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Duvet Cover in America
A friend went to the first year to learn from the exchange of the school. He lived for a year, looked at what was happening, etc., etc. After a couple of years I went to study at "Yankee-go-home" university. We settled it in a local hostel with some amerikosy. Being already experienced, he took with him various "purely Russian belongings", including a duvet cover (the fact is that the Americans first hide themselves with a sheet, and then with a blanket, like on a train). So this his yu-es-hey sidekick walked-walked for a while and finally asked: - Listen, I understand the sheet below, well, to hide, then the blanket, well, from the top of the sheet, you never know (warmer to have a blanket did not get dirty ...), but did you fuck you with a hole ?!
HOW TO CHOOSE A MAN (true gentleman's advice)
You are no longer a young girl and students do not attract you much. I would like to meet a reliable, experienced and accomplished man? .. Well, in this case a woman always has to choose from what is left, or encroach on the sacred - to repel someone else's husband. First, how to accurately distinguish a married man from a single, well, for example, on the street. A married man goes and looks at the women he likes, and the idle man proudly wiggles, expecting the ladies are about to rush at him. Indoors, married men are trying to make you intimate, while single men try to make a spectacular impression. As a bachelor, you always see increased attention to yourself, which is very different from the behavior of a married man. If you decide to honestly choose a husband or friend from all that remains unmarried, then your choice is not great. For the most part, unmarried men are notoriously complexed, romantically supple and sexually weak individuals are no longer quite, say, the opposite sex to you, because over the years they have begun to acquire female qualities as well. They gradually learn to cook, wash, save, go shopping and do without women. In casual sex, they are affectionately female, decent and romantic. This is often at first, and captivates women who met them, who very quickly become fed up with this tinsel of tenderness and go to rude men, with whom they begin to feel themselves again as a real woman, and not as a girlfriend for their male girlfriend. I'm not talking here about those unmarried men who were left without families because of vodka, pathological cruelty to women and chronic laziness. Allow this third variety, let me not discuss at all and sincerely congratulate women who, for the sake of children, have to live with such specimens for many years. Widowers, especially with children, retired soldiers who have lost their families because of heavy service and freshly divorced men (if not because of vodka) are very rare exceptions from the general unmarried male population. All women know what to do with widowers - to replace his children with his mother, and he himself will convince himself that you are his wife. It is also easy with retired colonels or ensigns - you just have to be at hand. But only those who left the service no longer than 6 months ago are suitable. If you are a retired officer who has already lived in retirement for more than a year and never married, then this is, sexually, not `the former colonel, 'but the decrepit ladies' man. It is very insulting for any woman to be the tenth mistress of an aged and lonely person. With freshly divorced men is much more difficult. First of all, it is necessary to find out how much he drinks, walks on the side, plays games of chance or how impotent he is. Unfortunately, everything, and especially the latter, has to be checked for yourself. Well, I must warn you that the development of such a man for the future husband most often ends in disappointment. And now let's move on to a more promising, but somewhat delicate way of fighting off other people's husbands. Oh, the technology of the beating itself, sorry for the truth, is very simple - lie down. Well, not just in a hurry, but, completely and from all sides, showing the man how good you are. I will not describe the details, as we now have a conversation about choosing a man, and not about keeping him. Of course, it is much easier to choose a ready-made and already accomplished man than from a snot-nosed kid or a divorced recluse. Well, you can beat off the boss, artist, politician, highly paid worker, businessman. Honestly, I have envied young women all my life, who through a successful marriage with a man 10-20 years old at one wedding day can solve all life problems, then live in prosperity and build their golden nest for their future children. If, in choosing men, all women always chose first of all those who, by their nature, are leaders and are able to support a family normally, then in a hundred years a new generation of people who are much more intelligent and adapted to life would have grown. And this seemingly natural selection is constantly interfered by Mrs. Love, that is, human nature itself, which pulls people to multiply, not by reason, but by blind will. It is from this instinctive desire or love that I warn you when choosing a man - the farther from love, the more intelligent your choice.
Interception of conversations
The situation is this: I'm going to the bus to work. I listen to the radio through the player. Suddenly, the radio starts to sound more muffled, and in the player on the background of hissing and crackling two voices, female (F) and male (M): J: Well, where are you now? M: How - where? Home where else! J: What are you doing? M: I cleaned the potatoes, I sit, I listen to music, I play on my computer while the potatoes are boiling. W: Good girl. I understand what brought me to the wave of cell phones, and I, due to the natural features of my player not studied by researchers, can overhear someone else's conversation. It becomes interesting to me, and I continue to listen: J: And I have a problem here ... Do you hear? M: What? J: We have an urgent meeting ... For an hour. So I will arrive in an hour and a half! M: It's a pity ... (with a note of sadness in his voice) J: Well, nothing! Do you still love me? M: Yes, of course! So when are you waiting? Here I notice that the female and male voices sound like a stereophonic ... Surround sound. That in cell phones equipped with only one microphone is, of course, impossible. But the effect is cool: as if you can calculate the direction to the source of each voice. In the old songs of Queen, this effect is beautifully used. J: Somewhere in an hour and a half. M: Well, love. In an hour and a half I am waiting for you. Kisses. W: I kiss. Until. A woman sitting in front of me, (exactly in the direction I calculated at the end of the previous line), folds up the phone, says to the man sitting next to her: "Rolled!" - and kisses him. I turn around in bewilderment in the direction from which, judging by the sensations, a male voice rang out ... And I see how a man sitting on a row behind and two seats to the right of me finishes hiding his cellular phone in a belt case, kisses the girl who sits with him, and says: "We have almost half an hour more!" The click - the noise and the crackling in the headphones disappear, and the former volume of "Radio 1" is restored ... I quietly go nuts ... Player, pancake ... Interception of conversations on the radio ... And at the next stop I had to go out and see I did not succeed in a silent scene.
Somehow I’m on the bus, it’s full of people, as if half of Moscow decided to visit the crematorium. Nearby is a girl. The girl has a package with bananas. Moreover, this package she can not attach so that he did not interfere with it. Finally, the bag is hung on the arm and with the same hand it is held on the rail. The package is swinging and becomes available for viewing by everyone standing nearby. A free spot forms near me, and I suggest she put the bag next to me, which the girl does. Further. Some cheerful young man smiles and asks a question: - Aunts! Go out next? This is us aunts! What a cheek! Having decided to make fun of a bit, I make a flirtatious movement with my eyebrows and answer: - Well, if you insist ... The guy does not let up: - Well, do you treat with a banana? I did not have time to come up with a decent answer, and the girl gave out: - And we don’t feed strangers to monkeys! It was very crowded, so there was nowhere to go with laughter.
Oh, bitch we
I was on the bus, I heard the girl talking on the phone: - No, I'm already going home ... Today I will not be ... Let you meet with her myself, I will call her ... What does she look like? Well ... Dyed blonde is fuller than me ... (and so on) Then she calls back the girl I was talking about: - Everything, I agreed, you meet without me. I told him that you are a blonde ... (oh, bitch we ...)
When this happened, I don’t know, but obviously in times of historical materialism. Somewhere in the north, according to the weather, two helicopter crews, the army and the sea, sat down. They lived in a hotel, there was nothing to do, so they went to the restaurant in the evening, where, by the way, there was also nothing to do, and the restaurant was such that it was dining in the afternoon. And from savings they bought only what to eat, and alcohol brought their own. Out of boredom, they eventually remembered that there were some contradictions between the fleet and the army, they quarreled and sat at different tables. And on every occasion they tried to outdo each other. And one evening the commander of the fleet crew asked the crew to surprise the crew with green equipment. Well, he, without hesitation, called the next table, poured a glass of alcohol and drank it in one go, then gnawed and swallowed the glass itself. This feat did not go unnoticed, and the commander of the army crew, glad of the glory of a kind of troops, demanded something original from his aircraft. He quickly poured a glass, knocked it briskly into his head, but then there was a hitch, for there was no original continuation there, it would be shameful to chew a glass on the second and it would be a bit shameful. And here the foggy look of the hero fell on the window sill and brightened. Briskly, he grabbed a cactus from the window sill and peacefully grew there, and in a blink of an eye they ate. The fleet was put to shame, the victorious crew returned glory to the room. Waking up the next morning, through the mist of hangover syndrome, glorious warriors saw the author of yesterday's victory, sadly sitting on a stool in front of a mirror with a swollen face and picking up numerous needles from the lips and tongue.
Take your dog away
Recently, a friend told this bike. She has a friend, and that one has a huge dog, a diver, ideally trained. Somehow they walk with this dog along the street, and their path passes through a small public garden, enclosed by a small fence. In the public garden some aunt is walking a small mongrel, like a dog. The mongrel runs without a leash and, on seeing the diver, begins to bark hysterically. Well-bred dog does not respond. A small dog ozverevaet and yelps already ten centimeters from the muzzle of a big dog. He is clearly holding back from his last strength, but courageously continues to walk silently alongside the hostess. Then the impudent mongrel, choking on barking, grabs the diver's paw! AND THERE IS PSA PATIENCE. The dog rushes after the mongrel, she’s away from him, and the mistress rides behind the dog on a leash like a water-skier behind a boat. The space of the public garden is limited, so all three rush around in circles, tacking between the trees. Finally, the mistress of the dog cuts into some kind of tree, clasps it with his hands and, with the last of his strength, holds the leash, tries to prevent the killing and shouts to the mistress of the mongrel: The aunt slowly turns her head and calmly replies like this: - Yes, do not be afraid, she does not bite ...
Extraordinary sense of humor
It was in the midst of stagnation. One of the employees of the Flight Test Complex (in Sh-1) went to Zhukovsky on official business. Let's call him Petr-Petrovich (PP). The train goes there from the Kazan station. And this should happen, grabbed the belly of the PP! Right at the train station! Well, he tyrk the toilet, and he is closed for repairs! What to do? Where to go? He ran, ran ... well, and got out of the situation somewhere under a bush. I went to Zhukovsky, came back and dashed off a huge complaint to the head of the Kazan station about the out-of-work toilets there. Say: Workers suffer! Ugliness! And it must be said that at that time Petr-Petrovich was the head, i.e. in a modern "boss". And he had a deputy (as befits every boss), say, Ivan Trofimitch (IT). So, somehow in the absence of the PP deputy. his IT gets a letter from the administration of the Kazansky railway station, such as "we are responding to your complaint from such and such, that indeed at that moment all public toilets at the railway station were closed for repairs, for which we apologize. Later on the works will be carried out according to the schedule, allowing not to close all the toilets at once. Regards Date, signature ". But Ivan Trofimitch was a man with an extraordinary sense of humor. He immediately takes this letter and on the typewriter he writes between the last phrase and the signature: "And for the defensive pants you can receive compensation." Then seals it back into the envelope and puts it on the table. And here comes Petr Petrovich. He enters his office, checks the mail, then he becomes very excited and says: "I have to leave urgently! ... On business! Urgently!" Well, the boss must, who is arguing with him? He left ... Arrives in half a day even darker than a cloud ... It turns out that it was: He rushes in to the head of Kazan station, shouting "disgrace! Do you allow yourself?!" ... and so on, waving a letter. That one says to him: “Are you crazy? Who will write this to you?” And, indeed, they raised the ref. Original, figured it out ... Then he got it, that his deputy sometimes has humor. He came to work and went to the party committee. He staged an eerie scandal there, called IT on the party committee, scoured it, and reprimanded him through laughter and tears. But Ivan Trofimych was not upset, he says, "but now everyone knows how to crap!"
Food somehow in a crowded bus. He stops at the bus stop and a drunk man falls out of the door (just falls as a pillar). Drove looking in the frozen rearview mirror announces in all seriousness: - Comrades passengers, who dropped the carpet?
Katka - that says it all
It was aposlya New Year holidays. So, of course, there was a Christmas tree in the hut, and, accordingly, there were all kinds of bells and whistles on it, from fake snow and foil rain to Santa Claus under this tree. Farther. I have a cat. Nooooo - you gentlemen, just cats live - and I have Katka - that says it all. She will remember this new year for a long time. So the first case. Like any animal, Katka feels craving for all vegetation in the winter! Not eating, dog, only cactus. Bastard! And she started for the Christmas tree - the needles there are big and you can graze. Well, and, of course, in passing, you can break a couple of balls, lift up Grandfather, tear off the garland — this is not Hochma. This little bastard needles seemed a little - it began to take on the garland from the garland! I myself sit in a chair quietly, pretending to have a rest - BACH TRAH! Automatic knocked out! What the hell? I went off - scrolling through the rooms in search of the cause. I found - there is no mustache, the face is black, my eyes are on the roll out and gnaws the cable !!! Vengeance she see !!! I gave her a reward for the valor of sausage and rewound all the wiring near the winter attribute. Case two. I ate the sausage and returned to the scene of the crime. I again type in a kimaru chair - she is eating something. evening came. After her physiological needs, Katka ran around the hut like. it does not matter, however - well, the joy of the cat, with the relief of you Katya! And during the next forced march of this beast past me, I noticed that something brilliant and thin was dragging behind it. Here and there, here and there. I like any boy-bad guy, of course, I stepped on this snake. This delayed Katka. I looked closely at this rain! and takes its origin in. right! From the ass. Katka ofigel from such an encroachment on her freedom and began to break free. As if - I would hold her by the tail. and growls. so pochihu little by little (I don’t remove my leg) she moved away and, accordingly, 2.67 METERS OF THIS DAMM FOIL came out of her! I don’t know how she managed to confuse her with needles. can it be a shock from petrikrychika?
My brother once worked in the regional branch of the paging company Mobil Telemos. One morning after the holiday, everyone comes with a bounty. The boss asks if anyone has heard the weather forecast today (for the news channel). Naturally, nobody knows anything. Then he goes to the open window, sticks his finger out the window and says: “write down: temperature is such and such, pressure, humidity, force and direction of the wind — such and such. Transmit this data while sitting and listen to the radio — how the correct forecast will be transmitted — enter new numbers. "And goes to your office. After some time, they begin to broadcast the forecast - everything matches the tail in the tail. Head: - In the weather should be determined. Well, just like the hydrometeocenter !!! The weather forecast ends and the girl says in a sweet voice: - The weather forecast was kindly provided by the leader of the paging communication company Mobile TeleSOM ...
Airline with gags
I flew just before one American airline, famous for its jokes. They own the advertising slogan “Nobody loves your money more than we do!” And the phrase “if you once again enter into your head, zip across the sky in an iron pipe - come to us”. This time, the flight attendant told me that she never, ever, was ever allowed to smoke in the toilet. “But if, he says, you feel just an irresistible craving for a cigarette, tell me.” I'll open the window. You can light up - smoke!
My friend from a new medium-sized Russian sent his wife and children to Greece for a couple of months, well, of course, he himself broke away from his heart, started driving babs, did not disdain and confused, in general, did not spend time. Well, he was protected of course, one problem - the preys, without hesitation, threw into the window. In short, my wife returned, and so in April, when the snow melted, she arranged to plant flowers under the window and found a cemetery of gandons. I must say that they lived on the third floor of the five-story building, the first two were occupied under his own office, and on the 4th and 5th elderly couples lived. The saving thought came suddenly - he zakosil at homeless people from the attic, which, of course, was not his own efforts. In general, he had to hire the homeless - homeless and homeless. For Bukhalovo, they climbed into the attic every day and rushed out of the canes for a whole month. Well, as a result, the wife would shavala, although, you know, a homeless person with a gandon is like a nun in a brothel.
This spring, my wife and I rushed to the relatives (half an hour by bus) in order to cope with their health and crush a bottle or two of homemade vodka under a juicy kebab. I have, like a professional sweeper - a porter - two bags in my hands and a backpack on my back with food and supplies, my wife has a box with tomato seedlings. The thing is not very heavy, but uncomfortable. And then just as the bus pulls up, filled with those who are hungry for having a rest, and the same number of people are standing at the bus stop. First I push my wife forward, she makes her way to the driver to put a box next to him, and the crowd, excited by the expectation, brings me right to the end of the cabin. The density of passengers, of course, also immediately exceeds the number of Japanese per square kilometer and unable to escape, I calm down. At this time, the wife, also clutched in a crush (160 cm tall), but having already attached these damn tomatoes, thinking that I, behind me with my difficult burden, are covering moves to retreat, groping bags full to the top and persistently pulling them, says: - Give something, - and, in fact, turns ... A two-meter bearded uncle looks at her very ochchen with a voice and phlegmatic answers: - DON'T LADY ... And, after a little thought, he added: - I’m greedy ... the day we finally got out, having missed our stop, but that’s already another story ... Yes, the very same Lavnoe - the next day it became very cold and the tomatoes brought in a crush died in the bud! Summer Residents !!! Listen to the weather forecast !!!
My mother could never teach me how to communicate with men, because she did not know how to do it herself, but she taught me to read a lot and with gusto. The university did not teach me a specialty, but taught me how to work with a source, collect, classify and put information into practice. So I comprehended the science of communicating with men myself, with the help of books, films, numerous glossy magazines and popular TV shows. I learned a hundred tricks. I accepted as an axiom that I should be interesting externally and internally. Because I knew that you would leave the day after you ceased to have an interest in me. I learned that the path to your heart runs through two organs, one of which is the stomach. I learned how to cook delicious food, because if I don’t feed you diligently, there will definitely be one that will do it. I suspect that men also taught that they should be fed, but I try not to say this heretical thought out loud, so as not to get the label "feminist" from you and "lazy ungrateful" from your mother. The second way to you is through the bed. And I became always ready. I can any day, any place, any number of times, regardless of the phase of my cycle. I learned to do you a blowjob not only well, but also with pleasure, getting excited by it. I learned to love your dick and admire him, with all my heart, frankly, countless compliments. I learned to buy condoms and to defend my right to safe sex, because all the consequences of dangerous will be my troubles. I learned how to make acrobatic tricks so that you would not lose a single gram of pleasure because of the damn gum. I learned to smile in every situation. Because I have a beautiful smile, which means that I am fine and there are no problems that you need to solve right now. I learned to accept you with all your shortcomings and weaknesses, inventing numerous excuses for them. I learned to be stronger than you, to support you at any moment, without demanding in return the same. I learned to be grateful for your time, gifts and money spent on me. I learned to walk in heels because I look so much sexier. Whenever I can’t stand up in the evening, when I start to feel all the veins in my legs (and I’m not even 25 years old!), I understand with horror that these are the first signs of varicose veins and ugly deformities, ugly bones . I know that today I made several thousand more steps in this direction. I gathered from the media data on how I should look and dress to like you. I know what things to choose, so that you notice 4 sizes of my breasts, 60 centimeters of my waist, 93 centimeters of my thighs: I immediately choose clothes in stores that suit the name “little things” better, their area is so small. I learned to wear sexy lingerie and feel like a complete woman only in him. And although it is most convenient for me in cotton, I don’t wear it, because in such underwear I look like a teenager. I learned how to fill all the space around me with bottles, tubes, packs of three types of gaskets for each day. I learned to dye my hair in order to be different for you: For every square centimeter of my skin, there is a special remedy that kills the natural smell and makes it silky: I am ready to buy them all. I learned not to talk much. About myself and that my work is important and interesting. I skillfully adapt, and every time I do it with all my heart. I listen to the same music, watch movies, read books, communicate with people, go to the same pubs. I start to love the same thing as you and I understand the models of "Zhiguli", if it seems funny to you. I learned how to get drunk only with you and pretend that I am a little more drunk than it actually is, so that you can take care of me and scold me in the morning. I learned to keep quiet whenever you talk about other women and not talk about other men. I learned not to call you at home, because whenever my wife picks up the phone, I feel an unbearable desire to say, "Honey, the deputy worries. How is our country, far?" I learned not to think about whether you are sleeping with your wife, and believing when you say that you have not done this for half a year. I learned not to call you on my mobile, because whenever you speak in a raspy voice, "Yes, yes, no, yes," I feel as if I was slapped over my face, my hands, my eyes with a wet thin rope. I honestly do not understand why this is so, because I manage to keep warmth and love in my voice, even if I say “I'm busy, call back later.” I learned not to tell you words of love and tenderness, so as not to listen only to "me too." I learned that you cannot love you too much and too clearly, because it is scaring. I huddle with my tenderness, just to not let you understand that I am dying of love for you, otherwise you will become imposing and dismissive. You will simply allow yourself to love yourself and you will think that I'm not going anywhere from you. I learned not to cry when I feel bad, because you can't stand it. And let the tear in strategic points. I learned to respond to the names you give me. I start thinking about myself, calling myself, signing my letters with those nicknames you are generous with while you are in love. I learned not to jump around with your neck: I learned not to feel alive and to continue to live. The only thing I could not learn, is to eat a little and go on a diet. Fortunately, I have so much strength to do all the other things that the food burns faster than it reaches the stomach, and I do not suffer from being overweight: Besides, I have a Mediterranean saying in excuse that women who have good appetite for food, have a good appetite in bed. Sometimes I think with horror, but where am I? What is my name really? That I love? And I can not answer. I learned. I am a good girl and always got some fives.
Once a man returned home late from work, as always tired and twitching, and saw that a five-year-old son was waiting for him at the door. - Dad, can I ask you something? - Of course, what happened? - Dad, how much do you get? - That is none of your business! - the father was indignant. - And then, why do you need it? - I just want to know. Please tell me how much you get per hour? - Well, actually, 500. Why? “Dad ...” the son looked up at him with very serious eyes. - Dad, can you borrow me 300? - You asked only so that I could give you money for some stupid toy? - he shouted. - Immediately march to your room and go to bed! .. You can not be such an egotist! I work all day, I get tired, and you behave yourself so stupidly. The kid quietly went to his room and closed the door behind him. And his father continued to stand in the doorway and get angry at his son's requests. “How dare he ask me about his salary, then ask for money?” But after some time he calmed down and began to reason sensibly: “Maybe he really needs to buy something very important. Yes, hell with them, with three hundred, he's still never even asked me for money. ” When he entered the nursery, his son was already in bed. - Are you awake, son? - he asked. - No, Dad. Just lying, - answered the boy. “I seem to be too rude to you,” said the father. - I had a hard day, and I just broke. Forgive me. Here, hold the money you asked for. The boy sat up in bed and smiled. - Oh, folder, thanks! He exclaimed happily. Then he climbed under the pillow and took out some more crumpled banknotes. His father, seeing that the child already had money, became angry again. And the kid put all the money together, and carefully counted the bills, and then looked at his father again. - Why did you ask for money if you already have it? - grumbled one. - Because I had not enough. But now I have just enough, - the child answered. - Dad, there are exactly five hundred. Can I buy one hour of your time? Please come home from work tomorrow, I want you to have dinner with us. Morality is not. I just wanted to remind you that our life is too short to spend it entirely at work. We should not allow it to flow through our fingers, without giving it at least a tiny one only to those who really love us, to our closest people. If we are not tomorrow, our company will very quickly replace us with someone else. And only for family and friends it will be a really big loss, which they will remember all their life. Think about it, because we spend much more time working than family.
Andrew It happened about 8-9 years ago when my family got to visit my godfather. We arrive in the evening and find a picture: the owner is sitting on the threshold of the house (a single-storey private house) despite the early spring in one T-shirt and the sweat from it flows. Instead of greetings, we heard "Take off your clothes, or you will sweat, send help." We were surprised, but we went into the house, and there in the kitchen there was a huge bench from some urban park (well, you probably saw this - on the sides and in the middle of the concrete such curls are with curls and between themselves everything is sealed). They began to conduct an inquiry - it turned out that a couple of months ago a brother and his wife came to the godfather, the arrival was sooo well celebrated, after which the men went out for a smoke, sat on this bench, froze and while the ladies in the TV were staring they brought this shop into the kitchen (it was warmer : -), plenty of smoke, kryapnuli still weave and went to sleep. In the morning, it was found that the bench in the kitchen was very useful, only the result was a slightly scratched ceiling in one place (although it is rather high there). And now the godfather decided to sell the house, the buyer has already come and looked at everything and everyone is happy except for this “furniture”, which now needs to be taken out. We set to work (three men in their prime years) - in an hour and a half, seven pots came off us, smashed the glass in the door, pobbed all the corners around, hid the door in the refrigerator well, and ingloriously returned to the original one. After a few glasses, tea came up with the idea of giving the godfather a good drink - maybe he remembers bringing it up. Then I saw traces left on the ceiling, left by a bench, and the second series began with the production "pop". Alas, the final is the same, only marks were added on the walls. So we went home late at night. The new owners of that house did it easier, they damn it damned across, then they wanted to assemble, but they could not ...
I served once, the year in 89, in the GSVG (who does not know, this is the Group of Soviet Forces in Germany) of the platoon platoon command of the regimental artillery chief (VUNA). The division decided somehow to arrange live firing from the entrusted weapon. Well, since we are gunners, then our weapons are, naturally, guns. And not anyhow, what, and howitzers, self-propelled caliber 120 mm. In! Here it is necessary to open the ba-alshiyu military secret: the projectile in these howitzers is divided into the actual projectile and the charge - the sleeve, in which four bags of gunpowder immediately lie. If you want to close a gunhole, you take out all the bags (except for the last one naturally, otherwise you will be driving the projectile, then the charge and-and-and: ”Handset 20, sight 15. Single fire!” So we measured everything , well, there the distance to the target and to the battery of the guns (and there were 12 of them), was transmitted by radio. The fire! ... All in the herringbone. Projectiles are torn where necessary — they are still picking on Hitler's bunkers at the test site. We watched this case, received thanks from the satisfied command and recovered from the position. Built battery. Our colonel (Chief of Artillery) pushed a sensual speech, which, they say, we are all great. All in herringbone, all is well. The bags with powder collected from all self-propelled guns, left in the funnel and burned (I must say cool fireworks turned out - the flame pillar right in the sky - beauty). But that's bad luck - one bag have been missed. Well, no! Nevermind. And then the radio comes to life: a good such obscenities (army language) of our boss to him his boss nicely calling. We arrived. And there is a shukher, everyone runs, all e ... have, in general. Well, and we have to heap. What about ?! In short, what happened: a bag of that forgotten projectile, our rather big pulnul already five kilometers further than the calculated one and exactly to the German village. The authorities shout: e ... mother ... a mountain of corpses. Our boss pales - well, something is bad to him. We're going to watch. Village. Alarmed bowery run, shout chegoy. Especially one frau strongly overstrains. Something shouts, hands waves. Understood only: "Honneker, Gorbachev." Write, they say, I will complain, killed all my relatives, the invaders are damned. We go in the courtyard, in the middle of the frigid crater (well, a howitzer), the barn is on its side, there was no fence, and around the pieces are six disfigured corpses ... Pigs !!! Pigs aunt bred on sausage. What is now a sausage with Soviet fragments. Covered up. Half a year later, she was taken from the regimental table waste to feed offspring.