did you accuse a citizen of a country of animal abuse, you did it in a completely unacceptable way. We are the police in the fight against crime. Your job is to call us and tell us about the crime.
You’t even do that! One of the girls got angry.
and yes! You are above the suffering of our smaller brothers! Added the second.
Why this? Tell me what you saw last weekend.
“Last weekend, this ugly Sarinen went to the park. He had a knife with him, the first one.
“A pear-cut knife,” the second added.
In the park he found a lawn where white mushrooms grew. Thirty white mushrooms, constable! And he cut off all thirty white mushrooms under the root, depriving the animal of the ability to reproduce.
What animal? I did not understand Mikko.
Mycelium, the fungus of the white mushroom, is an animal. What grows above the earth is only its reproductive and exploration organs. And mycelium itself, as recent experiences show, is able to collect and use information, understands its position in space and can even remember the path in the labyrinth. Have you heard of the Japanese scientists? When one thread was separated from the mycelium and placed at the beginning of the labyrinth, in which the whole fungus had previously grown, this thread grew flawlessly to another exit from the labyrinth, never twisted in the wrong direction. And there were two hundred false moves in the labyrinth!
I’m not a biologist, but I think mushrooms are plants. Animals do not grow from the ground. Animals move, at least they move.
Here you look. A new Finnish biology textbook for the university, the first girl to tick a finger into the just adopted (and subsequently cancelled) classification, according to which mushrooms were attributed to the kingdom of animals.
Mikola stupidly entered a textbook of biology.
What will you say now? An animal brutally cut off thirty genitals – is it animal abuse or not?! to
Mikola’s constable felt terribly uncomfortable. If mycelium is really, an animal, and also highly developed...
- Write a statement about the crime, we will consider it, - he shrugged his hand.

Thus was born one of the funniest cases in the history of Finnish criminal law. The case, indeed, did not go. And soon uniformity was introduced to biological systematics, and mushrooms finally emerged into a separate kingdom of living organisms.

Countering the Coronavirus in Russia:
Healthy to isolate yourself
The sick self-healed
Students to self-learn
Working to self-distance
Unemployed to self-assure
Hungry and self-sufficient
Dead to Self-Buried
Unhappy to self-conflict

There is a theory on Reddit that the WALL-E robot is an analogue of the tempting snake. In fact, the people on the spacecraft were provided with everything, engaged in creativity, they had no material worries. At the end of the cartoon they return to the empty ground and begin to work physically with scarce resources and means of labor. A few generations later there will be a social stratification, and there will surely be a myth that “a creature” passed “a plant” on to “a woman named Eve”, after which humanity left “Paradise”.

2120: Humanity is almost extinct from another terrible epidemic. Finally, the lighthouses of science united and created a system capable of giving society a second chance. A system that supported human life and gave a chance to live fully in society without fear of being infected with deadly diseases. Thus, the problem of self-isolation disappeared by itself. But the most dangerous terrorist "Morpheus" appeared, which threatened the future fate of the human race. He began to disconnect people from the system and recruit them to conduct diversion and subversion activities. The last hope of the species Homo sapiens were the agents. Rejected guys risking their own lives in the fight against a dangerous group. Without knowing sleep and rest, they are always on check and will attack terrorists.

“You know, the first Matrix was created as an ideal world where there is no suffering, where all people will be happy. and total failure. People did not accept the program, everyone had to be destroyed. It is pleasant to think that we have failed to describe the ideal world in a programming language, but I believe that humanity as a species will not accept a reality without suffering and poverty.” and c)

CCC: Happiness is, roughly speaking, hormones in the head. If they are at the same level, the brain gets used to it and happiness seems ordinary. Increasing hormone levels is impossible. Thus, it is necessary to alternate moments of happiness and misfortune.

DDD: Wow, but nobody wants to live fucking. Good habits are not boring.

You can worry about not having time to buy fashionable pants, and you can worry, for example, that lost all loved ones in the war.

Forget the suffering. Especially severe suffering. If a person has experienced really serious suffering, then he is then overwhelmed all his life and he is clearly no more fun than any major who has a good life from birth.

And if you want trial or misfortune, then watch the movie of the Bull, engage in sports, creativity or create a project of some complex to create yourself controllable difficulties artificially.

The number of victims from the fight against the coronavirus as usual exceeds the number of victims from the coronavirus itself.

Hi to.

The second month of the epidemic.
My lovely cozy hospital has been damaged by white brass-colored patient sorting tents in front of the two entrances to the hospital, the cafeteria has closed, visits to patients are prohibited, scheduled operations have been cancelled, my nurses have been mobilized into the departments of patients with the virus, the pre-operational department has been converted into a department for patients without the virus, intensive therapy has become the epicenter of combat actions to save the most severe patients...
Changed and staff, armor and heavy masks stifled greetings, my relaxed manner of behavior with jokes-additions, so encouraging patients and their families, went into the past...we began to use circumventing corridors with less risk of infection.
The schedule changed, and I was transferred to the caste position of rescue reserve.
However, it is not possible to exaggerate - these were battles of local importance, incomparable with the heroic battles of Italian or New York physicians. But – paranoia is paranoia – and there is little pleasure in it.
So nothing surprising — this morning I went to the hospital obscure, with a disgusting feeling of the need to do my duty in an environment of dissatisfaction with myself and my life.
Arrived, Caesarean, the old tested remedy for mood improvement - work, the air of the operation itself - make you forget about the problems of the last two months.
Caesarean, in general, the best antidepressant - newborns will make any person smile, even the darkest.
Everything went as usual – a spin-off, photos, tears of happiness, congratulations.
As usual, except for the newborn.
Specifically his voice.
I did not expect to hear such an agile bass from a thirty-second boy from the family. Moreover, this bass was attached to a pair of container lungs and a tireless diaphragm: once he took the note, he pulled it with the enthusiasm of the opera singer, without stopping!! to
Yes, any aria will be on his shoulder, we decided and predicted the fate of the great opera singer of the type of Shalalapin or Pavarotti.
Grow up, baby, sing in the “La Scala” of the twenty-two century the leading part in the heroic opera “Italy, 2020”.
People by this time will live long and happy, for them the Great Pandemic 2020 will be a simple and annoying detail of the long-forgotten history of the beginning of the past, a bit barbaric, century.
The story in which we all live.
And we survive: somebody has to teach this extraordinary crawler how to sing correctly. @Michael Ashnin

In his address to the people, the president promised for three months to reduce by a third his salary, the salary of his orders, ministers and deputy ministers and to send this money to fight the virus. He also called for similar actions by officials of state institutions and heads of large companies.
It was the President of South Africa.

Xxx: Gender of the month - gay

Tagged: homework

Yesterday in the bakery near the house appeared the first cakes. And for me, cuddles are what I love Easter for, so of course, “give two!” In the line next to him stood an elderly woman who, of course, could not just take and keep silent. So I was informed that the bulls would dry up by Sunday. And when I said that I was not going to wait for Sunday, there began to be such worship and confusion about my sinful self, that I quickly grabbed my bowls and dropped them. Now I eat my puddle and think of the strange things of the world: how many thieves, murderers, rapists live in the world, and I should be ashamed that I ate the puddle not on Easter.