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Why was she late ?!
It was in the famous for its democratic traditions of Tomsk Medical. The weekly cycle of gynecology classes begins. Their young teacher is 5 years older than students and, in principle, as it turned out later, the man is not a bad one. But that day, apparently, departing from yesterday. Teacher: - Who prepared the homework? (I remind you - the first day of classes). The students are confused and silent, and by the way, someone notes that "we were not asked anything." P. (starting to lose his temper): - Well, it was necessary to go to the department in advance and get it! At this time, the door to the audience opens and a student, Ch., Enters. A very shy girl, 5 minutes before this, a bold pencil in the journal as absent — yeah, she will work it out! The appearance of the student is rather pitiful - the button on the skirt is torn off, there is a hole in the pantyhose. P.: - So !!! Why was she late ?! C. (quiet and embarrassed): - I fell. - What?! C. (louder and clearer): - I fell. - And what, 10 minutes lay ?! All in touch.
It was a long time ago, my mother was still a girl, she was driving from work somehow, but it was in May, the cadets of the military academy went with a full parade, they just received new titles. If anyone remembers, then they passed five kopecks per coupon to the driver. So, the next conversation took place. Mom, referring to the graduate: - Man, please pass on the ticket. To which the cadet replied: - If you do not understand the ranks, you could say "comrade military." My mother was taken aback by such an answer, and only could say: - Oh, sorry, I did not notice that you are not a man.
Sharp-witted political officer
It was this year in 1990. At that time I had the pleasure of living on the island of Cuba. There was a military settlement near Havana - Torrens. So in one of the military units there was such a case. In the car park at the gate the lamp in the lamp burned out. They gave a long staircase somewhere - in general, the fighters cannot get to the flashlight to replace the lamp. Zampolit comes in the evening in the park brains compost soldiers. Sees - no lighting. - Why is the lantern not lit? - The lamp burned out Comrade. p-p / k! - So change! - Do not reach Comrade. p. - п / к, no stairs. - Fit the scissy (GAZ-66, climb on the roof can be - so that higher) - Customized - do not reach! - So push the second one !!! Here they are such savvy guys, these army political leaders.
So, drunk !!!
It was the year in 94, when they only began to combine the day of the city with the first weekend of September in Moscow, and the tents of the commercial Absolute of Poland were full of stalls. I was directly involved in what was happening, so I assure you that everything I told is the true truth. So, we gathered to mark a small company on September 1, and for one and the approach of the great day of the city. There were students among us, there were guys who had money, but they drank everything, I must say, like moose. Girlfriends, of course, were with us too. We have been soared by the Absolute, and have moved to the apartment of my friend Sasha. On Taganka, he then lived. And in the midst of the holiday, when the dose of each had already surpassed the mark of 350 grams, and was already beginning to approach the 400th, a dashing idea was born among the masses: to ride a motorcycle. Our reasonable and low-drinking girls tried in every way to stop us and keep us, but men's cunning and perseverance prevailed. And now Sasha was driving, because he was tighter on his feet, and I was a passenger, while flying solo in Sashino Ural along the Enthusiasts Highway, shouting words from Mad Max like: "I am a suicide machine that runs on gasoline", or "I roll faster, than a pair of dice - you do not catch up with me, fucking! ". Caught up Although they were catching for a long time ... Sasha went to talk, and I stayed with the Urals. The ground is swinging under my feet, Sasha, too, is walking very unevenly. He stopped at a respectful distance from the traffic cop, and the conversation means that this happens: - So, drunk !!! - Well, Comrade Lieutenant ... Sober, sober completely. Week! They didn’t take alcohol into their mouths ... terrible things happen to me here: the earth took a critical tilt, and I, unable to cope with my weight, and even less with the weight of the Ural, in the background of this sweet conversation with the inspector, gradually fall to one side. Sasha remains with his mouth open ... - Well, here ... after a pause, the lieutenant answers this - no one says that drunk are drunk! And we must: let us go! Visibly moved, this scene was the soul of the inspector. Sasha then told me: - Well, I just lost all the arguments at once! I should have put you up like a Ural ...
Arbat. Perestroika times. Eleven evenings, the songsters have already been dispersed, that is, there are almost no people. Somewhere stupid and good-natured such cop stomped. Suddenly, from the window on the second floor there is a cry “Ment is shameful!”, And to that, on the cap, some suks are flying — either potato husks or beets, which have not been cleaned. The cop shakes off, vorovato looks around (probably about the authorities?), Gets a slingshot from his inner pocket, and quickly, and accurately, shoots into that window. The clink of glass, the cop is removed, rare witnesses crawl to the ground ...
It was during my trip to sunny Turkey. Once we are sitting with a friend in a textile shop, we talked with a young Turk (the owner of this shop) about that, about this ... We talked, of course, to horror broken English. I said that I entered the dentistry. Well, talked and forgotten. Began to try on clothes. And then this Turk calls me into the fitting room, behind the screen. Well, it became interesting to me, I think if something happens - I’ll self-defend myself somehow ... And really: we entered, and I turned up at the wall. He mumbled something in a mixture of Turkish and English, which I did not understand. I look, he bends over me, opens his mouth ... From the side it could be thought that the malicious maniac wants to rape me - I just thought: well, do not rape, kiss me like that, but I somehow did not want to give myself to Turkey .. Here, as I was taught, I wholeheartedly beat him in between his legs in dignity, then shoved him away and ran out, took my girlfriend and we left. Next evening, go to dinner, and the road to the restaurant is only one - through the store. Spit and go. Here, the cousin of that Turk, the co-owner of the same shop, comes to us, and he speaks a little Russian, and asks why I offended him, because he just wanted me, as a future dentist, to look at his aching tooth ... R. S. I, being a well-mannered person, trudged to apologize to the Turk who had recently begun to fight from my blow. He forgave.
Not just a composer
It was a long time ago, but I think it could well happen now. True, now before the film in the cinema does not show "News of the day." And then (twenty years ago) showed. And here my friend is sitting, looking, showing on the screen about the Congress of the USSR Union of Composers, first speeches, then a concert of the congress delegates. The famous composer N plays his opus on the piano. A married couple sitting next to a friend in a low voice (but can be heard to everyone) discusses what he saw - you see, not only is he a composer, he also knows how to play the piano!
I will always help you!
I work at a factory (commercial service), somehow the factory collected money from private investors, but I could not immediately pay. Money all rushed to beat out (court, lawsuits). Someone advised to contact me. Further conversation: - I am the director of the department of pathologoanatomy help with money. - This is for lawyers. - Lawyers don't want to chat. “Then just the director.” - He is the second week on a business trip. - The secretary has a pay list. - She said at the end of the month. “Then I don’t know how to help.” - Do not want to help me? If you need, I will always help you !!! Goodbye!!! I think what she offers to help me, and when we have a date, at my or her work. Signature:.
It was this year in 1986. I then studied at the glorious Leningrad Mechanical Institute. And we had a teacher by the name of Yevgeny Borisovich. We, the students, called him shorter - EB. This EB was a habit: he appeared in the audience at recess, laid out his papers and, looking through them, waited for the lecture to begin. On that day, as usual, during a break, he walked into the audience and sat down at the teaching table, which for some reason this time was not in its usual place, but in the corner, by the window. And then a guy from a parallel stream looks in the door and, not seeing EBE in his usual place, loudly asks the girls who were sitting at the first school desk: - Hey, did you not see EBE? The lecturer, not looking up from the papers and not turning around: - EBe will be on the exam, but for now - Yevgeny Borisovich! ..
It was this year in 94, it seems, when Zhirinovsky was called by many as a fascist, apparently for the content of the statements. Now he seems to be saying the same thing, but the people probably got used to it But not the point. The bottom line is that my friend worked as a department head in the district administration. And Zhirik with his team (Kashpirovsky was there, as I remember, someone else), came to our city to campaign for something there. And according to the law, to him, as if the candidate was somewhere, or already a deputy of something, the local authorities were obliged to create the conditions for speaking before the people. That is, on the central square of the city to make a tribune, and so on. And the square is located just in the same area where a friend worked, and naturally, the entire administration did nothing else but organize this business. And now the head of another department calls a friend, and asks: - Listen, I’m writing a service here, and I forgot the patronymic name of Zhirinovsky ... I only remember that Adolf ...
My girlfriend, who had been faithfully and faithfully meeting with a young man for four years (it was a wedding affair), suddenly had a crush on another. Being tormented by the problem of choice, she with a pained face kept asking, what could she do? One will have to quit. It is clear that no one undertook to advise in such a delicate situation. We decided to play bowling somehow. Everyone is having fun, she stands laden, once she missed her turn to throw, second. I walk up to her, slow down and ask: - Len, are you going to quit? In response, I looked at the full sadness of the eyes and sounded the question - But which of them?
Starting asynchronous motor
It was this year in 1987-88 (I do not remember exactly). We handed over on the stream one girl (that-at-upenkaya) electrical engineering. Question - start the asynchronous motor. She responds (she has cracked the cheat sheet): - ..., a current flows to the windings, the engine starts to turn around. And our professor (nicknamed Roman - rare phlegm) asks: - Why does it unfold? . She: - So, uh, the current ... is coming! . He: - But after all ... for example, a current also flows to a light bulb, but it does not turn around. She (thinking a second) gives out: - So ... uh-uh ... because she is on the thread !!! . .. Silent scene (Roman already took off his glasses). That's it.
What is sex?
In the late 80s, my daughter, who is now 22, went either to the second or third grade. And if, before that, they were changing their physical education classes right in the classroom, then now, like big ones, they began to go to special locker rooms (of course, separately for boys and girls). And somehow, at the beginning of September, we sit with her in the evening together at a table, we have dinner. Then she asks with an innocent look: - Dad, what is sex? I almost choked on surprise, but I managed to get a hold of myself, and since I considered myself a liberal parent, I did not shake it off (they say it was too early for you), but I began to carefully, carefully select words, explain to her “about it”, proud of the progressiveness of its consciousness. After half an hour of making and backing, with success, as it seemed to me, having finished my delicate mission, I decide to ask: - And, actually, why do you ask? It should be a deadly answer: - Yes, today we have physical education, and in the locker room on the wall it is written: "Girls do not fear sex - x # nd tastes better than a cake in the mouth." And then adding: - The truth is that "x # y", I also do not know. I can not describe the whole range of feelings that I experienced in those seconds. From shock (I am not a prude, I sometimes use the great and mighty myself, but not in the presence of children; and hear SUCH from the innocent lips of my angel ...) to bursting with laughter (and I tried!). Apparently noticing "something is not right" in my face, the daughter, thank God, did not begin to find out from me the meaning of the second unfamiliar word. I tried to quickly round out the slippery situation, citing some urgent matters.
It was a long time ago, before the king of the peas. I then studied at the Kharkov Aviation Institute. (Now, probably, the University is already worse or worse). And there was a student theater in the above-mentioned institute, led by a teacher whose name was Yevgeny Booth. One day he moved another rehearsal to a different audience. Some of his students hung on the door to announce the appropriate: "E. Booth in 427 audiences." Apparently, the theater was not bad, later they even got to KVN.
It was during times of total shortage of everything. They delivered toilet paper to the store, and, as usual, there was a queue of unprecedented sizes ... They cost more than an hour ... Among the whole crowd, a mother with a 3-year-old child is waiting for her turn. The child, God's creation, this whole song is already pretty tired, and he pulls Mommy's sleeve: - Ma-ma !!! Go home!!! Mother tries to reassure the child and she begins to explain: - Do you cocoa every day? - Cocoa !!! - Well, here, you also need, after poking, to wipe your priest with something? What gets a decent answer: - Mom !!! I promise you!!! I’m not going to crap anymore !!! The queue is down.
+ 75 centigrade
It was this year in 1995 in the United Arab Emirates. (summer). A group of tourists flew home from Al Fujairah Airport. The heat was then - degrees 50-55. The plane was standing for a week on the tarmac and warmed up thoroughly (the stewardess, when boarding the aircraft, showed the ceiling lamps melted down and said that the temperature in the cabin was + 75 degrees Celsius). At the same time, as it turned out, the electrolyte boiled from the heat in the batteries. It was a prologue. Next came the following. When powering on takeoff, the main radio station failed. A backup was included - it was also knocked out. The plane has already gained altitude. Since the route runs through Iran, the presence of a radio station on board is vital - Iranians seem to have no radar and airplanes that do not confirm themselves on the radio, they simply shoot down. Sit back we can not - on board 14 tons of kerosene. It must either be drained into the Persian Gulf, or burned, flying in a circle. Next - the most piquant. The pilot decided to burn kerosene in order not to fall on the penalty for environmental pollution. So that the Arabs are not alarmed by watching our circles, the pilot decides to inform the Aboriginal people about the reasons for his turns using the radar keyboard of the review. But since he used this thing for about twenty years, he dialed the code “Capture of the board by terrorists”, and twice ... Imagine the condition of the Arabs - the “carcass” flies for three hours, it does not communicate, and even sends such messages ... In short, they sent two fighters to intercept and shook our pilots with their overflights, and then, when we boarded the forced one, they gave us a warm meeting with special forces, armored personnel carriers and a huge American - the airport manager, who wildly shouted at our pilots when he found out what's the matter!!! Thank God, there was no shooting. And our tour was delayed for another day, while a new radio station was delivered to us from Pulkovo ... I vouch for the authenticity, as I am a direct participant.
What are we worth?
A few years ago, on March 7, we went with friends to hang out. The party ended at 6 in the morning. The state is gorgeous: early morning, March 8th, eaten in the evening, the blotter still reminds of itself, we must go to congratulate the best half of humanity. We load into the car, and slowly we go to the side of the market for flowers (it will not open soon). And suddenly our driver stops in the middle of the road and stands ... Naturally, the question arises: - Why are we worth something? A deadpan answer: - So the red light ... The man stopped in front of the fence with red lanterns, which are used by road services ...
I rested with my family at a base near Bohuslav. When my wife and I were going there, we talked a lot about goat milk, jokingly calling it goat. We arrived. In the market, the grandmother sells the aforementioned milk. We approach with the wife and the wife by inertia asks: - How much is goat milk? Ofigevshuyu grandma decided that these city completely fooled and about half an hour proved to us that the goat is not milked. Here is a story.
I am from everywhere!
It was in those days when I was in school. On that year, the anniversary of some event fell, even if I kill, I don’t remember what. On this occasion, it was necessary to put some kind of theatrical and propaganda action of ideologically correct content. The list of “volunteers” was approved, and this sufferers were given the only, but not unimportant privilege - to be removed from the lessons. I could not miss such an opportunity, and therefore I joined the rehearsal composition. And then came the day of the presentation. In the assembly hall, schoolboys rested on irresponsibility were driven. It all started very solemnly, the presenter read some pretentious verse from the front of the stage, something about the Komsomol, and Lenin is so young, and young October is behind, and something from this series. At the end of the verse, he was supposed to raise his voice and call out to shout: "Where are you from youth ?!". In response to this, the rest of the troupe had to come out from the backstage, where she was hiding all this time, and loudly say: "I am from everywhere!". (It seemed to the director that this is an elegant scenario.) And now comes the moment of exit, I take full air and prepare to step. At this point, my classmate, crept up from behind, slightly lifts me, thereby giving a non-sickly forward-flying momentum. If we take into account the fact that in those years I was an elegant Pigalitsa, and the boy was completely physically developed, it is easy to imagine that as a result of this action I flew out into the middle of the stage with a loud cry of “I am from everywhere” laughing in the wings. The success was, of course, predetermined, I broke the applause, and the audience could not calm down for a long time. I then had a lyric verse in the middle, but the audience could not tune in to the desired mood and continuously giggled. So I did not squeeze a tear out of them that evening.
We lived with a cat, a sweet, affectionate animal. He had one problem - for some reason he fancied himself a dog. He loved to lick his hands, he drank water only from the toilet, he ate his bones - just give him, but he also bit from time to time. For this, my husband did not love him terribly. So one night he got into the bed (the cat, not the husband, the husband was already there), and modestly tried to sit at the feet under the blanket. My husband, I must say, sleeps very restlessly (you can say actively). Rushing over the bed, kicking me, and constantly mumbles something. I already got used to it and do not pay attention, and the cat was young, inexperienced. In short, when the husband once again fought with an imaginary opponent and kicked the cat, he was scared, leaped at the dog's genes, and he bravely held his teeth to her husband's leg. I woke up from the hysterical screams of a cat and a husband's growl. With difficulty we chased the cat, beating hysterically, and reassuring the crying child, I returned to the battlefield where I found my husband sitting in bed. He looked at me with crazy eyes and spat. Through the spitting, I barely made out: `` What shaggy muck did you put in my mouth again? The most interesting thing is that in the morning he did not remember anything, and for a long time it was impossible to lure the cat into our bed.
Vega tape recorder
We studied (Vadim, Marat - my roommates, and me) in the glorious Novosibirsk State. University. And one evening, after the purchase of the Vega tape recorder (which, in view of the student scholarship, was an outstanding event at that time), we talked with our friends “for life”. Frank such a male conversation before bedtime, when everyone had already sprawled into their beds, and the lights were turned off. The topic of discussion is which of us gets married first and why our future wives will love us. - Here, we have Vadim economic, and dinner, in which case he will cook, and golden hands ... In general, the perfect family man ... - And Marat is TALENTED! The guitar plays like a god and does not hurt the voice, Well, just the dream of any romantic girl! - we praise each other ... Then the line comes to me, and I already mentally lick and squint with pleasure, expecting that something pleasant will be said about me now ... There is an awkward silence ... And then the voice of loyal Marat he comfortably says in this silence: - Nothing, Max, but you have a Vega tape recorder! Curtain PS And of the three of us, I got married first. Now I have a wonderful wife Olya and a beautiful daughter Nastya. So buy, citizens, tape recorders "Vega", and in your life everything will be fine!