I finally made a choice between Vicky and Yulia, now Yulia and I will live together.
WOW: knowing her, I will say that this choice made you, guy)))

I explained to a friend from Israel the recipe for blenders in English. I was convinced that the egg was on the English. I mean, I confused it with German. In English, this word means "eye", resulting in a funny dialogue.

You take milk, mouth, and eyes.

The eyes?! to

Yes the eyes? Is something surprising you? We do the Testo.

With the eyes?

Yes with eyes. And what more?

In the mid-1960s, I started selling tourist trips to socialist countries, and my parents were among the first to make such a trip to Czechoslovakia. They were fed in decent restaurants, where everyone was sitting tight and whispered to the waiters. To ease the tension, my dad offered to drink a little and poured the lickers to the ladies and the men - waterbones from the bottles standing on the table. “Likerchik” was oil, and “vodka” was vinegar. Then this case was told on all instructions before the trips.

From JJ Dmitry Sokolov-Mitrich, about how he and the company traveled through Ireland:

There was a local rock band in the club, we drank tequila and started jumping in front of the stage in the crowd of other people jumping in front of the stage. After forty minutes of such physical exercises, the vocalist announced the final song. This song also turned out to be quite flaming, and we and Vishnevetska continued to jump into space. But this time something was wrong. People around me didn’t jump anymore. Moreover, they straighten up on a string, put their hands on their stomachs and took a super serious look. Some even looked at us with a clear condemnation. In any case, we stopped rejoicing and also put our hands on our stomachs. The grandmother in the cages, who had been running with us all night long, smiled humbly and said:

Well guys, don’t get out. When I came here a year ago, I felt the same.

In short, it turned out that Mitch and I gave the hopak under the national anthem of Ireland – “Soldier's Song”. In many local clubs there is such a tradition: the last song of the evening is the national anthem. It sounds, as a rule, faster than in the squares, stylized in the way of the performer and can quite go behind the dance.

It was a good story in Venezuela. With his wife, aunt and a testament, we went to the Kanayma National Park. There, right in the jungle, guest houses stand, and depending on the citizens of which country there live, the corresponding flags are hanged in front of the administrative building. Well, for us, they hanged out Russian, everything is fine. And here we come to dinner, we sit down, we start eating, and many people who come in and see us say something like “Good evening.” We are, of course, surprised, but we understand that they apparently recognized the Russians in us. As educated people, we answer them "Good evening" and continue to eat. The next day the same. We are surprised, but we respond. Finally on the third day we come for breakfast, and here like here another tourist and again to us: "Good evening." My aunt couldn’t stand it and began to explain to these people in broken English that it was right to say “Good morning.” Judging by the faces of these people, they were slightly flattered and after a two-minute conversation tried to sit away from us. Only after a while I found out that all these people were telling us “Bon aproveche,” which in Spanish means “pleasant appetite.”

Ten years ago I was in Paris for the first time. I knew French at the time, softly speaking, very approximately. I walk on Montmartre, suddenly it begins to rain, and I jump into a very well-to-do cafe.



I have a nice young waitress. After an exchange of bonds, I ordered “chocolate” – hot chocolate. The waiter smiles to me and says, “Kell’s gone.” I know exactly what the word “kel” means, so I get to produce what, apparently, he asks what size cup of chocolate I want: big or small. I confidently answer, “Gran!” (big) and for conviction I still show with my fingers how big.



Here he begins to laugh, points his finger at his eye and repeats his mysterious "kell-beye." “Aaaah, I think I think. “I think I’ve gotten a shower under the rain.” I get the mirror, I look at it – no, it’s okay. And then it comes to me that all this time he said to me, “What beautiful eyes...”



Now imagine the conversation through the eyes (and ears) of the waitress. He says to the girl, “What beautiful eyes,” to which she answers, “Yes, big,” and still points with the fingers. And then get a mirror to make sure that the eyes are really beautiful. He laughed very much. And every time I passed by my table, I put a little chocolate on it. My fingers were like that, fucking.

I remember at the end of the 90s it was... We lived in Bavaria, and there is such a service: you come to a peasant and order a piglet for a holiday. He crushes him. The people just then immigrated to Germany. Decided acquainted emigrants "gentlemen" Vase a gift to DR to do. I went to order. 5 people on Boomer, of course bald, of course in dresses and leather jackets. In German, of course, it is “full”. They come and say morgen kommen, bayerische Schwein (the type we come tomorrow, the Bavarian pig...) and show with a hand on the throat. Pleased went home. We arrived the next day, and here is the Special Forces. They seemed to prove that they had no evil intention, but the pig remembered it for a long time.

It was in the late 1970s, during the time of the Soviet Union. In Sverdlovsk, now Yekaterinburg, they formed a tour group and sent on an unprecedented for those times route Belgium-Mexico-Cuba. The group included those who bought the tour, as well as award-winning pioneers of production and agriculture. In Belgium, the group was settled in a not very comfortable hotel: amenities along the corridor, and in the room only a dishwasher and a bid. There were three women in one room. The two were close in spirit, made friends and left somewhere. And the third, the pioneer of agriculture, remained alone and turned out to be with her own trouble. Confusing Bee with the toilet, she went into him for a serious affair. When the neighbors returned, there was a terrible smell in the room, and the guilty woman tried to wash off her wickedness, but nothing except the fountain up! The women began to argue loudly. Then the collective housewife rushed to her bag, picked out the newspaper, scratched the shit, opened the window and threw it on the neighboring roof of a small house. Women are dead, there is a political act: a piece of shit in the newspaper "Pravda" on a Belgian roof!

One Ukrainian woman came to work in Italy. Traditionally, I take care of a lonely old man. Worked only a week, see - the old man has an attack of some sort, bends in general. The woman does not know the language, but she was left with the hospital number. She rings and cries in the bell, “Hitler’s coat!!!” Emergency has arrived.

A funny story happened to my friend. She came to the United States on a guest visa, but decided to work and arranged a kind of maid in a estate with a local wealthy. She spoke English, but wasn’t quite running. There began some persecution for hiring illegal people for housework, and the owners say to her: When you answer someone, don't say that you work, say that you are a house guest (guest of this house). It is spoken as “guest”.



Here they went on vacation, and she accidentally turned on an alarm system that automatically calls the police with a message that the house is being invaded. Police are calling by phone.

She answers:

Hello, Mr. Gold’s residence, nobody home. (Hello, the residence of Mr. Gold, no one at home)

And who are you? (And you are who?)

I am a ghost house. I am a home ghost!



This means confusing the pronunciation with the Russian "guest". He says, the whole department was stuck to look at a ghost that responds on the phone!

We rented motorcycles in Vietnam. Large gas stations were far from our shelter and the guide explained to us that they had small gas stations near stores (to the word of the guide - a Vietnamese and in Russian spoke with an accent and sometimes the words confused). Well, from his speech, we understood that near the shops you need to look for red round pieces with a crane, from which there is a hose with a gun, like a gas station. We have been looking for them for a long time. And the only red thing we found were such round pieces that sprang out of the ground and had a crane. How surprisingly, the Vietnamese saleswomen were surprised for a long time, when two European women on rollers were rushed to them, shaken with money, insisted on something in a broken Anglo-Russian language, and hardly pursued a fire hydrant! and :)

From the story of my husband (before our acquaintance). He is an Australian who came to America for a few months to smoke. When he returns from the beach, he discovers that he has forgotten his shorts. In Australian English they are called thongs. He informs the rest. New American friends look at him with suspicion and ask if he really forgot thongs, and if so, why in multiples. Now the husband is surprised, points to his feet and says, what about him, one thong to wear? I talk, I watch and I see men’s faces distorted. He swung, returned to the beach, took his shoes, returned and showed the rest. Everyone begins to roast friendly - as it turns out, in the American version thong means female trousers-strings, well, and thongs, respectively, their multiple number. Confusion is...

In Montenegro, two Russian men absolutely confident that no one speaks Russian, discussed on the beach the chest of a young girl sitting 5 meters away. Their wives were swimming in the sea at that time. And when the wives returned to their unseen ones, the girl stood up, approached these men and said, "Yes. I have beautiful breasts. And it would be good to “crack” me, you are absolutely right. And if you think that nobody here understands Russian except you, you are very wrong.” and left.

in the Maldives. The second week on the island, we came to our favorite restaurant. The same waitress, who always served us, blinked at me and asked in pure Russian: Aunt Faya? I am deceived, I say no. In the extreme case, Aunt Lena))) He doesn’t get up: Aunt Faia! I even more irritatedly deny my involvement with my unknown aunt Faye. Suitable manager, a European, in good English interested in the number of our villa. The answer is thirty five (thirty five). The waiter threatens me with a finger and says joyfully: Aunt Faia!

Russian tourists arrived in Germany. They go around the city and go to all the shops in a row, accidentally went to the cleaning house. They start to look at the clothes, sample... They say in German, “Will you help?” And they said in English, “No, thank you! We just look!”

In China, they went to buy tampons. There was no such thing in the conversation. explained by gestures. The provider gave us a box. It was a picture of how to use it. They scratched like crazy - they were anal candles.

Yyy: When I was trying to buy tampons in China, I was brought earsticks. But my friend, when she tried to explain about the tampons with gestures, brought a phalloimiter.

zzz: My girlfriend there (in China) also intended to buy a diaper. So they brought her...

In the late nineties, it was fashionable to give birth abroad. My wife decided to give birth in Germany. I did not know German. I learned a few phrases. And since she was frightened that the Germans were almost wrong, immediately sent to Caesarean, she also learned "NO CUT, PLEASE" She gave birth for the first time, little experience. When it all started, I forgot everything. And when I saw that they were calling someone, and a huge German came in with snacked sleeves, and the hands were still like that, all in red hair... I thought, well, the butcher is a surgeon. Reason has stunned. So she instead of teaching him “Don’t cut,” shouted “Don’t shoot, please.” After a long time, the staff went to see her in the room.

My wife and a Dutch man came to Paris. settled in the hotel. The husband enters the number one and immediately runs out of there with the scream "The corpse, well the corpse, the corpse!!!" Girlfriend pick up suitcases and tick through the corridor (Russian hardening). He was caught in the hallway. It turns out, in the Dutch "body" - a mess. My husband was upset by the number.

Do not rush to answer, you will be smarter.

Closed on the keyboard

American missiles in Europe are devoted

The Introduction. In the late 1990s, the Ministry of Defense massively reduced the army. Since many of the captains and majors dismissed in the reserve were aged only 37-42 years and were very active (despite 100% grey), they were sent to small business opening courses (there is such a specialist in marketing and small business in Tula - Tsitko Yu.A., it is a pity that he now went to the deputies - was able to teach and results: one of the men so created the whole market in the end!) And something failed me at the same time: I set up to teach them how to compile their business plans on a computer and print them. By the way, former operators of nuclear ballistic missile controls and air defense forces did not treat the study as civilian: if the instructor said, "Tomorrow come at 9am and do the next thing," they will come and until they do - they will not leave.

Part is funny. Then another morning. The gray-like "uncle" fucks with the computer, looks for something on the keyboard (and the machines we had were brand-name, very non-standard and in general and in particular). I thought, "Seek - find" and lightheartedly walked around the business center for his business. I come after two hours: the weary "uncle" is no longer looking, he just sits, looks at the keyboard and it is obvious that it is ready to break it into spare parts, together with the entire US government. I run, lay on my hand, calm with all my strength. I ask, “What happened?” he replies: “These... fools... likely opponents... a claw... on the keyboard... stumbled... somewhere...” (mother words and expressions I miss). It turns out that the keyboard was incorrectly marked with the Russian spat, and instead of slicking all the keys in order without a shift, and then with a shift and finding which keyboard is the Russian spat, he looked for it with his eyes. She did not come from there! He did not want to switch to English in principle – the language of the enemy!

Part is sad. At their graduation, I remembered this case – to say, fun! And someone else explained to me, “I sat in the catacombs at a depth of 100 meters for fifteen years. And every day he fired all the missile launches and low-flying targets. At the same time, I knew that if necessary, I would press that damned button without thinking. And after that, the enemy’s retaliatory fire will block my way up forever. How can I switch to their tongue for a spell? And how can I lick the buttons that have fallen?"This is the sad story with the grey on the whiskers.