My Blog: jokes funny jokes
Why was late ?!
It was in the glorious democratic tradition of Tomsk medical. The weekly cycle of training in gynecology begins. Leading them a young teacher of 5 years older students and in principle, as it turned out later, the man is not bad. But that day, apparently, departed from yesterday. Teacher: - Who prepared the homework? (I remind you - the first day of classes). Students are perplexedly silent and somehow, by the way, they notice that "they did not ask us anything." P. (starting to lose his temper): - Well, so it was necessary to go to the chair in advance and get it! At this time, the door to the audience opens and includes a student C. - a very shy girl, 5 minutes before that fatly discarded with a teaching pencil in the magazine as absent - yeah, work out will be! The look of the student is rather pathetic - the button on the skirt is torn off, the pantyhose has a hole. P.: - So !!! Why was late ?! Ch. (Quietly and embarrassed): - I fell down. - What?! C. (louder and more clearly): - I fell down. - And that, 10 minutes lying? Everything is out.
It was a long time ago, my mother was still a girl, she was traveling somehow from work, and it was in May, cadets of the military academy were riding in full parade, they were just handed new titles. If anyone remembers, then passed on five kopecks per voucher to the driver. So, the next conversation took place. Mom, turning to the graduate: - Man, pass, please, to the coupon. To which the cadet replied: - If you do not understand the ranks, you could say "comrade military." My mother was astonished by this answer, and only she could say: - Oh, I'm sorry, I did not notice that you are not a man.
The mellow sampolit
It was a year ago in 1990. At that time I had the pleasure of living on the island of Cuba. Was there not far from Havana military village - Torrance. 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. A long ladder was given somewhere - in general, fighters can not reach the lantern in any way to replace the lamp. Comes Zapolit in the evening in the park brains compost soldiers. He sees that there is no light. "Why does not the lamp turn on ?!" - The lamp burnt out. п-п / к! - So change! - We do not get Comrade. There is no staircase. - Fit shishigu (GAZ-66, you can climb to the roof - to make it higher) - We drove - we do not get! - So adjust the second! Here they are such smart guys, these army zampolity.
So, the drunkards !!!
It was this year in 94, when only started in Moscow, the day of the city with the first weekend of September to combine, and on the tents commercial Absolute Polish was at least filled. In what is happening, I took a direct part, so I assure you that everything I said is true. So, we gathered a small company on September 1 to celebrate, and for one and approaching 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. Of course, friends were with us, too. We zataris Absolute, and moved to the apartment to a friend of mine Sasha. He lived on Taganka. And at the height of the holiday, when everyone's dose had already overcome the 350 gram mark, and was already beginning to get to 400, a daring idea arose among the masses: to ride a motorcycle. Our sensible and low-drinking girls tried to stop us in every possible way and keep it, but man's cunning and perseverance prevailed. And now Sasha is driving, because he was stronger on his feet, and I'm a passenger on the Sashka Urals Mountains, we're flying along the Entuziastov highway, shouting out phrases from Mad Max: "I'm a suicide car running on gasoline," or "I'm rocking faster, than a pair of dice - you do not catch up with me, the cops! ". Have caught up. Although they caught for a long time ... Sasha went to talk, and I stayed the Ural. The ground sways under my feet, Sashka, too, is very uneven. He stopped at a respectful distance from the traffic cop, and the conversation, so this happens: - So, drunk! "Well, Comrade Lieutenant ... Sober, sober at all." A week! I did not take alcohol into my mouth ... Here the terrible thing happens to me: the earth took a critical slant, and I, without coping with my weight, and even more with the weight of the Urals, in the background of this nice conversation with the inspector, gently fall sideways. Sashka remains with his mouth open ... "Well," the lieutenant answers after a pause, "who does not say that drunkards are drunkards!" And you must: let us go! The soul of the inspector was clearly touched by this scene. Sasha told me later: - Well, I just have all the arguments at once lost! It was necessary to put you as a Ural on the bandwagon ...
Arbat. Perestroika times. Eleven in the evening, the singers were already dispersed, that is, there are almost no people. Somewhere on his business he stomps a thick and good-natured such a cop. Suddenly a scream "Shame on a man!" Is heard from the window on the second floor, and some sort of suks flies to the cap-either a potato peel or an uncooked beet. Ment shakes himself off, looks around stealthily (probably about his superiors?), Takes out a slingshot from his inner pocket, and quickly, and accurately, shoots that window. The ringing of glass, the cop out, rare witnesses creep to the ground ...
It was during my trip to sunny Turkey. We are sitting somehow with a friend in a textile shop, talking to a young Turk (the owner of this shop) about that, about this ... They spoke, naturally, in awful broken English. I said that I go to stomatinstitute. Well, we talked and forgot. We started to try on clothes. And then this Turk calls me to the fitting room, behind the screen. Well, it became interesting to me, I think if that - really self-protection somehow ... And really: we entered, and I was at the wall. He muttered something in a mixture of Turkish and English, which I did not understand. I look, he leans at me, opens his mouth ... From the side it was possible to think that the malicious maniac wants to rape me - I thought: well, do not rape, so kiss, but I did not feel like giving myself to Turkey .. Then I, as taught, from the bottom of my heart beat it between my legs, then push it away and run out, picking up a friend and we go out. Next evening, go to dinner, and the road to the restaurant is only one - through the store. Spit and went. Here comes the cousin of that Turk, the co-owner of the same shop, and he speaks Russian, and asks what I did wrong, because he only wanted me to look like his future tooth as a future dentist ... R. S. Being a well-educated man, I trudged to apologize to the Turk, who had recently stabbed me from my blow. He forgave.
Not only the composer
It was a long time ago, but I think it could happen now. True, now before the movie in the cinema do not show "News of the Day." And then (twenty years ago) showed. And now my friend is sitting, watching, on the screen they show about the congress of the USSR Composers Union, first of the speech, then the concert of delegates to the congress. The famous composer N plays his opus on the piano. The married couple sitting next to each other in a low voice (but heard by everyone) discussing what they saw - You see, not only is he a composer, he also can play on the piano!
I will always help you!
I work at the plant (commercial service), somehow the plant collected money from private investors, and I could not immediately pay off. Money all rushed to beat out (court, lawsuits). Someone advised me to contact me. Further conversation: - I'm the director of the department of pathology help with money. - This is for lawyers. - Lawyers do not want to communicate. - Then only the director. - It's the second week on a business trip. - The secretary has a list of payments. - She said at the end of the month. - Then I do not know how to help. "Will not you help me?" If you need, I'll always help you !!! Bye!!! I think what she offers me to help, and when we have a date, on my or her job. Signature:.
It was this year in 1986. I was studying at the famous Leningrad Institute of Mechanics. And we had a teacher named Yevgeny Borisovich. We, the students, called it shorter - EB. This EB had a habit: in the classroom he appeared at a break, laid out his papers and, looking through them, waited for the lecture to start. That day, as usual, he went into the audience during the break and sat down at the teaching table, which for some reason this time was not in his usual place, but in the corner, by the window. And then a guy from a parallel stream looks in the door and, not seeing EB in the usual place, loudly asks the girls who were sitting at the first desk: - Hey, EBe did not see? Teacher, without looking up from the papers and without turning around: - EBE will be on the exam, but for now - Eugene Borisovich! ..
Fatherland of Zhirinovsky
It was this year in 94 it seems, when Zhirinovsky was still called a fascist, apparently for the content of the statements. Now he seems to be saying the same thing, but people probably got used to it But not the essence. The bottom line is that my friend worked as a department head in the district administration. A Zhirik with his team (Kashpirovsky there was, as I remember, someone else), came to our city for something to agitate. And according to the law to him, as if to the candidate where, then whether the deputy something then, the local authorities had to create conditions for speaking before the people. That is, on the central square of the city to put together a tribune, etc. And the square is right in the very area where the friend was working, and naturally, the entire administration did not do anything else other than how it organized the case. And then the chief of the other department calls the friend, and asks: "Listen, I'm writing an office here, and I forgot my patronymic as Zhirinovsky's name ... I only remember that Adolf ...
You're gonna throw?
My friend, four years faithfully and faithfully met with a young man (it was going to the wedding), suddenly fell head over heels into the other. Tortured by the problem of choice, she always asked with a suffering face, what should she do? One has to give up. It is clear the case, no one was going to advise in such a delicate situation. That's how we decided to play bowling. Everyone is having fun, she is loaded, once missed her turn to throw, the second. I approach her, I'm slowing down and I ask: "Flax, are you going to DROP-you're going to?" In response to me, eyes full of sadness, and the question was asked - But which of them?
Start of an asynchronous motor
It was this year in 1987-88 (I do not remember exactly). Surrendered to us on the flow of one girl (that-y-u-упенькая) electrical engineering. The question is the start-up of an induction motor. She answers (she has memorized the cheat sheet): - ..., the current is flowing to the windings, the engine begins to unfold. And our professor (with the nickname Roman - rare phlegm) asks: - And why does it unfold? . She: - So after all, uh, the current ... comes! . He: - But ... a light bulb, for example, also receives current, but it does not unfold. She (thinking a second) gives: - So ... er ... it's on the thread! . .. Silent scene (the Roman already took off his glasses). Here so.
What is sex?
In the late 80's, my daughter, now 22 years old, went either in the second or in the third grade. And if before that for physical education classes they disguised themselves right in the classroom, now, like big ones, they began to go to special locker rooms (of course, separately for boys and girls). And then somehow in the beginning of September we sit with her in the evening alone at the table, we have supper. Then she asks with an innocent air: - Dad, what is sex? I almost choked with surprise, but I managed to master myself, and since I considered myself a liberal parent, I did not brush it off (they told you early yet), but began to carefully, choosing words, explaining to her "about it," proud of the consciousness of his progressiveness. Half an hour later mekanya and bekanya, with success, as it seemed to me, having finished my delicate mission, I dare to ask: - And, actually, why do you ask? There must be a murderous answer: "Yes, today we had physical education, and in the locker room on the wall it says:" Girls do not be afraid of sex - x # d in your mouth is tastier than a cupcake. " And then adding: - It's true what is "x # th", I also do not know. I can not describe the whole range of feelings that I experienced in these seconds. From the shock (I'm not a prude myself, sometimes I use great and mighty, but not with children, and hear THAT from the innocent mouth of my angel ...) to the laugh that bursts at me (and I tried!). Apparently noticing "something is not right" in my face, my daughter, thank God, did not begin to find out from me the meaning of the second unfamiliar word. I tried to quickly round off the slippery situation, referring to some urgent business.
It was a long time, even before the king of peas. I studied then at the Kharkov Aviation Institute. (Now, probably, already the University or worse). And there was a student theater in the above-named institute, led by a teacher, whose name was Eugene Booth. Once he transferred another rehearsal to another audience. Someone from his students hung on the door of the corresponding announcement: "Ye. Booth in the 427 audience." Apparently, the theater was not bad, after that they even reached KVN.
It was in times of general shortage of everything. We brought toilet paper to the store, and, as usual, a queue of unprecedented sizes gathered ... It's been more than an hour ... Among the crowd in the queue waiting for a mother with a child of 3 years. To the child, God's creation, the whole song is already bored, and he pulls the mother by the sleeve: - Ma-ma !!! Go home!!! Mom tries to calm the child and she starts to explain: - You do it every day? - I can! - Well, now, you need to, after you've pokaked, you have to wipe it off with something? What gets a decent answer: - Mom! I promise you!!! I'm big NIKO-DA will not kick! The queue lay down.
+ 75 Celsius
It was this year in 1995 in the United Arab Emirates. (in summer). A group of tourists flew home from Al Fujairah airport. The heat then stood - degrees 50-55. The plane stood for a week on the airfield and thoroughly warmed up (the stewardess, when boarding the plane, pointed to the melted plafonds and said that the temperature in the cabin was 75 g Celsius). At the same time, as it later turned out, from the heat in the batteries, the electrolyte boiled. It was a prologue. Then the following happened. When the power was turned on, the main radio station of the board refused to take off. The reserve 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 - radars for the Iranians seem to have no airplanes that do not prove themselves on the radio, they are simply knocked down. Sit back we can not - on board 14 tons of kerosene. It must either be drained into the Persian Gulf, or burned by flying around in a circle. Further - the most spicy. The pilot decided to burn kerosene, so as not to get a fine for pollution of the environment. So that the Arabs do not become alarmed by watching our circles, the pilot decides by means of the radar review keypad to inform the aborigines about the causes of their turns by means of a code. But since he used this thing a decade ago, he typed the code "Capture the side by terrorists," and twice ... Imagine the state of the Arabs - it flies to itself "carcass" of three hours in circles, does not go into communication, moreover, such messages are sent ... In short, we sent two fighters for interception and shook our pilots with our flights, and then, when we sat down on the forced one, we arranged a warm meeting with special forces, armored personnel carriers and a huge American airport manager who wildly shouted at our pilots when he found out what's the matter!!! Thank God, there were no shooting. And our tour was delayed for another day, while a new radio station was brought to us from Pulkovo ... I guarantee for the authenticity, as I am a direct participant.
Why are we standing?
A few years ago, on March 7, we went to hang out with friends. The party ended at 6 in the morning. The state is magnificent: early morning, March 8, the evening-stained promokashechka is still reminiscent of yourself, we must go congratulate the better half of humanity. Loaded into the car, and slowly going to 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 standing? Unflappable answer: - So 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 the base near Boguslav. When they were going there, my wife and I talked a lot about goat milk, calling him a goat as a joke. Have arrived. In the bazaar, the grandmother sells the above-mentioned milk. We approach with the wife and the wife on inertia asks: - How much the GOAT milk? The grandmother decided that these towns were completely foolish and about half an hour showed us that the goat does not finish. This is the story.
I am from everywhere!
It was in those days when I was in school. That year the anniversary of an event fell, though I do not remember what it is. On this occasion, it was necessary to put a certain theatrical and propaganda action of ideologically correct content. The list of "volunteers" was approved, and these sufferers relied on the only, but important privilege - to be removed from the lessons. This opportunity I could not miss, and therefore joined the rehearsal team. And then came the day of the performance. The assembly hall drove the schoolchildren who were struggling against their unconsciousness. Everything began very solemnly, the presenter read some pathetic verse from the proscenium, something about the Komsomol, and Lenin was so young, and the young October was behind, and something from this series. At the end of the verse he was supposed to raise his voice and cry out: "Where are you from youth ?!". In response, the rest of the troupe had to come out of the wings, where all this time was hiding, and loudly say: "I am from everywhere!". (It seemed to the director that this was a chic scenario move). And now the moment of exit approaches, I dial the full lungs of air and prepare to step. At that moment, my classmate, who crept up behind me, slightly lifted me, giving me a nehily progressive-flying impulse. If you take into account the fact that in those years I was an elegant pigalitsey, and the boy was physically well-developed, it's easy to imagine that as a result of this action I flew to the middle of the stage with a loud cry of "I'm from Everywhere", with the other scoundrels left to choke from laughing in the wings. Success was, naturally, predetermined, I thwarted applause, and the audience for a long time could not calm down. I then had a lyric poem in the middle, but the audience could not tune in to the desired mode and continuously giggled. So I did not squeeze a tear from them that evening.
There was a cat, a sweet, affectionate animal. He had one problem - he somehow imagined himself a dog. He loved to lick his hands, he drank water only from the toilet, he ate bones - only give, but also bite periodically. For this his husband did not like him terribly. So one night he climbed into bed (a cat, not a husband, the husband was already there), and modestly tried to nestle in the legs under the blanket. My husband, I must say, sleeps very restlessly (we can say actively). He rushes around the bed, he bends me, and always mutters something. I already got used to it and do not pay attention, but the cat was young, inexperienced. In short, when the husband once again fought with an imaginary opponent and kicked the cat that was frightened, the canine genes leaped and he bravely grabbed his teeth in the leg with his husband. I woke up from the hysterical cries of a cat and a man's growl. Hardly driving out the cat, hitting in hysterics, and calming the crying child, I returned to the battlefield where I found my husband sitting in bed. He looked at me with his crazed eyes and spit. Through the spit I could hardly make out: "What kind of shaggy stuff have you put in my mouth again?" The most interesting thing is that in the morning he had nothing to remember, and for a long time the cat could not be lured to our bed.
Vega tape recorder
We studied (Vadim, Marat - my roommates, and I) in the glorious Novosibirsk State University. University. And then one evening, after buying a Vega tape recorder (which at that time, considering the student's scholarship, was an extraordinary event), I went with my friends and talked "for life." Frank such a man's conversation before going to sleep, when everyone has already settled down in their beds, and the lights are off. The topic of discussion is which of us is the first to marry and for what our future wives will love us. "Well, Vadim is an economic man, and he will cook dinner, and the hands are golden ... In general, an ideal family man ..." "And Marat is a TALENTLY!" He plays the guitar on the guitar, and God did not offend the voice, Well, just a dream of any romantic girl! - we praise each other ... Here the turn comes to me, and I'm already mentally licking and shchuyus of pleasure, expecting that now they will say something pleasant about me ... An awkward silence hangs ... And then the voice of loyal Marat comfortingly utters in this silence: - Nothing, Max, but you have a tape recorder "Vega" is! Curtain PS And of the three of us, I married first. Now I have a wonderful wife Olya and a beautiful daughter Nastenka. So buy, citizens, tape recorders "Vega", and in your life everything will be fine!