My Blog: jokes jokes funny stories
It was glorious in its democratic traditions of Tomsk Medical. The weekly cycle of classes in gynecology begins. They are led by a young teacher 5 years older than students and, in principle, as it turned out later, a good man. But that day, apparently, departing from yesterday. Teacher: - Who prepared the homework? (recall - the first day of class). The students are silently bewildered and someone, incidentally, notices that "they asked us nothing." P. (starting to lose his temper): - Well, it was necessary to approach the department in advance and get it! At this time, the door to the audience opens and student Ch., A very shy girl, comes 5 minutes before, boldly opened with a teaching pencil in the journal as absent - yeah, she will work it out! The student looks rather miserable - the button on the skirt is torn off, a hole in the pantyhose. P.: - So !!! Why late? Ch. (Quietly and embarrassed): - I fell. - What?! Ch. (Louder and more distinct): - I fell. - And what, 10 minutes lay ?! All out.
It was a long time ago, my mother was still a girl, she was driving somehow from work, and it was in May, the cadets of the military academy were riding in full parade, they had just been awarded new ranks. If anyone remembers, then they transferred five cents per coupon to the driver. So, the next conversation took place. Mom, referring to the graduate: - Man, please pass on the coupon. To which the cadet replied: - If you do not understand the ranks, you could say "military comrade." My mother was taken aback by such an answer, and only managed to say: “Oh, sorry, I didn’t notice that you are not a man.”
Savage 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 village near Havana - Torrens. So in one of the military units there was such a case. In the fleet at the gate, the lamp in the lantern burned out. They gave away a long staircase somewhere - in general, the soldiers can’t reach the lantern in any way to replace the lamp. The political commander comes in the evening to the park brains to compost the soldiers. Sees - no lighting. - Why the lamp does not burn ?! - The lamp burned out comrade. n / a! - So change! - We do not get comrade. n. - s / c, no stairs. - Customize the shishigu (GAZ-66, you can climb onto the roof - to go higher) - Customized - we don’t get it! - So customize the second !!! Here they are such savvy guys, these army politicians.
So, drunk !!!
This year was at 94, when they had just begun to combine city day with the first days off of September in Moscow, and at least it was flooded with commercial tents of the Polish Absolute. I took a direct part in what was happening, so I assure you that everything I have said is the true truth. So, we are going to celebrate September 1 with a small company, and for one approaching the great day of the city. There were students among us, there were guys who had money, but drank everything, I must say, like moose. Girlfriends, of course, were with us too. We packed up with the Absolute, and went to the apartment with my friend Sasha. Then he lived on Taganka. And at the height of the holiday, when everyone’s dose had already overcome the mark of 350 grams, and was already starting to approach the 400th, a dashing idea was born among the masses: to ride a motorcycle. Our sensible and weak-drinking girls tried in every possible way to stop us and restrain us, but men's cunning and perseverance prevailed. And Sashka was driving, because I was stronger on my feet, and I was a passenger, in Sashkin Ural we are flying solo along the Enthusiasts highway, shouting phrases from Mad Max like: “I’m a suicide car that runs on gas”, or “I roll faster, than a pair of dice - you don’t catch up with me, cops! " Caught up with. Although they fished for a long time ... Sasha went to talk, and I stayed to keep the Urals. Under my feet the earth is swinging, Sasha is also going very unevenly. He stopped at a respectful distance from the traffic cop, and the conversation, then this happens: - So, drunk !!! “Well, Comrade Lieutenant ... Sober, completely sober.” A week! They didn’t take alcohol in their mouths ... A terrible thing happened to me: the earth took a critical slope, and I, unable to cope with my weight, and even more so with the weight of the Urals, in the background of this nice conversation with the inspector, gradually fall to one side. Sasha remains with her mouth open ... - Well, now ... after a pause, the lieutenant responds to this - no one says that the drunk are drunk! And we must: let us go! Evidently touched was the inspector’s soul. Sasha then told me: - Well, I just all the arguments disappeared at once! You should have put the Urals on the bandwagon ...
Arbat. Perestroika times. Eleven in the evening, the song lovers have already been dispersed, that is, there are almost no people. Somewhere in their affairs, a thick and good-natured cop stomps. Suddenly, from the window on the second floor there is a cry of “Shameful Cop!” And some kind of bough flies to his cap - either potato husks, or bare beets. The cop shakes off, looks furtively (about the bosses?), Takes out 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 were sitting with a friend in a textile shop, talking with a young Turk (the owner of this shop) about this and that ... We spoke, of course, to terribly broken English. I said that I was going to the dental institute. Well, talked and forgot. We started trying on clothes. And then this Turk calls me to the fitting room, for the shrimochka. Well, it became interesting to me, I think if anything - I’m self-protecting 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 you might think that a malicious maniac wants to rape me - I thought: well, not to rape, kiss, but somehow I didn’t want to surrender to Turkey .. Here, as I was taught, with all my heart I beat him between his legs with dignity, then I push him and run out, pick up my girlfriend and we go out. Next evening, we go for dinner, and there is only one road to the restaurant - through the store. Spit and go. Then a cousin of that Turk, co-owner of the same shop, comes up to us, and he speaks Russian a little, and asks why I offended him, because he just wanted me to look at his bad tooth as a future dentist ... R. S. Being a well-mannered person, I trudged to apologize to the Turk who had recently come back from my blow. He forgave you.
Not only composer
It was a long time ago, but I think it could very well happen now. True, now in front of the film in the cinema do not show "News of the day." And then (about twenty years ago) they showed it. And so my friend sits, looks, on the screen they show about the congress of the Union of Composers of the USSR, first speeches, then a concert of delegates to the congress. The famous composer N plays his opus on the piano. A married couple sitting next to each other in an undertone (but heard by everyone) discusses what they saw - Look, not only is he a composer, he also knows how to play the piano!
I will always help you!
I work at the plant (commercial service), somehow the plant collected money from private investors, but could not immediately pay. Money all rushed to beat out (court, lawsuits). Someone advised to contact me. Further conversation: - I’m the director of the pathology department. Help with the money. - This is for lawyers. - Lawyers do not want to communicate. - Then only the director. - He is on his second business trip. “The secretary has a payout list.” - She said at the end of the month. - Then I do not know how to help. “Would you like to help me?” If you need, I will always help you !!! Bye!!! I think how does she offer 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 named Evgeni Borisovich. We students called him shorter - EBE. This EBE had a habit: in the audience he appeared at a break, laid out his papers and, looking through them, waited for the lecture to begin. That day, as usual, during the break, he went 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 the parallel stream peeps in the door and, not seeing EBE in its usual place, loudly asks the girls sitting at the first desk: - Hey, haven't you seen EBE? The teacher, not looking up from the papers and not turning around: - EBE will be on the exam, but for now - Evgeny Borisovich! ..
Patronymic of Zhirinovsky
It was this year in 94, it seems, when many still called Zhirinovsky 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 the department head in the district administration. And Zhirik with his team (Kashpirovsky was there, as I recall, someone else) came to our city to campaign for something there. And according to the law, the local authorities were obliged to create conditions for speaking to the people, either as a candidate somewhere, or as a deputy for something. That is, in the central square of the city to put together a rostrum, etc. And the square is located exactly in the same area where a friend worked, and of course, the whole 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 my middle name as Zhirinovsky’s ... I only remember that Adolf ...
Are you going to quit?
My friend, who had been faithfully and faithfully meeting with a young man for four years (it was going to the wedding), suddenly crushed her head on another. Tormented by the problem of choice, she asked with a suffering face all the time, what should she do? One will have to quit. It’s clear that no one undertook to advise in such a delicate situation. So somehow we decided to play bowling. Everyone is having fun, she is loaded, since she missed her turn to throw, the second. I go up to her, slow down and ask: - Len, are you going to throw something? In response to me, sad eyes full of sadness stared and a question was raised - But which of them?
Induction motor start
That was the year of commercials in 1987-88 (I don’t remember exactly). One girl (tu-u-u-upenka) handed over electrical equipment at our stream. The question is how to start an induction motor. She answers (she has cribbed): - ..., current flows to the windings, the engine starts to turn around. And our professor (nicknamed Roman - a rare phlegm) asks: - Why is he turning around? . She: - So after all, uh, current ... is coming! . He: - But after all ... the current, for example, also enters the light bulb, but it does not turn around. She (thinking a second) gives out: - So ... uh ... after all, she is on the thread !!! . .. Silent scene (Roman already took off his glasses). There you go.
What is sex?
At the end of the 80s, my daughter, who is now 22 years old, went to the second or third grade. And if before that they dressed for physical education classes right in the classroom, now, as big ones, they began to go to special locker rooms (naturally separately for boys and girls). And somehow, at the beginning of September, we are sitting with her at the table together in the evening, having dinner. Then she asks with an innocent look: - Dad, what is sex? I almost choked on surprise, but managed to control myself, and since I considered myself a liberal parent, I didn’t wave it off (they say it’s too early for you), but I began to carefully, carefully select my words and explain “about it” to her, proud of my awareness of my progressiveness. 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 are you asking? The murderous answer follows: - Yes, we had physical education today, and in the locker room on the wall it says: "Girls do not be afraid of sex - x # th in your mouth tastes better than a cupcake." And then the addendum: - True, what is “x #y”, I don’t know either. I can not describe the whole gamut of feelings that I experienced in these seconds. From shock (I’m not a prude, I myself sometimes use the great and mighty, but not with my children; and hear SUCH from my innocent angel’s lips ...) to laughter bursting with me (and I tried it!). Apparently noticing “something was wrong” 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 out the slippery situation, citing some urgent matters.
It was a long time before the king of peas. I studied then at the Kharkov Aviation Institute. (Now, probably, the University is already or worse). And there was a student theater in the above-mentioned institute, led by a teacher, whose name was Evgeny Bout. Once he transferred another rehearsal to another audience. One of his students hung a corresponding announcement on the door: "E. Booth in 427 classrooms." Apparently, the theater was not bad, subsequently they even got to KVN.
It was during the general shortage of everything. They brought toilet paper to the store, and, as usual, a queue of unprecedented sizes has gathered ... They have been standing for more than an hour ... Among the crowd of their turn, a mother and a child of 3 years are waiting. The child, God's creation, this whole song is already tired of the order, and he pulls his mother by the sleeve: - Ma-ma !!! Go home!!! Mother tries to calm the child down and she begins to explain: “Do you poop every day?” - Cocoa !!! “Well, now, you need to wipe your ass with something, after you shuffled it?” To which he receives a worthy answer: - Mom !!! I promise you!!! I will never shit !!! The line went down.
+ 75 centigrade
This year it was like this in 1995 in the United Arab Emirates. (in summer). A group of tourists flew home from Al Fujairah Airport. The heat then stood - 50-55 degrees. The plane stood for a week on the airfield and warmed up thoroughly (the stewardess, while boarding the plane, pointed to the melted lights and said that the temperature in the cabin was + 75 gr. Celsius). At the same time, as it turned out later, the electrolyte boiled from the heat in the batteries. It was a prologue. Then the following happened. When power was applied during take-off, the main radio station onboard failed. The backup was turned on - it was also knocked out. The plane has already gained height. Since the route runs through Iran, the presence of a radio station on board is vital - the Iranians seem to have no radars and planes that do not confirm themselves on the radio, they simply shoot down. We cannot sit back - there are 14 tons of kerosene on board. It must either be drained into the Persian Gulf, or burn it, flying in a circle. Next - the most piquant. The pilot decided to burn kerosene, so as not to get a penalty for environmental pollution. So that the Arabs would not get excited watching our circles, the pilot decides to inform the Aboriginal people about the causes of their turns using the keyboard of the radar survey using a code. But since he used this thing about twenty years ago, he dialed the code “Capture Terrorists”, and twice ... Imagine the condition of the Arabs - the “carcass” flies for three hours in circles, doesn’t get in touch, and even sends such messages ... In short, they sent two fighters to intercept and scammed our pilots with their overflights, and then, when we got on a forced flight, they arranged for us a warm meeting with special forces, armored personnel carriers and a huge American airport manager who shouted wildly at our pilots when he found out what's the matter!!! Thank God there were no shooting. And our tour dragged on for another day, while a new radio station was delivered to us from Pulkovo ... I guarantee the authenticity, as I am a direct participant.
What are we worth?
A few years ago, on March 7, my friends and I went to have a good time. The party ended at 6 in the morning. The condition is magnificent: in the early morning, March 8, the blotter eaten in the evening still reminds of itself, we must go to congratulate the better half of humanity. We load into the car, and slowly drive towards the market for flowers (it will not open soon yet). And suddenly our driver stops in the middle of the road and stands ... Naturally, the question arises: - What are we worth? The unflappable answer: - So the red light ... The man stopped in front of the fence with red lanterns used by road services ...
I was resting with my family at the base near Boguslav. When my wife and I were going there, we talked a lot about goat milk, jokingly calling it goat milk. Arrived. At the market, the grandmother sells the aforementioned milk. We approach with my wife and my wife, by inertia, asks: - How much is goat milk? Fucking grandmother decided that these city people were completely foolish and for about half an hour proved to us that the goat did not milk. Here is a story.
I am from everywhere!
It was in those days when I was in school. That year was the anniversary of some event, although I don’t remember what I kill. On this occasion, it was necessary to stage a certain theatrical propaganda action of ideologically correct content. A list of "volunteers" was approved, and these sufferers were supposed to have the only, but important privilege - to be removed from the lessons. I could not miss such an opportunity, and therefore joined the rehearsal staff. And then came the day of presentation. Schoolchildren stubborn by unconsciousness were driven into the assembly hall. It all began very solemnly, the host read from the proscenium a pathos verse, something about the Komsomol, and Lenin is so young and young October behind, and something from this series. At the end of the verse, he was supposed to raise his voice and call out invitingly: “Where are you from youth ?!” In response to this, the rest of the troupe was supposed to come out of the wings, where they had been hiding all this time, and say aloud: "I am from everywhere!". (It seemed to the director that this was a gorgeous scenario move). And now the moment of exit comes, I am gathering full lungs of air and getting ready to step. At this moment, my classmate, sneaking up behind me, slightly lifts me up, giving me a strong, progressive-flying impulse. If we take into account the fact that in those years I was a graceful beggar, and the boy was quite physically developed, it is easy to imagine that as a result of this action I flew to the middle of the stage with a loud cry "I am from everywhere", and the rest of the scoundrels remained choking from laughter in the wings. The success was, of course, predetermined, I broke the applause, and the audience could not calm down for a long time. Then I had a lyrical verse in the middle, but the audience could not tune in the desired mood and giggled continuously. So I did not squeeze a tear from them that evening.
We lived with a cat, a sweet, affectionate animal. He had one problem - for some reason he imagined himself a dog. He loved to lick his hands, drank water only from the toilet, ate bones - just give, but also bite periodically. For this, his husband did not love him terribly. So one night he got into bed (a cat, not a husband, the husband was already there), and modestly tried to sit down under the covers. My husband, I must say, sleeps very restlessly (one can say actively). He rushes about on the bed, kicks me, and constantly mutters something. I’m already 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 adversary and kicked the cat, he got scared, the dog genes leaped and he courageously clutched his husband’s teeth with his teeth. I woke up from the hysterical screams of a cat and a male growl. Having hardly driven out a cat fighting in hysterics, and having calmed the crying child, I returned to the battlefield where I found my husband sitting in bed. He looked at me with crazy eyes and spit out. Through spitting, I could hardly make 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 the cat could not be lured to our bed.
We studied (Vadim, Marat - my roommates, and I) in the glorious Novosibirsk State. University. And one evening, after buying a Vega tape recorder (which at the time, given the student scholarship, was an extraordinary event), a conversation went on with friends for life. Frank such a man’s conversation before bedtime, when everyone had already settled down in their beds, and the lights were off. The topic of discussion is which of us will be the first to marry and for which our future wives will love us. - Here, Vadim has a housekeeping service, and in case of anything he cooks dinner, and his hands are golden ... In general, he is an ideal family man ... - But Marat is TALENTIVE! He plays the guitar, and God didn’t offend with his voice, Well, just a dream of any romantic girl! - we praise each other ... Then the turn comes to me, and I mentally lick my lips and squint with pleasure, expecting that they will say something pleasant about me now ... An awkward silence hangs ... And then the voice of a loyal Marat says comfortingly 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, Vega tape recorders, and in your life everything will be fine!