I read several posts about gifts from my parents and remembered my story.

My parents gave me a radio-controlled helicopter for my birthday. How I was delighted! He targeted his parents, grabbed this super gift and jumped out on the street. There he ran with the helicopter, screamed, laughed joyfully. I still remember that feeling of true unfailing happiness!

When he played, he came home, took a cloth, very carefully wiped out his gift from the dust and put it on the table before him. Dad and mom obviously did not expect such a reaction, but it was visible that they were very pleased that their gift pleased me. And when they turned away, my wife approached me and said to my ear, "You're a fucking guy."

It was told by the mother-in-law.

My husband was sick, the fever was high, cough, rhinitis, throat, all as usual in general. I need a hospital. I call the clinic to call the doctor at home. When it’s busy, no one takes the phone. I am going to the clinic on my way to work. I come, the row in the registration is not surprising. I approach the window, stretch out my husband's box and ask to call the doctor to the house, where the lady on the other side of the window raises a pretentious look at me and with a theatrical breath ticks a pen into one of the papers on the glass. (Next dialogue (C) - the mother-in-law, (R) the woman from the registry)

Woman, do you know how to read? It is written in black on white, calling the doctor at home only by phone! Here is the number!”

(C): I called you all morning, you are busy, then no one takes.

(R): So you were calling the wrong place!

(C): How not there when this is the same number that you have written here! (I stretch the phone with a long list of outgoing ones)

R: What are you talking to me here?

(C): I just showed that I called there. Anyway, once I came, accept the challenge at home.

(R): "A long pause, a theatrical breath, a contemptful look" Woman, I repeat again, calls the doctor home only by phone!

Q: Are you serious? But I’m here, the police with you, and you can’t take the challenge?

(R): Call home only by phone!

Okay I think. I go three meters from the window, out of the zone of visibility, get my cell phone and call the number on the glass. In the next window on the table the phone rings. A woman in the registry, like nothing else, sits at the computer and closes something lazily on the keyboard. I keep on calling, a minute, two, three. The phone is broken, the response is zero. From the depths there is a scream, “Lena! Take your phone!” The woman lazyly stands up and goes to the neighboring window to the phone. Here I go into the zone of her visibility, pointing to my phone and saying, “Yes, I’m calling, take the phone!” She removes the phone and accepts the call to the house. At the same time, we look at each other through the glass and hear each other perfectly without the phone. Marriage of the highest degree.

My colleague’s daughter is five and a half years old. Yesterday, he says, approaches and asks, "When will we write a letter to Santa Claus?" She replies that soon and wondering, "What do you want as a gift?" The child said, “I’ll ask him a lot of money for your salary. We have everything we want to buy.” The fucking! Was it possible?

A girl who has not come to a date can only ruin your mood, a girl who has come to a date can ruin your whole life.

About social networks, the blockade and the Leningrad Zoo

Any modern social network is a breakdown of our society – as it really is. “In the bathroom, in the hospital and in the cemetery, everyone is equal.” Per, in the Internet, where all social boundaries and conditionalities are finally removed, they are still more equal.
Almost everyone is registered on various social networks: from first-class students to retirees. People of all ages and professions with pleasure and amazing dedication communicate with each other in a way that in reality would not work out: students with their teachers discuss university news equally, subordinates with their bosses – their projects and joint parties, distant relatives become closer to each other, shy young people dare to get acquainted with girls... It happens that you can even directly talk to a famous artist, musician, deputy, even the governor, if, of course, they are sufficiently democratic.
Absolute transparency whileining some anonymity gives stunning results: people do not be embarrassed to express their opinion on any occasion and without any reason, personal blogs flourish in color, on personal pages and in groups grow multi-storey essays, reviews, memories, opinions... Sometimes in the comments unfold real battles that affect the most acute problems of our society.
The case that prompted me to write about him happened in one of the popular social networks. The reason was a seemingly passing note that the white bear in the Leningrad Zoo is preparing for winter and intensely consuming fish oil. The discussion began with a provocation and ended with a verbal conversation. It has not ended, it has stopped. The provocation was that, in the opinion of one of the users, the zoo needs to be renamed, to bring its name in line with the modern name of the city. He was reminded that the name "Leningradsky" was preserved in memory of the feat of the workers of the beast in the years of the blockade of Leningrad: exhausted and exhausted people saved animals, sometimes at the cost of their lives. Do many remember today how under the German bombardment died an elephant and an elephant guard, who did not hide in a bomb shelter, but remained next to his pet? Many will remember that the Behemoth safely survived the blockade only thanks to the titanic efforts of a weak woman – Evdokia Dasina, who daily brought 40 vades of water (400 liters) from Nevada on saucers!Washing the animal’s scratched skin. Has anyone ever heard that when in November 1941 one of the monkeys gave birth to a baby, then in order to save and feed him, zoo workers hit high thresholds and managed to extract donor milk in one of the nurseries? People dying of starvation thought about saving their defenseless pets, calmed them during air disturbances, bound their wounds after artillery shots, tried to feed them rather than eat them... Is this not a feat worthy of eternal glory and eternal memory?
This is where the real panopticum begins. The user paralyzed that in those years the city was named as a murderer, a thief and a thief, that the blockade was long ago, that it would be time to live today, not a blockade, because the blockade was many years ago and it is time to return to reality, that it has long been to be renamed, making the name beautiful and bright, so that there is no shame to go to the future generation, so that its name is not associated with pain, blood and war...
Should I be ashamed to come to Leningrad Zoo? I am not ashamed! I am ashamed that I have to justify myself before a man who wants to destroy the memory of the feat of Leningrad. I would never have thought that I would live until the day when the word “Leningrader” would become blasphemy. That is why I am ashamed. The most striking thing is that this man is ten years older than me, a wealthy middle-aged citizen... It is often said that a generation has grown up knowing about war and blockade only from films, well if documentary, it is probably the grandchildren and grandchildren of frontmen and blockaders. But much worse, among the older generation, the sons and grandchildren of those who defended Leningrad, there are people like this User. And, apparently, such people will become more and more over time.
Apparently, no one doubts that the memory of the blockade is sacred, but it is rarely remembered, 4 times a year. And it turns out that in order to preserve the sacred status of this memory, it is not enough to walk once a year on Nevsky Prospect with a portrait of a grandfather or a grandfather, a bouquet of nails and a Georgian tape on a lace. After all, if one day in the year "I remember and I am proud", and 364 days "the blockade was a long time and it is time to live today" - it is no longer a sacred memory, nor is it a memory at all.

In your resume you indicated that you don’t like gays.
No, it is rather me.
You do not fit us.
See you here? I wrote so.

I recently met a friend, a face in blue, a huge lamp under the eye, a little crumbling...

So, a couple of days ago, he decided to twist his numbers from the car, so that the marker would circle the areas where the paint has slipped. Two passers stumbled upon him and stumbled from his heart. When I found out it was his car, it was too late.

Every HR manager believes that he will never have problems with the device to work after 40 years.

I remember this when I was a little boy in the village. It is a celebration, right? Or probably elections. The elections in the village were also a celebration. All dressed in the club buffet, and of course the concert. The artists came from the city, that you!

And that means there is a concert, some self-activity on the stage, babies there in cockroaches, a man with a bagel, a curly rabbin, all the things. The people are knocking, the hall is fighting. Suddenly, some movement begins in the room. At first unnoticed, one by two, the people begin to stretch to the exit. Those who see it whisper, and also look at the door with interest. What happened there?

Nothing happened there. Just on the club wing sits a guard, Uncle Losha, well drunk, with a harmochka, and next to him two old ladies, sitting. And they turn out to scratch the maternal parts. Okay, they are self-exhausting. with the soul. And the people are moving.

Five minutes later, the hall was half empty, and after ten minutes, only those who slept remained. Then and the artists on the stage, falling into some confusion, decided to see where the people stood, not the fire. The whole public is on the street. With an uncle and two old ladies in the middle.

And the artists what? The job of an artist is to be with the people. Well, these people, don't be fools, first timidly, with a barrel, the basist touched, to Uncle Leche adjusting, and then the babies in the chickens, bowing, pulled into a circle. How a Dalai Lama! It was something that was never heard in the village. The tears even turned from some of our stallions, and the dogs in horror closed their ears to their young children.

This was a show like that. Artists are not allowed! It was almost on hand, the success was stunning! The artists were so happy!
The celebration was shorter.
Only Parthorgu then got a sort of pretext, and Uncle Losha fell asleep, drunk, on the doorstep, with a harmony.

What is hyperinflation? – What is hyperinflation?
Mother: This is when milk "36 kopecks" costs 57 rubles.

In our team there are two Koreas - one married (Serega) and the other single (Vitalik). Often after the service, they arranged for themselves the process of drinking alcoholic drinks. And if the evening was delayed we stayed at Vitalik. And Serega told his third wife that Vitalik is married, raises two children and his wife has already prepared a guest room, etc. This continued until the New Year's corporate, where Serega came with his wife. At the corporation, the host said: "I hand over the microphone to the most envious single of our part" and handed over the microphone to Vitalik. I had to see Serena’s wife’s face. I don’t know the consequences, but Serega is still married.

Hello to all!

On Friday I decided to go to the cinema. I called a taxi. A taxi driver arrives. I sit and look at him. The beard almost to the belly, obviously a guest of the capital. He looked at me and said, “Good evening.”

I said, “Good and clarify the address.”

He looks at me and says, “Hey brother, we’ll go anywhere, stick here.”

I am what? What kind of shaker?”

She said, “Well, you’re what, wow, you’re what!”

I sit and I don’t understand what I’m talking about.

And then he says, “Well, stecker, you are what? You do not know! “Safety shutter!”

I: “Well, if the security plug”

attached to go.

I am waiting for my wife, next to me is the daughter of my wife's friend, 5 years old. We communicate. The teeth are partially in caries.

Jasmine, your teeth didn’t fall out yet.

J is no.

I. They will soon begin to fall out and new ones will begin to grow.

and mmm. The important thing is that gold does not grow.

Do you not like gold?

How cheap they look.

xxx: In order for Sisadmin to understand the hint, it was probably necessary to lay out pieces of the wire "pull me out." Otherwise, I fear, the probability is extremely small. Well, or a sheet A0 on the wall with the same message in large letters.

YYY: Then he fucking pulls out that list. Because TZ must be written literally and clearly.

Oligarchs are fed from oil wells, and journalists from locksmiths.

Charlie, who is not Chaplin.

Charlie, it’s a bird, a strawberry, and it’s also my child. No, not in the sense you thought it was my adopted child.

So the case was so. On a hot June morning in 2008, I walked out on the lawn in front of my house and saw a large black crown seated tightly on a pebble tree that grows right in front of the windows. Then I just thought, “Well, to eat somebody came, probably, the devil’s trouble” – and went back home.

A few hours later, I went out again to cut the grass. To my surprise, the crown was still on the cradle and everyone was trying to get something out of there.

I became curious, I approached, the crown, of course, immediately left.

I looked inside the coil – the first thing I saw was a reversed bird nest. “Everything is clear,” I decided, “I got to the smallest...” And then suddenly I didn’t even see or hear it, but rather I felt some kind of choking downstairs. He lifted up, of course. There the bird's child hangs, without feathers, blind, and the yellow cloth has opened up.

This is the seat, a! Okay, I took this miracle in my hand and went home. And the miracle is obviously about to die, and I understand it - who would survive so long without water and food, getting caught up in a cane, especially when all sorts of predators are trying to eat you?

I was somehow not arranged the intention of the child to die, so I started to spat him with water from the pipette. At first, this straw from my water refused, and then suddenly stunned and drowned the whole pipette. Then I realized that I would agree with him.

First of all, I was concerned about housing. He fled again to the culled tree, took from there the overturned nest, dragged it to himself on the loft, and there the yellow claw and settled.

Drinking a baby is good, of course, but it also needs to be fed. And the birds are bitter. Okay, no problem, jump into the car and get food to the nearest pet store. I bought what I needed, some special mixture for chickens, this mixture looked like a regular paste.

We run back home, with a piece of the test in the hand, and there the bird child is already pulling his neck into the whole fool and cries about the fact that he is not fed.

and feeding. And the child, eating, whispered, and imagined, say, Charlie is his name.

I joke, I joke, the child whispered after the patch just and fell asleep right away. He just whispered somehow like the word Charlie, and since then I have called him Charlie.

The first night I slept next to the puppy – was it too little? He did right, as it turned out. Charlie wanted to drink and eat about every hour, so I served him. What next to be? - I need to work, and the puppy obviously will not do without my care. I went and bought a cage, and with Charlie's parent nest, I entered it, and took it to work.

You would see how my colleagues cracked. Here is Vova Sidorov, and he has a cage with a yellow-roast chicken in his hands!

Nothing, my colleagues have become accustomed to this exit.

Charlie was growing up. The whole was operated, his tail slid and he began to swing his wings.

Here I got into my second seat. By naivety, I thought that birds have the ability to fly on the level of instinct. As it turns out, the puppies should be taught to fly just as much as we teach our children to swim.
So I took the business. He first put Charlie on his shoulder, and began to knock himself on his sides with his hands. Type: “Hop, you see Charlie?” Charlie saw it, and took to knock my wings in response. “But now, cowboy, you see?” Ah, like, I see, and in response to me also the same "chop-chop-chop" with wings gives.

At some point, I felt that Charlie was no longer clinging to me as much as holding his wings for the air. Then I decided to do my most desperate thing. I took Charlie in the hand and threw him. I don’t know who was more frightened at the time—I or Charlie—but he flew. He flew badly, but quite successfully and gently landed on the back of the chair on the veranda.

And then we got things easier. Every morning I sat Charlie on my shoulder, and started running with him on the lawn, grinding my hands on my sides, like my wings. At first, Charlie didn't look very well at these excesses of mine, thought, probably, that I mocked him, and then realized that parents don't choose, and if he got such a strange and awkward daddy, then that's the case. And I started to pull my wings into the unison.

I think you can guess that one day Charlie flew by himself. First he flew to the nearby tree, thought, and flew back to me on his head. I pulled him off, stretched out my hand and said, “Charlie, fly.”

He thought a little, and then scattered and escaped in the crown of the tree.

No, I’ve seen him a couple of times – when the lawn was coming out, Charlie was flying and sitting on my shoulder or on my head. Once upon a time, I even stumbled on my head on an old memory. Then disappeared forever.

I know that the birds have a short life, and Charlie is probably old and dead, and for some reason I look around and try to find my Charlie. Even if not Charlie, maybe any of the birds, his daughters, will fly on my shoulder when it comes, and will say that she is Charlie’s daughter.

Pipe-leggers are very polite people and always skip the asphalt-leggers ahead.

When I was 23, I worked as a publishing editor in a newspaper. Sometimes I had to go to the publisher and control the process, and one day I was given an assistant to a lady whose approximate age I immediately estimated at 35-40. We talked to her and she asked me how old I was.

and twenty three.

The lady thought sharply.

And I am twenty-three.

I have already thought here.

Are you married? She asked.

and no.

The lady smiled relieved:

Oh well understand. And I am married.

Once, while on vacation in one of the Middle East countries, I hired a local guide to join the country’s cultural and historical values. Agreed in price. The road is not close, we go on his minibus. Omar turns the lamb andins a secular conversation - we talk a little about everything - about the weather, cooking, family...

Question: Do you have children?

There is. I answer. The daughter. 20 years of her.

and wow! What are you saying, dear! ? to He cried in English with an Arabic accent. How old are you then?

and forty two.

and waii! You don’t get more than 25! How young you look, dear!



I was not even surprised by such a sincere lust - the culture is eastern, a person clearly expects good teas, and unfounded. Polite thank you.

Having recorded a positive reaction, Omar turns to me and with joyful excitement says, "Well, karafuzzi, now you - guess how old I am?

Well, I think you will have to play according to the rules of Eastern diplomacy – you have to respond with kindness to kindness. I appreciate the appearance of my visavi - a swollen face, bags under the eyes, porous skin, baldness, penetrating grey. From the presumed age I mentally take ten years and confidently say, "Forty?

Omar did not answer immediately. For half a minute, without blinking, he stared sadly at the road right in front of him, before pressing out: “Twenty-seven.”



The rest of the road went in silence. The conversation did not go. Everyone thought of something of their own.

My father called me with a perforator to drill four holes.

Just simply.

I come, scratch the perforator, plant a burr:

Where to heritage?

Speak more quietly!

and? ? to ? to ? to ? to

Lida (his wife) after a night’s sleep!

Is there anything I will do here with a perforator in the wall? I said a whisper.