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Hot Norwegian guys - or why we consider them brakes, and they us - crazy. When Volk and I were not yet married, we studied together and lived in the north of small Norway and rented a small one-room flat in a quiet campus, the three-story houses were similar to each other both outside and inside, and the layout and furniture in the dwellings were are the same. We lived in such a flat for a year and a half, then left, and a year later we returned to post-graduate school, and the good trade union gave us free at that time exactly the same odnushku next to the previous one. Once I decided to wash. When the linen in one of the machines in the basement was ready, I found that the packages in which I brought it were spooned; loaded - like Piglet with his green ball, because of which nothing is visible - I began to go upstairs, looking only at my feet and counting the floors, completely forgetting that the ground floor - this is not the first. I plunged into my house and dropped the pile on the armchair and saw my beloved, lying in the sneakers (!) On the couch watching football on TV. From the indignation, I had no words - in fact, we do not have shoes in our shoes, and, moreover, do not watch sports - the only pose I've seen for years in the headset is in the headphones behind a computer that cuts into an RPG and does not react on what ... I burst out into tirade, walked past him and turned off the TV. Only then I noticed that the TV does not look like ours, but most importantly - about the horror! - it was not the Wolf. The Norwegian student looked at me with bulging eyes and did not say a word while I walked around and loudly resented in Russian: - D I squeaked, muttering oh, grabbing my clothes from the armchair, I fell out of a strange hut in a half-unconscious state; having formed in half from laughter and awareness of embarrassment, I climbed to the floor above and, sobbing with hiccups, told my beloved what I had done. Having calmed down, I went downstairs for the second portion of clothes. Carefully recounting the floors, but thinking about her, I firmly and resolutely fell to her. Not finding the Wolf in the room, I put the laundry on the table and opened the door to the bathroom. There stood and shaved another man. It was our second neighbor, he drove into our former apartment right after us - I on autopilot came to where we lived a year ago. To say that his eyes are square - it's nothing to say. Grabbing my clothes, I rushed out and from there. Was it my fault that the Norms never shut the door when they are at home? An hour later our doorbell rang. The wolf went to open - my hysteria did not go away. At the door stood both neighbors. - Listen! - said one of them after the Mkhaut's pause, - it's not by chance your partner left? In the hands they held my t-shirt and bra. Only the natural phlegmatism of my dear saved them from reprisals. They did not talk to us until we moved.
Here we are!
To begin with, we are both normal people. That is, she and I (individually) are fairly tolerably oriented in real space. But if we go somewhere together on her car ... then some sort of virtuality begins. No! This is poorly said, SURR reality will be more accurate. And it always was, from the very first meeting. I immediately have a desire to wake up, but quickly. And then we are so in this surreem and get lost ... And stay! .. So, it was combed to us just now sledge buy, so to say to go in winter decided. Although this is in itself an anecdote, here in NRW (pancake, "Northern" Rhine-Westphalia)! Well, yes, "hunting is more than bondage". We must, so let's go. In order not to look like complete idiots, we decided to limit ourselves to the plastic "second hand". We agreed with some guy on the phone, got dressed in ski suits and drove to the nearby village for this crap. Up to Wurselen (this is the village so called), we arrived without problems ... And then it began! "Olya, I've already seen this bakery!" I said, when we drove past the pastry shop for the third time, where we were explained in great detail how and where to go from the very beginning. "Let's go quickly from here!" - she was ashamed, sharply turning the wheel and adding gas. After an hour of wandering, I was pleased to note that the strangers who were already strangers began to come across, the old ones finally left for their own business. Again the opportunity arose to ask the way without being ashamed. But it was bad that they themselves did not know this road, and sometimes even in German they did not understand well. And then, like the last drop, a dead end. Yes it is not easy deadlock, but a dead end where 110% should be the passage to the next street. My sun already does not notice anything and wants to cry. And I can not believe my eyes. On the gates in which we rested, a serious sign such as "JORA GmbN" (JSC "Zhopa") is screwed! "Here we are!" We decided together and hurried home from this enchanted place. Damn, what can there be a sledge!
Let go - locked the gate!
Moscow is a city of large construction projects and this is good, but at the entrances and exits there is always something. I drove a foreign car along a narrow road near the construction site. Suddenly at the KAMAZ meeting. Ceding the way, the foreign car turned to the closing gate, which the car had just stopped by. They missed KAMAZ, they were going to go further, but they can not go. The gate though stopped, but, without damaging the rear "kenguryatnik", you can not leave. Two men got out of the car and went to the checkpoint. And at the checkpoint - cops. "Commander, let go - locked in with the gate." "No problem!" The gates push apart, the men get into the car, but the bus is already going to enter the gate. The car goes back to the yard. The bus calls in, the gates close, from the depths of the courtyard to the gate comes a foreign car with two men. They go to the checkpoint. At the checkpoint cops. But already others. "Commander, let out - the bus was missing." "And where did you come from here on the regime facility? Go to the authorities to write out the pass." From a brief news report: "Yesterday afternoon, the MVD carried out a successful operation to detain wanted criminals who were lured to the territory of one of the MVD units where they arrested, without a single shot, weapons, drugs and a previously stolen foreign car were seized during the arrest."
I was the head of the loss adjustment department in one insurance company. The most svoechnoy post, but I consulted. One client flew in on his Audi in a ditch. Fritsevskaya machine was almost in half, it can not be restored - a full payment, etc. And I do not want to pay. In our rules there was one scruffy but justified point - for every accident there must be an act from the traffic police. There are - pay. No no. Well, and this shot after the night flight and calling its flying - a steep shot after all, this act itself was not. Probably, he was slightly ... after the holiday. Failure is pure, but a person is pitiful. I offer him a partial payment, he thinks something and says: "I'll put the cross on it." -?!? - With the cataphores. At the very turn. And you say ...
The current that we stand in the smoking room - we smoke, we rub for the life with colleagues at work - two friends and a girl. I must say the girl is not ordinary, the fourth time married. We stand peacefully, here she silently so sadly says: "I will divorce again", well, everything, of course, - What's the matter? what happened? Everybody has a face. Someone is making fun about storing the wedding rings in chests, or on the neck in the manner of the necklaces of the Papuans. She is so quiet, again sadly gives: - And my rings do not roll - they are at my entrance to the apartment on the horns hang. I have no more questions ...
Power System Topology
Twenty years ago I worked in the glorious Ministry of Energy of Uzbekistan. Gadyushnik was the same even though such certainly was full and is and will be everywhere. Somehow the head of the group said that the assistant minister wanted to see me. "Why me?" - I ask. "I do not know," he answered evasively. Why did I understand evasively later. In short, the conversation was about such a plan. The view of the assistant minister expressed how concerned he was with the extremely important problems, the table was covered with some papers, magazines, newspapers. To show how he is busy with very important matters, he gave me a good excerpt and then began to expound something like that our ACS department does not reflect the topology of the power system. I was at that time an ordinary programmer - not the head of the group - no boss and certainly not the head of the ACS in which then 150 people worked. Why he told all this to Allah alone knows. But I had to answer and so that no muscle would tremble on my manly face and that he would not have any ideas about what I think of him. I myself was a mathematician by education and the theory of topology knew a little but where did he get this word? What does he understand in topology? I asked him very delicately what he means. He said that our automated control system does not reflect the matrix of the power system - that he viewed all the documentation on the ACS and we do not do anything in general. (What is true, then the truth - but again what does he understand in the matrices?). I worked in the ACS recently, but without blinking an eye I assured him that I had read the work of the department and I had the impression that everything is fine - the department copes with the work, issues reports during the time, etc. But still he left an unsatisfied expression on his face. After that, he gave me why he called me. - We have a problem. We have to shut down the power plant somewhere in Fergana and consequently dismiss or cut down all employees. But there is a cleaning woman working at this power station - the mother of a heroine (10 children) and whether she is still a war participant, in general a very well-deserved person, and according to some laws they can not fire her. The final question nearly knocked me out: - How can our computers and our automated control systems solve this problem? I'm a kind of resourceful person and I'm not particularly lost, but now after 20 years I can not think of any worthy answer. By the way after that I understood why from all the ACS they sent me - recently arrived - they knew what to expect from the minister and his assistants, but from me there is no demand.
LETTER TO THE IROCHKA.
Hello, my dear Irochka, decided to roll you a few words ... you are a busy man, important, in ICQ only insulted learned, but stupid questions to ask ... but I know that you are good, smart and most importantly _a beautiful girl , so a drop in the sea will not be lost ... With you it is absolutely impossible to communicate in ICQ, as soon as you appear in on-line, my head starts to spin and there appears a desire to blurt out a couple of obscene words ... but, damn, such a topic you are unlikely to hurt, you are already used to ... I have nothing left to do but wait when you are Look at me ... I certainly do not demand something special for me, you are already shaking serious people, and I'm just a poor St. Petersburg student (by the way, do you know where you can find the leopard skin for the upholstery of my Merc's glove box?) .... Now I'm busy, session, exams, work, women, gulba and all things, but in June I'm going to look at a couple of days in Moscow ... to get acquainted with the location of our government and find out some details ... think like You can use this opportunity, maybe you'll show off with originality and think up something nibud it's interesting and exciting, I'll just say, I'm a modest person, like a woman, you do not interest me, you know why ... I drink because I'm little, I do not drink at all, I do not smoke at all ... although it's not enough, maybe if you will I'll let myself be well behaved and let me hold my sleeve and ask how I'm doing, I'll scornfully peel off my jacket and filter it: "OK, honey ..." You'll be squealing with excitement, beating in hysterics, biting me by the ear, tearing my clothes on me .... oh, it's me ... damn .... no, everything will be wrong, we are serious adults, we understand where the children jumped out we know how many stars in the sky ... I'll personally, unfasten your blouse, kiss your neck, express your hot breath, beat your heart ..... blah ... again .... sorry , broke .... go for a walk, ice cream eat .. eat, maybe with your boyfriend, I love to look at the descendants of orangutan, you do choose these? true? you say he's smart ?? aaa, can skip the waltz of Chopin ... beautiful ????? even a hundred-year-old Aunt Klava is looking at him ... everything, everything, I'm sorry, of course ... for you - he is an ideal, a man with a capital letter, an intellectual, a man, a male, your mother .... he has only one little !!! you see how it drools when you get out of the shower !!! what is this inarticulate "Pgvet, how did you breathe?", this is his tender speech ??? yes this is an animal, look better at that one, yes it is he, yes, yes, you, come here, do you speak big glasses? so, with, well, take off ... eee-eee-yay, where fell ?? weight balance glasses kept? physicist??? then it's clear, take it back, but you look, beast-boy, what's that on your head ?? hair??? and I thought it blew up a paint factory, what is it you have there strumming? an anvil, a set of barn locks for a girl ??? aah, it's fashionable to say, the ear does not hurt? And the tongue? oh, you better not show it, you're gonna scare the gopnik ... Okay, shirk from here, our Ira needs a really good dumpling, loving, attentive, accurate and understanding, she'll choose him, right? You see Ir, I wrote a letter to you, and after all, I have a lot of problems, the session has not been handed over, the coursework burns, the hamster does not feed a bowl across the bars, the cat does not look well, everyone does not like me, I still have to go to work, to work! !! she was boring me !!! I want to rest!!! score on everything !!!!!!! You understand everything, you understand everything, you're smart, you know how to cross the road ... Everything, Ira, I'll finish the letter better, or really write something superfluous ... I want you not to think anything so terrible about me, I'm just a boorish and selfish man, I think only about myself ... If you have anything to say to me, tell me this in any way known to you, but first ... first - kill all the mats with spaces and the words "I hate, despise, I'll kill, zarezhu, bite to death, I'll complain to my dad "I" love the whole, I want ... "it will be for my psyche the best decision ... and for yours too. ... All ... I'm leaving, just do not push, everything, if that - write there what you do not write on the fence, and remember, I'll come to you soon, maybe ...
Gnaws and splashes
The story was told by a lady - a former ambulance doctor, but about her student years ... They went through practice in a madhouse. It's already funny ... But you, as Zadornov says, wait to laugh ... Come, start them in the ward, and there ... There is something of equal size both in length and width, all in tattoos ... Sex like a man's. "I," he says, "Dusya!" Calls to itself one student (the same lady - a former doctor, and in those years - just Lenochka) ... - Do you hear, - he says, - gnawing? - Aha, - answers Lenochka, - gnaws! Well, what's the use of arguing with him? - And splashes! - Yeah, splashing! Another will be beaten - an ambal such ... But curiosity overpowered (the doctor she or where ?!) and Helen cheekily asked: - And what splashes? The answer was amazing: - I have ... there ... FISH !!! But it's not finish yet. You think, the white fever, psychosis ... And it does not happen. Dusya, let the students of poor people grab for their dressing gowns, yell: "Save, help, she will bite me, you are doctors or monsters !!!" How to miss such an occasion? And the students decided to help Dusse. And at the same time ... In short, seconded a brow to the nearest fish store. He brought from there a healthy hake. Meanwhile, Dusya was loaded onto a gurney and taken to the dressing room, since the operating loonies were not allowed. Have brought. Have unloaded. A small digression: someone operated under local anesthesia, he knows that the operating field from the eyes of the patient is hidden by a special screen, so that he still had no need to treat the infarction%) This is me to the fact that Dusya did not see himself manipulating himself. They injected glucose to it subcutaneously, closed it with a screen, ran a blunt end of the scalpel on the stomach, joked something ... they get a hake. - Here - they say - your fish! He loved her like his wife, he cried to himself, thank you, you are my saviors! The students were already crouched with laughter, as the elders with the last stage of arthritis. Dusya is happy. But you wait, and it's not finish yet! And then - right on the proverb - "He laughs best who laughs last" ... Dusya begins to listen to what is happening inside his immense organism, and having heard plenty, thoughtfully (Descartes, blah ...) utters: - You did not take into account one circumstance !! - And twists his finger. The students were stunned, even stopped laughing - what is it? The joke breaks? Or they have gone mad? Instead of Dusi? - What is the circumstance? - squeeze out. - IT'S SUCCESSFUL TO MARK !!! - Proudly so. The eyes are already reaching the back of the head ... - W-what ?! - HER FISHING THERE! A knock of falling jaws is heard ... Is it really necessary to buy a sprat box ?? !! Here and so. Do not make fun of the crazies - they themselves whome they want to prikolyut!
The truth about 60 billion.
I remember listening to the radio somehow in the nineties. Announcer: - It is reported from the Ministry of Finance that this year we are waiting for a kind of record, because from the Russian budget, no less than 60 billion will be sure to sleep ... The announcer freezes for a split second. In my head swiftly rushes: "Really dared to tell the truth in such a form?" - ... Written off under the article "unforeseen expenses" - the announcer ends. No. Did not dare ... Maybe in vain?
Associate professor of stupid
From the series "assistant professor of stupid." Today passed physical examination from the oculist. Doctor: - How many lines can you see? Assistant Professor: - That's all! Doctor: - Read the third bottom. Assistant Professor: - I can not. The doctor: - You said you see. Associate Professor: - I see the lines, but I can not read them ... Hardly suppressed laughter of those present. Quiet bewilderment of the senior lecturer. If I did not watch it myself, I would not have believed it. It seems to be a normal person ...
Change of oil in Russian-2.
Then the masters will understand for a long time - who said this careless "always ready." Palych assured me that it was Filipych's voice. Filipych also claimed that he was silent as a fish and this creep Kuzmich mocked them with his voice. I must admit that Kuzmich was capable of this. He was very harmful. And maybe "Timur and his team" was transferred - now you can not make out. Evaluating the phrase as a signal, Palych deftly pulled the seal off the can of the coolest synthetic oil and inserted it into the oil filler neck. The oil sank down suspiciously fast. A habitual cry: "Your mother ..." - announced the neighborhood of the workshop. No, the set of phrases in itself was a sign to Palych to the point of toothache and he himself repeatedly spoke on this topic, so in the very fact of the cry there was nothing special and it could not be ignored. But in this scream there were some gurgling notes and that's why he, just in case, looked at the car. And there was the following. Filipych, who only adjusted the crowbar to squeeze the lever, suddenly felt that something sticky and smelly flowed over his head, he involuntarily jerked his head - but a stream of oil hit him in the eyes. Filipich for a few seconds went blind and in search of an exit from the pit grabbed a scrap, which in turn knocked down the old jack. As the wheels were turned out and the handbrake, of course, did not work, the car flew off the jack and pecked into the pit. Palych rushed headlong into the pit to save his friend. Tavria, meanwhile, fell deeper into the pit, ripping off the paint on the right wing about its edge. A minute later, an outside observer could observe such a picture. Two locksmiths pretending to be Atlantes, standing on an ankle in a lohan with butter, kept the muzzle of Tavria. This oil painting was completed by oil proper, which continued to pour on the heads of the poor fellow. A threatening silence hung in the air. And in this silence, the female official voice of Kuzmich sounded especially clearly and loudly: "Moscow time, twenty hours, and in Petropavlovsk-Kamchatka at midnight ...". "It's a lie, what a fuck it's at midnight." Everything, the girl - the change was over, we went home - Filipovich said. - And Che, let's go, - approved Palych. - Who will go first? "I'll go," cried Philipovich under the weight of the car. "I came to work 15 minutes earlier than you came to work - I'm the first to go." - No, you think - what do we do now, stay up until morning? - Until the morning, still not sdyuzhim, it's time to dump On the bill, they threw three at a single jerk in the light of God. Tavria, already fully defended the front wing of the wall, burrowed deeper into the pit. The military council was short, but productive. The parties in the meeting were unanimous in the main. The car from the pit must be pulled out. Divergences were in the details. Either at first pull out, then drink vodka from grief, or vice versa. The opinion was won that they are at performance and in general people are extremely responsible, so first to tear the machine out of the pit with the help of an electric hoist. Palych quickly put the hooks behind the engine's eyes, and Filipych began to push the side of the car away from the pit wall, so as not to rip the wing completely to the holes. The steel cables of the telfer stretched like a string - and Tavria was stuck in this fucking trap. Filipchik pushed the side of the car away from the edge of the pit with the latest strength, but this almost did not work. He made the last desperate jerk, but did not make an amendment to the fact that his boots were soaked in oil and slid his face across the wing, he blurted out about the ground. Surprisingly, Filipych's fall was accompanied by a terrible crack and a metal crash. Raising his head, he witnessed a surreal picture. Deeply zarvivshis sideways into the pit, reclining Tavria, or rather its body part. Above her on the hoist ropes, a motor torn off with meat was assembled with the gearbox. Those few details that connected it with the body, smoothly, as in slow motion pictures, fell to the bottom of the oiled pit. Particularly amusing was to observe how the needles of the tripods of internal SHRUSs and other details of this rare for the present times foreign cars crumble. Palych took off his cap, took a deep breath, and said: "So we changed the butterfly ..." Kuzmich solemnly announced from the shelf of the cabinet: "The toilers of the village are working day and night to prepare machines for working in the fields." In the hangars, work is in progress to replace lubricants ... ". - Uh, you bastard! He's also bullied! And with these words Filipych threw a key into Kuzmich's room. Kuzmich choked and fell silent. The confusion of the poor fellows was short-lived. What is there, and not out of such a mess got out. Before the client arrives for another 12 hours, you can collect another car altogether. It would be out of what. Here with what, and with spare parts at children there were no problems. There are as many of them lying around the pantry, it's a garbage dump, it's a central warehouse. In general, an hour later the car was already on wheels and even with a replaced ball. The client asked - done. In an hour, an audit of the discarded parts and their availability in the "central warehouse" was carried out. The main problems were the scattered needles of the three-shawks. But they were quickly resolved. We found a dozen nails that fit the diameter, cut off their hats and cut them in length. Where it bent - straightened, where it crumpled - knocked, where it tore - cooked. Yes, even the engine mount cushions had to be delivered to those that had been removed from Tavria a couple of months ago. Kuzmich in his own way commented on what is happening, he then sang "And we do not care ...", then "We are not stokers ..." and in general "You can not be so beautiful ...". The last, probably, related to the ripped Tavria. Anyway, by three in the morning everything was externally brought to a state of "as it was", the only exception was a peeled wing and there were mere trifles - oil, antifreeze and the actual process of putting the work to the client. We agreed that tomorrow they will come to work early and go home. In the morning, Palych bought a jar of oil, a simple mineral five of a local spill and a canister of antifreeze cheaper. At eight in the morning, he was already pouring all this chemistry into the engine, and in the meantime, Filipych was delayed. Then Palych remembered that the client had requested to change the timing belt. Yesterday in this vanity about him completely forgotten - he decided. Palych quickly removed the belt from the pulleys - and was surprised to find that he was in very good condition. Taking out the strap from the trunk for a replacement, he was convinced that the same is still nothing. It was necessary to make a difficult choice between them. For five seconds in Palych there was a difficult struggle between conscience and a thirst for profit. Conscience, as always, lost - and the strap from the trunk took its place under the hood, and the new belt moved to the bottomless pockets of the overalls of Palych. For the full order in the bank from the synthetics were poured the remains of cheap mineral water and put in the trunk. Kuzmich for some reason sang: "Our service is both dangerous and difficult." Palych squinted at the shelf with Kuzmich and, taking from the "central warehouse" some torn strap, threw it into the trunk of Tavria. Completely mechanically, Palych slammed the tailgate cover - and saw a bunch of all keys safely inserted in the luggage compartment lock. "Mother, fuck ... And we're here like a fly on the glass fidgeting without the ignition key, and he eka where ...". For joy, Palych opened the driver's door with his key and twirled the starter. To his great surprise, the engine wound up and worked pretty well. Palych drowned out the engine, found a large rag and threw it on the tattered wing. The rag was lying as it does in branded services, so that it should not be stained with dirty hands. Everything was ready for the meeting of the client. It only remained to make a clever face and bend over the motor when it appeared. I did not have to wait long. Arriving exactly at the appointed hour Sidorov found Palych, lovingly wiping the glass of his car with a clean cloth. The whole view of Palych gave out in him a calm confidence well and on the conscience of the labored master. He directly admired his work and the last stroke of this work was slightly dusted glass. At the sight of Sidorov, he blossomed in a broad smile. "Well, your Mercedes is in perfect order." Yes, I had to puff in order with your car ... From the cabinet Kuzmich put in his three pennies: "Hello my friend. Now I'll tell you a fairy tale ...". "Is it that bad?" - Sidorov was worried. Well, you saw the ball yourself - but the timing belt changed very quickly, it even broke completely when you were removed, so, consider that you were lucky. And look. With these words, Palych retrieved a set of engine cushions. - As you went to them - I can not imagine! I had to put new ones. More precisely, the bottom is completely new, and the lateral one - I'm sorry - is slightly crooked. The motor is washed, the oil is changed - in general, with you 100 bucks! - You that Palych - be afraid of God. For the change of oil 100 bucks? "Why only for butter?" Pillows to give up - it's the same, consider, the motor had to be removed. Okay - 75 and only as a regular customer. Sidorov realized that there would be no more indulgence - and with a sigh paid. From the loudspeaker came the "Field of miracles in the country of fools." - Yes, dear! continued Palych. Oil is what you brought, often forged. Specifically about what you have, nothing to say now is impossible - but if you feel that something is wrong - quickly change to another ... - So the butter is expensive and branded ... - Sidorov began. - Do you think that someone will forge a cheap one? - Cut off Palych. - Come on, with God. Convinced that Sidorov went to the driver's door, Palych tore off a rag from the wrecked wings with a toreador's movement and slammed the hood. Sidorov jerked the handle of the door and Palych chilled - the door was again closed. "Damn, this door is fooling again," Sidorov hissed. "Palych, where are the keys?" - In the ignition lock - mumbled Palych. Sidorov again cursed and began to walk around the car, heading for the right door. In the twinkling of an eye, Palych pulled out the scissors from the overalls and, with a shout "Stop, I'll open the Wait" with a sharp blow, hammered the scissors into the door lock larva and turned it. The door was already open - and Sidorov only had time to say: - Palych - and what for you broke my castle to me ?! I already have one broken one ... The right door, then, does not close to me at the castle ... Palych did not know what to say. I only waved "Who knew, I'm sorry ...". Kuzmich stood up for him. With Chernomyrdin's voice, he said thoughtfully: "We wanted better, but it turned out as usual". Sidorov only shook his head, got into the car and began to turn around. Tavria, creaking and bubbling all the mechanisms, moved out of the box. It was clearly heard the process of adding parts to it. But with each turn of the wheel, the parts fell into place - and the car retired beyond the scope of the workshop. Picture 2. Criminal-realistic. Sidorov already got out of the morning schedule and so flew into the small parking lot in front of the checkpoint. The roar that his car issued made the signal of the jeep standing to his right work. Sidorov did not pay proper attention to this fact and quickly ran to the top leadership behind the road list. Oh, in vain he ignored the signal. Kolyan-Podilsky and Vovan-Moscow, two very concrete brothers, in kind, relaxed with beer and shish kebab when they heard the sound of a signal. They walked lazily towards the car - and the first thing they saw was the ripped side of Tavria. Following his simple logic, the sight of a battered Cossack led them to associations about the presence of the second participant in the accident, the six hundredth Mercedes. However, Mercedes was not near, and for want of it they began to study the left side of their jeep. After a short search, a suitable small scratch was found on the left wing. - Bro, look how this goat wrecked our wings! And we were going to sell this battle carriage, Kolyan, and we missed an important shooter because of him and, it seems, you did not have time to take the wife from the hospital yet ... - What other wife ?! Oh yes - just do not pick up, but did not have time to bring it - and she had to give birth right here in the back seat ... But for this version it was necessary to find urgently a pregnant aunt and immediately make her give birth. What was impossible at that particular moment. That is, to find an aunt, make her pregnant and make them give birth, of course, could - but right now, and this all at once, it was an overt search. But at least 200 tanks were in the air and it only remained to wait for this goat. This "goat" did not take long to wait and ran out of the passage to his Tavria. Already approaching the car, he felt the unkind look of two healthy brothers who were obviously waiting for someone. As they approached the car, their gazes became more and more steadfast, and when Sidorov approached the driver's door of his car, the ego called. - Hey, goat! Look how you crushed our wing! Sidorov looked around. There were no other goats, except him, beside him. "Who?" I?! - with hope for a negative answer he asked - Yes, you, who else ... Go bumble-bee syudy ... Sidorov walked around Tavria and Vovan, taking him by the collar, jabbed his nose in a scratch on the wing of the jeep. - Yes, you're on someone, a goat little manoryl? !! - Kolyan hissed at him. - Yes, you fell a man ... - Guys, yes, I could not - yes, it is high ... - So you ran to the hummock specially jumped. We even got a signal from such a blow. "Yes, guys, there can not be such a thing in principle," Sidorov defended weakly. "And in general, then there should be a scratch on Tavria ..." Kolyan, with a jerk, jerked Sidorov face to Tavri: "What's this, do you think?" And then Sidorov saw for the first time the ragged side of his car. - Aah ... Ak ... And how is it? - only managed to squeeze out Sidorov. - How are you? - hissed Kolyan. "What, in kind, clarify?" "Specifically, you fell a man," Vovan echoed him. "Do you have a flat?" At Sidorov, everything swam before my eyes. He remembered exactly how he drove up to the parking lot and that the jeep was already standing. Alas, he did not remember how to jump on the wing of the jeep with a run. However, with each movement of his body in Vovan's hands, his memory behaved somewhat peculiarly. Five minutes later, he already vaguely recalled, and ten o'clock could clearly tell how he was "clean in a way, in kind, flew into the wing of a peacefully parked jeep ...". Logically, the issue of compensation for damage. Then Kolyan looked around and, sticking a thick finger in the direction of the workshop of Palych, uttered: "Let's evaluate it in that sharashka ... How much will they do?" And already to Sidorov: - Immediately pay off - and fly a bird. Sidorov kicked to the ego of the car and jerked toward the auto repair shop. Surrendering, the jeep pulled some kind of urn and almost trampled a couple of grandmothers, who inadvertently turned out to be on his way. "In, now I would hang a couple of stars on the wing," Vovan said with some vexation. The matter is that the arrivals on the gaping pedestrians Kolyan neatly marked on the jeep's wing a stylized image of a grandmother with a stick. Apparently imitating the pilots who during the war celebrated downed planes with stars on the sides. Under the escort of the jeep, the caravan moved to the repair boxes. Palych's mood was excellent. So easily he did not expect to get rid of Sidorov. Filipchy still was not - and this meant that they would most likely share only 50 bucks. However, the idyllic mood of Palych lasted only about half an hour. Instead of the expected Filipych, the characteristic sound of a small car was heard and Palych's vagaries fell on the approaching Tavria, but behind it was a clearly bandit jeep. Palych's mood immediately fell below the sewer. "They will beat you," Palych said. "Blah! Who knew that Sidorov had such a roof." It was too late to give the duel, and nowhere. Meanwhile, Sidorov poked the car with his starboard side to the wall. However, to the left of it, sweeping the fence with a camera, a jeep of brothers was parked close to him. Sidorov was trapped in his car and therefore could not take part in the initial stage of negotiations between the high parties. Vovan and Kolyan hailed Palych: "Hey, commander!" Look at the wing! "Why should I look at him?" That I did not see the wings, - somewhere aside, grumbled Palych. - Commander - you look, how many dough wings will be made? - all trying to get hold of the attention of Palych, Kolyan pressed. However, here Palych heard the voice of Sidorov, who lowered the glass, yelled: "Palych - at least you confirm it - the same dent already for a couple of weeks!" Such a turn made some confusion in the scenario with the massacre, which Palych himself already painted. The case took an unexpected turn and Palych, to gain time, went to Tavria and began to study the damage, as if he had seen them for the first time. Brotherhood ohrenela from such impudence. "Commander, you have not missed the bazaar!" I'm asking you about dough. And you looked at this garbage dump ... At these words, Palych, as an ostrich stuck his head under the wing of Tavria and feverishly tried to figure out what was going on. But there was something to think about. On the one hand, the bratva is obviously straining for money, and on the other, the hysterical Sidorov begs Palych to confirm that the wing was dented a week ago. From such serious meditations, Palych from Tavria did not want to get out at all. But there was nowhere to pull further. Palych decided. Pay, apparently, still have to - and he crawled out from under the Tauris and, looking into the distance, said: - Nuuu ... 50 bucks. - What 50? !! everyone was amazed. "Well, that's ... well, I'm talking about a 50-pound pots. Kolyan grunted, took out a fifty-dollar bill from his pocket and gave Palych u." Palych began to creep along the wall of the box. В Таврии бился Сидоров и молил: - Палыч, я тебе еще 50 дам - только скажи, что все так еще вчера было Но Колян быстро просек поляну и отправил Вована наводить должный порядок в просветлевших было мозгах Сидорова, а сам взял находящегося в трансе Палыча под руку и повел его к джипу, нашептывая ему по дороге: - Понимаешь, этот хорек нам крыло помял, ты оцени ремонт нашего крыла бач ков в 300 - и ты честно свой полтинник заработал. Просек? Тут до Палыча стал доходить расклад. "Шустряк оказался этот Сидоров - не успел от нас уехать, уже джип боднул". Тут Палыча, наконец, ткнули носом в царапину на крыле. Надо заметить, что джип у братков был капитально раздолбан. И царапин и вмятин на нем было предостаточно. Поэтому указанная царапина на крыле совсем не выделялась на общем фоне. Наконец, и Сидоров был извлечен из заточения и после потрясающего по задушевности разговора с Вованом, снова стал тихим и виноватым. Только в глазах читался призыв о помощи, обращенный к Палычу. Однако Палыч уже пришел в себя, и хотя еще не все понимал, но пятьдесят баксов, врученных ему Коляном, очень эффективно действовали на его сознание. Уже по-деловому и без страусиных манер, Палыч обследовал крыло джипа и подчеркнуто авторитетно объявил приговор Сидорову. - При всем уважении к тебе Виктор, к твоей супруге и любовнице, меньше 300 баксов не получается Палычу было, конечно, стыдно за этот спектакль. У него даже закралась крамольная мысль, что надо будет тот полтан, что от братков получен, с Сидоровым потом в баре просадить за пивом. Братки оживились и начали наезжать на Сидорова. - Смотри, козел, что тебе командир говорит. Триста баксов на месте - или мы забираем твою помойку и ставим на бабки. "А за козла ответишь", - донеслось со шкафа. Это Кузьмич встрял в беседу. Но голос, голос то был чисто Палыча. Палыч от такой подставы аж позеленел. "Все, сегодня же в лом сдам эту электрическую рухлядь" - решил он. Братки тем временем удивленно-угрожающе оглянулись. - Это не я, - пролепетал Палыч. - А кто? Конь в кожаном пальто? - надвигались на него братки. Кузьмич, видимо, почувствовал свой близкий конец и громко заверещал: "Это говорю вам я...". Далее прозвучала фамилия известного олигарха. При упоминании этой фамилии братки встали по стойке смирно. - Да, они ответят, - торжественно пообещал Колян, выразительно бросая взгляды то на Сидорова, то на Палыча... Кузьмич продолжал выкручиваться: "Мы передавали интервью известного бизнесмена общественно-политической программе "ИТОГО". Братки уважительно перекрестились и обернулись к Сидорову. - Слышь, чё папа говорит - отвечать вам надо. Бабки давай! Сидоров отрешенно поглядел в потолок, потом вздохнул и произнес: - Ну что делать, раз так - надо платить И с этими словами достал из наружного карамана куртки толстенную пачку стодоллоровых купюр. От в да денег у братков округлились глаза и показалось, что цепи на их шеях сразу потяжелели раз в десять, так как они подались под их весом вперед и вниз к пачке баксов. - Эй, браток - а ты это, часом кроликов не разводишь? с некоторой опаской спросил Колян. - Нет, я инженер-ремонтник, - мрачно отвечал Сидоров. - Ну и слава богу, - повеселел Колян. - Тогда с тебя еще 50 бачков за оценку. - Да ради бога, - спокойно отпарировал Сидоров. - Только у меня одни сотки... - А я тебе сдачи полташек верну, - с готовностью отозвался Вован. Сделка была немедленно завершена, прямо на изумленных глазах Палыча. И джип рванул с места, снося на своем пути всяческие оградки, заборы и разметая газоны и кусты, унося в себе конкретных пацанов. В боксе повисла неловкая тишина. У Палыча с чувством совести было все в порядке точнее, можно сказать, что не было ее вовсе. Но все же тут был явный перебор, и явившаяся ранее крамольная мысль не давала покоя. Как-то даже неожиданно для себя он произнес: - Слушай, Виктор, вот тот бандитский полтинник - возьми его... - Спасибо, Палыч... Но это лишнее. Я и так на этих кретинах полтинник заработал... - Это как?!! - изумился Палыч. - Да видишь ли - баксы-то фальшивые... Я же наладчиком копировального оборудования работаю. Так вот недавно нам какую-то крутую аппаратину притащили, так я пока ее налаживал, зеленого президента в него вложил - так он их знаешь сколько мне наштамповал. При этих словах рука Палыча непроизвольно потянулась к карману, в котором лежал полтинник, которым сегодня утром расплатился Сидоров. Сидоров так же уже понял, что брякнул что-то не то. И поспешил заверить Палыча, что у него самая настоящая денежка. И что он бы никогда и ни за что не осмелился использовать левые купюры, если бы не этот несправедливый наезд представителей уголовного мира. Но Палыч успокоился только тогда, когда Сидоров поменял ему утреннюю купюру на бандитскую. И, чтобы уйти от скользкой темы, обратил внимание Палыча на помятое крыло Таврии. Тут уже Палыч решил играть игру до конца и перешел в наступление: - Ну показывай, чем ты джип забодал - Да никого я не трогал, - взмолился Сидоров. - Значит, наверное, это братки тебя зацепили - а потом решили все на тебя свалить... Таких случаев просто море. Сидоров был обезоружен: - Я думал, это вы мне её приложили, - неуверенно пролепетал он. - Понимаешь, приехал я на работу, поднялся наверх, ну минут 15 там был выхожу, и крыла как не было. А эти тут рядом стоят - вот идиотов развелось на дорогах - Да друг. Не повезло тебе. Менять крыло-то придется. - Ну и чего это все встанет? - Да за работу в 100 правильных с покраской уложимся. Ну а крыло и краска твои. - Да, дела, - загрустил Сидоров. А я, было, решил, что это вы мне ее огуляли... Тут как черт из табакерки, откуда не возьмись, на работу явился Филипыч. Конец фразы он слышал и решил сразу включиться в базар. - Да ты что, друг?!! Ты подумай, как мы могли ее огулять, если у нас ключей не было... И вообще, еще вчера все... Но фразу он не успел закончить, поскольку в ту часть, что пониже спины, явно уперся предмет, похожий на ключ на 36, удерживаемый твердой рукой Палы ча... Филипыч осекся - но слово не воробей. И Сидоров после повисшей паузы спросил: - А чего вчера?! Палыч быстро всзял себя в руки и затахтел: - Да вчера твои ключи случайно наш мастер, Овчинников, собой домой унес в комбинезоне. Постирать он его, видишь ли, решил. А мне, будь он не ладен, пришлось к нему с утра домой ехать. Не, друган - ты мозгом-то пошевели. Ты вчерась сам на яму машину поставил? - Ну, поставил - согласился Сидоров. - С утра машину с ямы забрал? - Ну, забрал. - Так вот - клянусь - машина с ямы не съезжала. Что было истинной правдой. Сидоров задумался и, глянув в честные глаза Палыча, произнес: - Ладно, вечером привезу крыло и краску. Сделаете? - Конечно, сделаем, - хором откликнулись мастера. И Сидоров рванул зарабатывать на крыло и краску... Оптимистический эпилог. Только машина скрылась за углом, Палыча прорвало: - Филипыч, адвакат хренов!!! Если ты еще пасть при клиенте откроешь - все, удавлю!!! Филипыч уже понял, что влез не вовремя и, выслушав, эмоциональное выступление Палыча, молча с улыбкой вытащил из ящика новый масляный фильтр, который он вчера так и не ввернул в Таврию. Палыч так же улыбнулся и достал ремень ГРМ из кармана. Тут на них напал приступ смеха. И сколько бы это продолжалось неизвестно, но в воротах бокса неожиданно возникла старенькая чадящая и чихающая тойота. Мотор явно был не в порядка и водила, вылезая из салона, наткнулся на вопрос Филипыча: - Мотор 1600? - Да, - еще не понимая к чему это, ответил клиет. - 94 на 19 - куда-то в даль сказал Филипыч. Палычу не надо было объяснять, что это параметры ремня ГРМ двигателя этой тойоты, а то что это размеры ремня, который лежал у него в кармане, он и так знал. - Ну мужик - ты не первый у нас с таким дефектом, - уверенно сказал он. - С час все сделаем, дело в ремне, заезжай... Заодно и масло поменяем!
Не только русская баба коня на скаку...
Однажды, в начале 80-х, был в общаге имени Мориса Тореза неописуемый случ ай. Четыре словачки, вполне обычного телосложения, затосковав вдали от родины, решили выпить посреди белого дня. Ну бывает, ну это жизнь. Невозможно теперь уже выяснить, по какому поводу и сколько именно они выпили до начала основных событий. Но это было: а) явно немало; б) не суть важно. Гораздо важнее было то, что они пошли на улицу. Не хватало им приключений для полного куража, понимаете ли. Вы что думаете - только у русских душа просит праздника? Отнюдь! Путь разудалых словацких девушек пролег, по несчастью, мимо овощного магазина. Кстати, все помнят, что девушек было не пятнадцать, а лишь ч етыре? И что они вовсе не были олимпийскими призерами ни по метанию молота, ни даже по плаванью? Ну так вот, проходя мимо "Овощей-Фруктов", у девчат слетела Нет, не шляпа. Крыша! И вы сейчас в этом убедитесь. Ибо перед магазином стоял такой решетчатый контейнер на колесах - всякий, кто в те годы ходил в овощные магазины, поймет, о чем я говорю. В таких контейнерах небритые грузчики вывозили в торговый зал овощефруктовую продукцию, и граждане радостно в ней ковырялись, выиискивая то, что не успело до конца сгнить на овощной базе. Но в описываемом случае контейнер стоял на улице и был полон арбузов, а продавец только что ушел на обед, замкнув загончик с арбузами на замок, дабы избежать усушки и раструски товара за время своего отсутствия. Субтильные сестры братского народа узрели арбузы и возжелали их. Здесь, так сказать, и сейчас. Будучи в сильноприподнятом настроении, они не особенно расстроились, увидев отсутствие продавца и замок на контейнере. Они дружно взялись, и: хамски укатили контейнер. Из овощного магазина это, надо полагать, просто не заметили, а у проходящих мимо граждан и своих хлопот хватало, особенно в те годы. Поэтому до общаги контейнер докатился беспрепятственно (да и было это недалеко), и вот там-то в полный рост наступил апофеоз. Все помнят, сколько было девушек, и что они ничего особенного из себя не представляли? Хорошо. Так вот, эти обычные пьяные словачки, воспользовавшись отбеганием пожилой вахтерши со служебного поста на пять минут по весьма уважительной причине, затолкали контейнер с арбузами в общежитие, а потом, собравшись с силами, заволокли это сооружение по лестнице на второй этаж. Закатить контейнер к себе в комнату у них не получилось - дверь была узковата. Но девушки не смутились. Отметив удачную операцию остатками спиртного, они шпилькой (!) открыли замок и дорвались до арбузов. Я не буду рассказывать о том, чего не знаю. Например, какое лицо было у продавца овощного магазина, когда он обнаружил-таки усушку и раструску своих арбузов, да еще в столь фатальных масштабах. А вот то, что было после вызова милиции, мне известно. Путь воришек был легко вычислен, ибо все же не каждый день четыре девушки катят по улице контейнер с арбузами. И хотя вахтерша начисто отрицала факт проникновения арбузов на вверенную ей территорию, но проживание описанных ей девиц подтвердила, и сообщила номер комнаты, перед которой и был обнаружен контейнер с арбузами, а в самой комнате за столом спали девушки, успев перед тем, как их сморила усталость, взрезать только один-единственный трофейный арбуз. Так вот, любопытные могут прикинуть, сколько весил контейнер с арбузами. Скажу лишь, что милиция, надрываясь и матерясь, спустила контейнер на первый этаж и вернула похищенное по назначению, в доступных и понятных выражениях наказав завмагу как следует взгреть продавца, который не удосужился привязать контейнер к чему-либо тяжеловорующемуся. Впоследствии один из милиционеров, сойдясь в процессе разбора сего проишествия с одной из расхитительниц социалистической собственности, женился на ней; он уехал с женой в Братиславу, а потом в Прагу, где и рассказал мне об истории знакомства с супругой, которая ужасно смущалась и краснела на протяжении всего рассказа.
In the heart of Europe lies the state, which is larger than all other European states. There the most fat land for cultivation of technical hemp, there dohuya different natural resources, there are chic mountains and seas. There is everything except oil, but oil can also be extracted directly from the pipes that lie on this earth here and there. In general, not the earth, but paradise. Many wanted to own this territory, and many got pussy because of it. Barbarians otpizdili Greeks, Lithuanians - Tatars, Poles - Turks, Russian - Germans. And as a result, this land was promised to the Khokhlam. Like this. Looking at this incident, many peoples still remain in neponyatkah. Transcarpathia all my life was Hungarian, Carpathians - Austrian, Polesie - Polish, Bukovina - Romanian, North - Lithuanian, South - Turkish, Crimea - Tatar, Donbass - Russian, Kiev - common, and now it's all hohljatskoe! And dick priebeshsya that the most interesting. How did this historical paradox happen? I answer - thanks to innate Khokhlyak Buddhism. To begin, we will answer, where did this extraordinary people come from, who managed to throw a dick through all of them? According to legend, when the first crest was born, all the Jews cried. And, as history showed, the Jews were crying for good reason. In appearance, the Ukrainians are very good-natured. Good-natured they are inside. They pose an immediate threat exclusively to pigs, for whom they are natural enemies. Khokhlu does not attack anyone against anyone, because it's not good to piss off the neighbor. True, if a neighbor asks someone to kick off, then the Ukrainians can not refuse him either, because refusing his neighbor is also not good. Thus, Ukrainians pissed Tatars with Russians, Poles with Tatars, Russians with Poles. Swedes with Russians and Russians with Swedes. Together with the Turks pissed Russian and Poles, and then with the Russians and Poles - the Turks. Pizdili even Italians, along with the Austrians and Iraqis with Americans. Periodically, the Ukrainians themselves received pussy, and then they made strange eyes and thought, "Well, what is this for me?", After which they pissed the Jews, and they, of course, cried. (The looters raked in as direct competitors.) But on the whole, this people is quiet and humane. The main precept of khokhlov is << my hut with the edge >>. They even called their state - Ukraine. That is, << all of us pohuyu, do not touch us, for God's sake, understand yourself, dolboey >>. The main life principle of khokhlov is multi-vector. Or, to make it more clear, - "and eat a fish, and sit on the dick". The main dream of the Ukrainians is that the dumplings themselves jump into the mouth. And do not laugh. If you consider how the Ukrainians gained their independence, this dream does not seem so unreal. Khokhl are real Buddhists, skillfully disguised as Orthodox (by the way, Orthodox dioceses in Ukraine - four pieces, to choose from). Favorite color of khokhlov - orange, color of the uniform of the Dalai Lama. And since the Great Buddha said: "Life is suffering," it is the suffering of the Ukrainians that made the basis of their world perception. They are sure that their whole history was torn by national, social and religious oppression. That's why Taras Shevchenko is recognized as the main Khokhlyak poet, the worst victim of competent khokhlov. (He suffered for having finished. He wrote about the tsar-priest with his mother's verse and answered for the bazaar). As true Buddhists, the Ukrainians preach non-resistance to evil, and hammering into it a large bolt. And so they still do not give veterans status to fighters from the UPA. To know how to violate the national essence. Aggressive crest - this is not a crest. Buddhist principles make us, Khokhlov, invulnerable to the blows of fate. To us these blows just fuck. We know that everything will pass, so there is no reason to be sober. As it is sung in one hohljatsky song: << To piss our ¬ sorozhenki, yak dew on ц ц ¬.. Zannugm ¬ mi, brother, have their own side >>. That is, our enemies sooner or later will disappear somewhere, not eternal, and then we will pokomanduem on our land. Julie, is it difficult for us to wait? We are Buddhists.