I was 9-10 years old (end of the 90s, early 00). At that time there was a super popular group “scooter”. I liked their song "How much is the fish", and then I watched the video on TV.

Disaster Scooter, Childhood, Trying to Escape

My childhood heart loved Eich P. Baxter entirely. I immediately bought their cassette (the CD was not yet available) and listened to it to the hole, dreaming of a beautiful prince.

Here Papa brings a magazine of 7 days and there is just a huge article on 3 sheets with the main soloist and a lot of photos. I kissed these photos one evening and here on the radio host tells how a girl from Russia stuck home to a member of the group “five” (whose eyelid in the eyebrows was) and he let her in and drank her tea. Here, in my child’s brain, a plan immediately matures. Since we lived in the Moscow region, I planned to get by electric train to the Moscow Station, and there to take a train to Germany. Then someone would help me get to Eich P. Baxter’s house and he would open the door and marry me.

In the school dining room I liked sweet popcorn and I ordered my sister to buy me 4 packs (as I remember now, I took 16 rubles from my soul and left myself 50 rubles on the way to Germany). Why I didn’t buy it, I don’t remember. In the evening, I put 4 packs of sweet popcorn and 2 bananas in a huge old wallet. The next day, after school, I ate tightly, wore the best sporting suit, a white shirt (it was a warm September) and tied 2 tails with straps. And here I stand in front of the exit, look at myself in the mirror and imagine how upset Mom and Dad will be. My grandmother and sister will cry. They will look for me, and I will be so far away. In general, I was so angry with compassion and love for myself that I broke up and went nowhere. Soon my mother came from work and I told her that I couldn’t get to school, and I was crying. And she looked at the photo of Eich P. Baxter, cried and ate her supplies to escape.

The more I listen to journalists at various summits, the more I am convinced that they are all birds—papagaies, crabs, and canary birds. They can only whisper and repeat what their masters taught them.

Any teacher, working in school for many years, in the topic - how much children-social-idiots with mothers have grown up in recent years, curled with knowledge about the correct and healthy upbringing of their insignificant children.
Every fool and prosecutor knows exactly that children cannot be punished, otherwise their gentle, hard-to-educate psyche can collapse and grow up unknown what. But with the help of new trends, it is known that - a two-legged human shit.
As was previously the case in our terrible socialist childhood in the camp – for the wickedness, the shamefulness, the slothfulness, the boastfulness, the lies – there must have been a tough response from the boys all over the world. One for all and all for one, and if someone is going to cheer, then the educational procedure in the torsion and the tables immediately socialized the child and brought him to feel. But now down. The whole power of the rule of law lies in the protection of the fools, who can only be raised by admonition.

So then. A famous pioneer camp in history. International Children’s Centre. Like then, the most talented children get the trip. Previously, these were children, purely by chance, of obkomovsky, gorkomovsky, hornoshny oblonošnych and so on. Officers and executives, but this is not the case. You know how.
And here one of the daily days, the head of the security service of a serious state company goes through the camp. The father asked secretly to check how his son lives and rests there. The head of the SB, as it was appropriate, looked at everything, everything seemed to be fine, but looking for a profile in the toilet - a little stumbled. In a shining bowl and smelling roses, the toilet in one of the cabins was squeezed and squeezed. What a shit, asked the head of the SB at the camp guard. You understand, he says. There is a Russian boy in your squad. He refuses to wash himself. This is not a bar. Our warnings and prayers do not work on him. He is dumb like a pig in a laundry.
And the parents?
He lives with his mother and we don’t know anything about his father. Mother whispers that the boy is so accustomed and we are not going to raise him. Who are we against her? All, grit, I buried if you picket on the Ruslanchik.
Couldn’t this idiot just be put on the horns? Making a dark?
You are what! Mommy she sends here all the stuff, the type is cooler than herself.
Do you speak yourself? What is this mother’s name? Chicken is. So is so.
Well, our head of the SB went to the boss for a report.
A week later, Ruslanchik's mother arrives from Moscow at night. Silence takes the child out of the bedroom.
Going around the corner. And in a minute, a double whistle is distributed to the entire "marine" squad. Mother cries and cries her baby. In the absence of the woman's belt, the mother licked her son with a branch of acacia. It was hard for her leaders to get rid of it.
The next day, Ruslanchik unexpectedly discovered the ability to wash in the toilet, say thank you in the dining room and abruptly ceased to fuck out. Laughing at all. What happened was told by the BJP chief.
He just called his friend and told him about the situation. He, being not the last person in the General Prosecutor's Office, called the general chief of the same lady and gently asked why in his company, the boss of the company, in senior positions, do the babies, unable to teach even their children the rules of behavior and hygiene? And why are their children so fucking in front of the children of even more respected people? Who gave her the right to that? He understood the hint and sent an order to organize the chief of the Petush department to wash the toilets on the general floors. Until she learns herself and teaches her skills to her relatives. And my mother explained in direct text that fucking she would be in this reality the last...
A very effective remedy for scabies turned out to be, unfortunately, rare and expensive.

PS What surprised me in this story. Humanity has evolved over millennia and the experience in education also has a thousand-year history. So what a fucking kind of foolish people suddenly decided that punishing children is a universal crime! But if a young creature does not understand the meaning of words at all, then another source of knowledge, worked out on the tapes of millions of our fellow tribes, has the world historical right to life. And Ruslanchiki will quickly become normal people, learn to appreciate not only themselves and the notion of boys major will finally disappear from our lexicon.

by 2025.
In the Code of Criminal Procedure of the Russian Federation was introduced the article "Reaching the retirement age", in the Criminal Code of the Russian Federation was introduced the article "Vilty exceeding the retirement age".

It’s better to hear in your address, “Well, you’re a fruit!“Well, you are a vegetable!“”

Do you know how it happens? You live your quiet, measured life. Many interesting people around, many trips to countries and continents. You are getting older. Years pass like goats in the evening sky. And only memories remain behind their flock and screams of “li-y-k! and liqueur!”

Fate drove me, with a filming group, to Mexico. Flights, work, negotiations, relocations - all the routine fell on my shoulders. The assistant remains in Moscow. Just before the trip I broke my hand. The Growth! Oh, how I already wore her! And he called it rough, and rough, and rough. Glad she didn’t hear that! How is it? At the most uncomfortable moment for me and the group! I missed her guardian angel. Or maybe my...
And here I go on a white day on a hot slope of a slightly inclined street, shooting objects on the camera on the opposite side. And here... This is always the case... All the important things happen unexpectedly... From somewhere above, on the sidewalk, a ten-year-old boy flies out on the big. I didn’t even have time to see the story, as he hit my hand with the wheel!
The camera, like in slow shooting, flies out of hand and flies into small pieces on the rocks. I stand with my mouth open. And a small shirt, slowing down on my hand for a second, jumps out at the crossroads, almost hitting the forehead of the body of the passing truck. A second was not enough to get under the wheels! A little further away, he slowly falls on the bridge, and the bike continues to bear on the road and ends his life under the wheels of an old scooter.
And there was day, and there was evening. somehow otherwise. A! There was a crowd and there was police. There were witnesses who saw the whole situation from the beginning to the end.
A protocol was drawn up on the site. In the corner weep the mother of the little breaker of all the rules of the PDD. Nearby was crying, whether from fear, or from the loss of the bicycle, the hero of my story. I was waiting for a translator and I thought.
The distant days of my childhood. I ride on my new "Orly" along the narrow brushed streets of my Lviv. The hair is ripped by the wind. There is parody music in my head. I am delighted with this royal gift for my decade. This great man can do everything. Now I’ll jump on a crossover from the border to the bridge, like a real trampoline rider. I’m already training this jump for the third time before showing it to my friends. Fortunately, there are never cars here. for 10 seconds! and nine! Eight, but what is it? A toy machine runs over me. I am braking! I try to get around her, but she suddenly gives back. I am surprised to fall on the sidewalk, and my bike, pulling this fabulous machine, flies out on the bridge, right under the wheels of ZIL.
The police, the crying mother, the father’s belt I remembered poorly. But the boy-tourist from Japan with his miracle-radio-machine has not been erased in memory to this day. He specifically directed her across to me, seeing that I would not notice the truck before the collision. Neither he nor his parents got the money. They only rejoiced in my salvation.
I was reminded by our translator, Consuella. She was worried about my health. The next question was about the price of the camera that the gentleman wishes to display in claim to the little hooligan. Well, she told me that the driver of the lightweight, who crashed on a bicycle, also demands monetary satisfaction for something there stripped from his rugged roof.
I said I have no financial claims. I am glad the boy is alive and almost healthy. I took out all the cash that was with me, I gave $250 to the boy’s mother, taking from her a vow to take the boy to the doctor if he feels dizzying or other illnesses. Buy him another bicycle. The driver gave everything left. Exactly $95.
Consuella told me not to do this, explaining that the police had no claims against me. The woman and the boy thanked, rushing to kiss me in the hand. The joyful driver of the car washed under the noise. Probably afraid that I might change my mind. And I was leaving the site and realizing that a couple of hours ago the guardian angel of this little Mateo and mine had made a deal. I signed it with my money. And he gave more only because he wanted to add something from himself. I used the camera to calculate the action of a Japanese boy. Sorry, I never knew your name. And with money I would simply like to extend this process of interaction between the guardian angels who protect us.
Remember to. Someday you will be asked what they did for you. At the most unexpected moment. And you will have a chance not only to calculate what happened, but also to extend the process.

I didn’t have time to become a pioneer and a commodor. I will not be able to go and retire.

Peter on Friday night. A young couple walks around the center. The husband (he is, as it is easy to guess, the storyteller) usually thinks about everything at once and nothing specifically, the wife practically looks at the passers and after the process announces: "Let's come home, we will shave your beard." The husband, without much surprise, said, “Why is this more?” Wife: “Now all the youths have beards. You have become like a little boy.”

Unfortunately, the lack of hearing and voice nature often compensates for the irresistible urge to sing.

I am a working pensioner. With a bad salary. In the PFR I list 24 trillion per month. I have a pension of 23 tr. That is to say, I keep myself and give another 1 tr to the government for ice cream. In return, the government decided to recalculate my pension. The maximum that shines on me is 3 points for 81 rubles. I don’t know if it’s a generous gift from liberal lawyers driving the economy. It is necessary to think about it - to punish those who work with rubles, rather than sitting on the neck of the budget. Are these people who run the economy not mutants by chance?? to

"The Prime Minister Dmitry Medvedev at a meeting held on 13.07.2018 said: "Along with the pension reform, the period of pregnancy should be reduced from 9 to 5 months. But not immediately, but gradually, one month a year. The “New Newspaper”

My sister and friends arranged a tea drink and I unwittingly listened to their conversation. One lady shared her sadness: "When I was fifteen, my mom and I bought me a little bit different in size, my mom told me to grow up. Well, I threw him on the shelf, thinking of next year. I forgot about him. Today I am 31 and yesterday I excavated this leaflet, I measured it, and it is still ugly to grow(((

I remembered.

I was sent to my aunt to give the key to the apartment, my mother strictly said. “Don’t lose your key.” I took the key and went. I go and think, “I’m not going to lose it,” and I think, “I need to practice finding the key to find it quickly.” I look at him from all sides, and with all my strength I throw him forward, closing my eyes.

And you know what? Yes to! I lost him.

I searched for that key for several hours. What was my relief when, all dirty, crying, I noticed the flash of the key. I ran to him like a naked man, grabbed him and went. With the confidence that I’t lose him.

In the neighborhood there is a bargain. Working with polyethylene film. We need this film for packaging products. Go to him.

Leah is Hi. Sell 6 rolls of handcuffs.

No, it is a small thing. I work at least 20 rounds.

This is what you have to do with them (Fuck you traitor). Here is money. Give me six. We urgently need.

and no.

was advised. 20 rubles is for six months. There is nowhere nearer, I decided to go.

See you here? I know you won’t find it nowhere. Learn to report.

We did not share Lech triumph. The wicked left. In the shop received puzzles from the management for spending.

Leah came to us yesterday.

Hi guys guys. We have a shelf under the boxes, can you scrape the size of the board? I already brought the material.

And a lot?

Two of Cuba.

is excellent. 100 rubles per meter, spread in three days.

Ahha, it is funny. Okay, I will come after tomorrow. Beer with me. Go, we will move to you.

Alexey, I may have been unclear. 100 rubles for a meter. The boards go by themselves. If you need loaders, then 700 rubles / hour for one.

You are shrinking. Come back to the movie, I will sell it.

I have 11 rounds of your worth. So we will not come.

Moral: If you catch the fate for the tail, don’t shake it for the eggs.

The chief cardiologist of the Ministry of Health: The longer you walk, the healthier the heart of the person you walk on!

About the roads or how to become bad...

There are such interesting associations in Russia as gardening societies. Once it was rural territories of 6 acres issued by the state, but over the past decades many cities have significantly expanded and now many gardens have become quite urban areas. In most of them, people build capital houses and get a license, but the city authorities do not make any effort to improve these new territories. Absolutely everything gardeners do at their own expense: set up pillars and laying power lines, laying water pipes, sewage, gas pipes and even putting roads in order. Such a state in the state or direct implementation of the principle - "Start with yourself!". The forms of implementation are different, the gardening board can collect money, and the residents of one street can simply drop on some local issue.

Most often we dropped down the whole street to repair the ground road, leveled it with a bulldozer, bought several cars of sludge and leveled it on the street with our own forces. After some time, the slug went to the ground and after about a year and a half the operation had to be repeated again. We decided that it was quite meaningless and once dropped substantially large amounts of money just wrecked the road.

Moreover, the entire population of the street went out to level the imported concrete with blades, holding an epic mega-sabbath. Three days later, the people regretted their decision. The fact is that the roads in horticulture are very narrow, two cars can travel in just a few "boxes" on each street, so when at the peak hour on our new wonderful road a stream of cars around the traffic jams, many residents could not just leave the courtyard, but even just get out of the cage. In completion of the misfortune, a fool who carried on the gazelle the pipes installed in the body at the corner up, managed to break through the gas pipeline passing over the road, leaving all the gardening without gas for 3 days.

The logical decision was to install the shlagbaum, we collected the money again, we did not get used to it, and then went back 2 times, until we found a firm that installed a really "anti-vandal" shlagbaum, which fans couldn't break the traffic jams.

But fans free to use other people's work and money for free and here they found a way out. The calculation is extremely simple - inhabitants of gardening at the same peak hour return home, so every 10-15 minutes a car with a key comes to the shlagbaum. It is great! Instead of burning gasoline in the traffic jams, it is better to build a rope before the slump, shut down the engines and smoke for 10-15 minutes, until the Swiss approaches with the key, comes on foot and generously misses us, so that we can pass by ourselves!

And of course, in dialogue with drivers you can learn about yourself a lot of interesting things, first of all about the fact that if you want to live on a beautiful and comfortable street, then you are a bourgeois and a blooddrinker, it is time to hang on a pillar and crack.

The moral of this fairy tale is this: "If you want to live better - start with yourself! You will be bad at once.”

I think when people get 800 thousand. I get 15,000 a month. At 60 or 65 years old, not quite honest.

You have to lose so that no one remembers who won.

When I was in sixth grade, I was sick for a week. I came to school, and there all of the syringes splashed: like, a new splash appeared. I did not know. I didn’t tell you, dogs. He came home wet. I changed dress. I went, bought in the pharmacy a large enema. The next day, everyone won, because there was a syringe against a cyst. The next day, we all pulled two liters of plastic fugas out of the beverages. And there came parity (who would not be allowed to go to school). No one even sprinkled: two liters of cold water is a lot. And since then I have always smiled wisely when I hear about the need for disarmament and that nuclear weapons as a tool forining peace are not necessary.

Polls conducted in the people, found out: the population as a whole is quite, but people are difficult to formulate: what exactly.