She told tourists that in Cambodia, dollars are accepted everywhere. After a while, the bus driver called me because a scandal broke out in the souvenir store. The tourist rattles and throws on the sellers because they don’t want to take her money. She sees me and begins to cry that I have cheated on her. They are trying to pay for the euro.

I said they accept dollars, not euros.

But it is the same!

“Well, then I’m ready to exchange your euros for my dollars at one-to-one rates.

He refused and became even more angry.

The negative selection that lifts up the idiots, the shameless and the shameless is not a social lift, it is the only effective weapon of destruction of empires and kingdoms.

List of stories from yesterday and yesterday:
The story from the mouth of a familiar baking man, a very business man, who did nothing to make money, which he always managed.
He lived temporarily in the devastating 90s in Minsk and was engaged in business. There was a certain Syrian who was studying at a medical institute, who was wanted to be thrown out for money by bad people. This friend helped the Syrian to do this and returned all his money. We move to the present days, Germany, this baking man thanks to his Jewish wife lives in Germany and has his car house. He finds on the internet a suitable car 400 km from home, calls the owner and goes there with his son, for the race. Out of the traffic jams come only in the evening, and in the courtyard winter and cold. The car seller is waiting for them, the owner is definitely not a German, but a very solid doctor, as he said. They go into the garage to look at the car, here the owner looks very closely at the bacon, a few minutes in confusion and asks him about Minsk and the 90s. The Bakinets is the Syrian he helped then. In short, the doctor lowers the price of the car to dishonesty, covers the table at home and does not let guests go anywhere for the night.
Do good and it will return to you.

Without Putin, it would be worse.
We are getting worse and worse, worse and worse.
We have lived without Putin for a long time.

My husband is 15 years old, from school. There are no children, we live in the seventh, work is remote. Quarantine was not noticed almost, and so together 24 hours a day.

The toy that they were waiting for came out, played for 2 weeks without a break to work even) In the morning, the husband pushes in the side - get up, so that they won't kill themselves.

Everyone finds their half.



YYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY!

I work in a bank with current loans.

Comes today a girl, on the question "what to help," answers that is waiting for her boyfriend, he asked her to go to the bank. Five minutes later, her boyfriend comes with flowers and tells her that on her birthday, he will close her loan. The amount was about 50,000 rubles. They sat down to me, wrote a statement, he paid the amount, and closed the loan.

There is no romance in our time.

I go on the route:

You know, Zoyka’s husband had gold. All my daughters bought apartments. When my granddaughter was born, I took a mortgage. As he paid the mortgage, so the repair made the apartment expensive and died later. This was gold, not a man.



I sit and think: the man all his life struggled with mortgages, repairs, and then died and did not live a niqab for himself.

In the fight against poverty, we must not destroy the poor.

The story of yesterday reminded me.

“Brow the good into the water.”

Epigram: “Guest in the house, joy in the house”

During the war, my grandfather served as a squadron in the 1st SISBR. Its full name: 1st Strike Engineer-Sapper Smolensk Red-Flag Order of Suvorov and Kutuzov Komsomol Brigade (who is interested in reading about such brigades, here is the link http://erazvitie.org/article/shturmovye_inzhnery). It follows from the name itself that the title was earned for the liberation of Smolensk. There, in the distant 1943, fierce battles were fought, and the losses among the assailants were enormous, because they were thrown into the very hell, but he was lucky. Years later, the few surviving brigade veterans even gathered in Smolensk for meetings. Grandfather also travelled several times, drank vodka, saw old faces of friends, and remembered things that he would like to forget.

Time runs, 25 years have passed after the liberation of Smolensk, grandfather quietly works as a teacher of mathematics in school and raises daughters. Although the family lives quite modestly in a very old, pre-revolutionary house, in a small two-bedroom apartment, he is quite happy with the fate. Suddenly, one beautiful evening, a noise in the hallway and a knock on the door. He opens, and he has 6-7 high school students and a couple of older boys on his doorstep.

He is astonished,
Who are you all?
They explain that they are young trailers (there was such a pioneer-komsomol movement in Soviet times).
What do you want from me?

He had such a moment in his biography. In 1943, for the liberation of Smolensk he was awarded a Grammy from the Central Committee of VKLSM. Healthy such a sheet, where it is quite pathetically written, how good it is. Gramota grandfather nafik was not needed, because the thing is uncomfortable, and where to put it, and what to do with it - it is unclear, because there is no place to store. Well, you can, of course, fold it and put it in a bag, but the product appearance it will then, obviously, lose. And considering that he is not a rear soldier, and with his squadron all the time on the front, in the snow, rain, and dirt, then surely from the beautiful paper will soon remain only scratches, how do not save it. As a result, he looked at her, twisted her hands, and left her at the brigade headquarters until the best times, because it would be safer. “The war will end, I will deal with it if I survive.“ I thought.

Soon I forgot about it entirely, because between the marches, passages on the mine fields, attacks, and wounds, there was something to do. The war ended in a completely different part, so the document did not have to take. Surprisingly, when the brigade was disbanded, the literature was not thrown out, and in some way it was transferred to the Smolensk Regional Museum, where it was displayed as an exhibition. My grandfather did not even know about it.

These young trailers found the literature in the museum, and... decided to find the grandfather. How they found out the address, I have no idea. But a whole group, having set up bicycles, left Smolensk, the benefit of riding is not very much, 150-180 kilometers. We drove, we drove, and then, in the evening, we fell in with unexpected guests.

My grandfather and grandmother were not rich people, but very salted. Clearly, they were not ready for such a visit, and the time later, the shops are closed, but the village hardening is strong. To refuse a guest, even uninvited, is shame and shame. Therefore, the grandmother, having abandoned all affairs, prepared a delicious dinner for everyone, eating all the supplies that were at home. And while she spelled over food in the kitchen, the grandfather entertained the guests with all sorts of military stories. My aunt, who was then a junior high school student, of course, this event was delayed in memory.

I do not know where these brave trailers expected to spend the night, but, of course, grandfather and grandmother did not put them anywhere for the night looking, all somehow dismantled, giving all the blankets, blankets, carpets, and pillows. In the morning, my grandmother made sandwiches. A funny incident happened, but soon forgot about it.

A dozen years later, my aunt graduated from the medical institute in Leningrad, and here she, like all the young specialists, should get the distribution. Many of her friends went to some deaf villages in Karelia, and she appears to be the same. She, over the years of her studies, became accustomed to Leningrad, and, obviously, did not want to go anywhere, especially to the hell. But distribution is distribution, you won’t argue here. Grandfather and grandmother are not very happy with the upcoming schedule, but "if the Motherland said it was necessary, the people will answer to eat."

And here in the distribution commission is one important uncle. He himself is not much older than her, but the weight there is considerable. Commander of Komsomol. She looks at her papers, notices her name, pays attention to her paternity. He seems to remember something.
Is your father like that? He asks.
Yes, he is answering.
Are you from City N?
is also true.

It turns out, this guy was one of those Komsomol-trackers, who many years ago visited my grandfather and grandmother. He did not forget the good reception, and remembered the girl who listened enthusiastically to her father's stories. Should I say that with the distribution everything went as well as she wanted.

This is actually all. Throw the good into the water and it will return to you.

The pandemic became similar to the career of Alla Pugacheva. It doesn’t end, but it’s all over.

I sit at the reception in the hotel in the morning. I was approached by a drunk tourist who arrived two days earlier. And he begins to tell that immediately after the arrival went to the prostitutes, spent with them for two days, in the end they stole from him $ 500 and a phone. Here I begin to be stressed in the expectation that I will be asked to find all the lost, because for the tourist the representative of the tour company is something of the middle between a personal slave and a wizard. The tourist, looking at me, reassures me:

I am not in complaint. I was drunk and it was worth it. You just call my wife to arrange, I need to tell her that it went well!

I explain how you can call the receptionist and he goes to the room for money. He returns and claims that the money was stolen. He recounted them literally before meeting me, put them in the safe, half an hour passed and now there is no money. I suggest calling the police, but I warn in advance that since a man is drunk at nine in the morning, the police are unlikely to do anything. But he so confidently says that the money was there, and I was so scammed that I was not sent to look for the phone from the prostitutes that I went to talk to the hotel manager. The manager was even more skeptical than I was about the situation, but invited the head of the guard. The head of the guard came and, seeing the tourist, almost died of laughter. On his phone he showed us a series of photos of an absolutely naked tourist sleeping under the door of his room. As it turned out, the clothes with the keys to the room were also left with the prostitutes! Then we went to see the safe from which the money was missing. The security guard and the manager entered, and I saw from the threshold that the room was crushed: the curtains were broken, the TV rolled on the floor, the sailors were all in dark spots, and did not enter there. An angry manager comes out and asks me to go into the room and leads me to the bathroom. Everything is shit there! I’ve never seen so much shit! And in the middle of the damned bathroom lies a pack of money! The happy tourist gets the money, recount, rejoices that everything is in place, pulls out a few bills and offers us all for tea! They say that money does not smell.

In ancient times, in the year 2004 I found a point of sale of red brick in the MO at a price twice as high as in the Orlovsk region. He carried a brick on the "border" KAMAZE, and loaded it not with paddles, but folded it into the body manually. From the wagonets on the KAMAZ 5 loaders of the beautiful floor loaded me 5000 bricks in 2 hours. Break for lunch with a bottle of vodka.

I came to the facility (concrete, village of Jedochi), the workers tell me:

Take a selfie!

Are you crazy? Then we will only bury the hole on the road!

It’s not me, he said.

I raised the body and 12 Moldovans loaded the brick for 6 hours! I even fell asleep on the way back. The workers asked how much I was loaded?

Five women in two hours.

About the break for vodka did not talk, the men were as silent as they heard.

I don’t know what the prorab told them, but the next flights were unloaded in two hours, the same twelve people.

2.4 Moldovan men against one Orlov woman! Here is gender equality.

Commentary on VK Football Group:



I am a long-distance driver. Football is rarely seen. There is no sex for months. I recently went on a tour and wanted to relax. He stopped, and an experienced "worker" was in the car. She has been a prostitute since she was 16. From the long-haul driver and flew.

While she was making me shake, I climbed in that group and watched the news about the transfers. She saw it and said, “You don’t have to pay for services today.” I was surprised and asked why. She replied, "I am grateful that you have signed this publication, because the administrator of this group is my son."

and Vietnam. I meet in the hotel tourists who leave after a two-week vacation:

How did you rest?

The tour operator was fooled.

How is?

I said there is a sea.

The hotel is right on the beach!

What is it in yours?

This is not a sea, it is a sea! We didn’t go swimming here. You can see another shore at night.

You can see the lights of fishing boats at night.)

Xxx: The case was in Moscow somewhere in 2000. My memory of work took me to the area between Timiryazevskaya and Water Stadium. A dormitory area with old five-story floors. It was not there for a long time, it could have been renovated.

It took me, meaning a sharp stomach. So open up in the middle of the yard. Well, in the first, it is not cultural, in the second, in the courtyard at noon around a bunch of people, and there is no hygiene with you. I think we need to move for as long as the situation allows, and then we will see. Quarter, two, three,... and here on the side of the department, then the police. Fuck him, whatever it is. I go to the train with open eyes.

Can you go to the toilet? There is no urine at all.

The look of the officer at this time is invaluable. He could only knock his finger on the right door.

As the process came to an end, the thought dimmed: will they not accept me now, for confidence and overgrowth? No is. Comfortably went out. I washed my hands in the dishwasher. I thanked the officer. There was a monkey there. Those who lived there at the time accompanied me with open mouths.



Yyy: What is that? A policeman is also a man. It’s not always good, but it’s not Nibiru’s donkey. In addition, the officer prevented a possible offence.



Zzz: And could wait for the offence and the penalty fucking. Increase the disclosure.

I remember 2007-2008. In the days of relative youth, we rested with the company in the club. Well, my friend had a rams with a guy on the dance field who hit someone with his elbow. Word for word, let’s go out, let’s do it. This left-handed guy gets a xiva fsbshnik, although you can't see more than 24 years. My friend sharply grabs her out of his hand and breaks her in half. So more than 10 years have passed, and the face of the guy, who almost cried because of this, is still in memory. There was no fight at the end, he collected the pieces and left.

Sometimes people express their feelings in an obscene way. So his feelings are so great that they do not fit into the censorship form.

Do good and throw it into the water.

History was brief. Found the phone on the Pavelecki smartphone, inside contacts associated with the police, photos in the form apparently the employee lost. I found the contact wife and I call there, I say so and so I found the phone come take it, and they on me with a type of ride I pulled out, the thief, I will be arrested if I do not bring to the address. I told them to go to the X%th class with 11 classes behind their shoulders, look for him now, I tried to help you and you hit. He threw a river into Moscow.

In the morning, wash with warm water in the basement. But then all day - briefings, digital, business integration in the technology of the 21st century.

The typical parent: “And if everyone jumps from the roof, will you also jump?”

Machine learning algorithm: yes