[Archive c 17.03.2008] Humour [Archive to 28.04.2012] - page 390
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Baturina:
no humour http://uk-ua.facebook.com/people/Aleksandr-Lapin/100000444723429
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The incident I am about to tell you happened to me more than twenty years ago in the city of Kiev. It was spring, early and cold. I was drinking beer with my colleagues and after hanging my camera around my neck I went along Khreschatyk Street, scaring the Soviet inhabitants with the shamelessness of peering through the cloudy windows of my lens into their souls. Suddenly, near the subway, a rural-looking woman cries out in a dreary, wistful voice: "Oh, you're too much!
Well, I bang it, and captured it purely automatically. And my aunt was sobbing and calling me. I approach cautiously. What is it? What happened? I start apologizing. I apologize. I took it by accident, I didn't take it at all. And she's all boo-hoo about it: Take off whatever you want! I just have a little boy so similar to you, only young... Ohioioioioioioio...
Well, of course I got worried. What's that about?
- What's wrong with him? - I asked.
- Ohioioioioioioioioio... He's been in Afghanistan for a year. He hasn't written for a long time. I went to the military commissar's office. He promised to find out, but nothing yet. I went to Moscow and nothing there either. Just promises... Ouch. Something's wrong with him.
- Calm down, please. I think everything's fine. I said he went on a secret mission behind enemy lines. I served in the war, too. I know. They don't send word from there. You can give yourself away. And if something happened to him, the command would have reported it long ago.
-So you think he's alive?
-He's alive for sure!
I'm thinking what am I talking about, idiot, what if they killed him or tortured him in captivity...
-Is he healthy, not wounded?
The unfortunate woman sticks her red, wet eyes into my brain.
-Well, maybe a little, a little... It happens all the time.
-Ohioioioioioioioioioioio...
-Why are you shouting? When he finishes his service, he'll be back in the fall! In six months, maybe sooner.
And people were already crowding around. The policeman is looking at me sideways. It's a nightmare.
And the aunt clings to my sleeve and wails:
-"He's going to turn around... for sure... Tell me...
-How should I know! I think he'll come back and everything will be fine!
-No! Tell me for sure he won't!
Oh, my God!
-That's right!
I don't know what I'm doing, so I write down my home phone number on a piece of paper. Call me when she gets here. This is just to reassure you.
-How do you sound, son?
- Sasha...
-Oioioioioioioioioioioio... His name was also Sasha.
-His name is...
-Oioioioioioioioio, my heart...
And then suddenly the aunt calmed down. Her eyes instantly dried up. She took her bag and went downstairs. Then she turned around and said firmly: Well, you know for sure. I believe you.
My friends, seeing that I got caught up with an unknown woman over a photo, came over to help me out. But they stood there with their eyes wide open...
A few months had passed, it was August, but everyone was already thinking about autumn. Then one evening my phone rang. I answered the phone: Hello...
-Sashenka! -Oioioioioioioioioioioio.... My son is back, battered only badly. I'm asking you for a visit... He'll take you by car to the village and bring you back to your house!
I was paralyzed. I'd forgotten all about it. I was denying it... And then I agreed. A couple of hours later, a Muscovite drove up to the agreed place. The guy behind the wheel, Sasha. He had a few small scratches on his face.
As we drove, I got to know his story in detail. He was in the war. He was taken prisoner. Escaped. Half a year passed like that. Got out. They tortured him a little more and let him go in peace. Never got wounded in combat. But a grenade went off nearby and a bit of earth hit my face. This is what my mother called "badly beaten up".
It was nice to be a guest. The neighbours were staring at yours truly as if I were a negro with a tail. And Sasha's mother introduced me to everybody as a saviour. I asked my father-in-law later, when I was taking him home:
-"Why did she call me a savior?
-When I stopped writing to her for obvious reasons she panicked. She ran to a fortune-teller, another one, another one... To no avail... An old man whispered to her that she'd meet a man with a camera and he'd tell her the truth and that his name was the same as her son's. But the old man can't say anything himself, because he doesn't know.
I fell silent, I felt uncomfortable. Then Sasha told me all sorts of army stories, and I thought about how easy it was to be a stranger in the hands of the unknown.
I went the next day to see a priest I knew. I told him everything. He read his prayers and said that all things can happen and that everything was in God's hands and even such coincidences. There was no sin, for all were alive and well, and the people were good...
http://uk-ua.facebook.com/people/Aleksandr-Lapin/100000444723429
That's a good story!
no humour http://uk-ua.facebook.com/people/Aleksandr-Lapin/100000444723429
--------------------------------------------------------------------
The incident I am about to tell you happened to me more than twenty years ago in the city of Kiev. It was spring, early and cold. I was drinking beer with my colleagues and after hanging my camera around my neck I went along Khreschatyk Street, scaring the Soviet inhabitants with the shamelessness of peering through the cloudy windows of my lens into their souls. Suddenly, near the subway, a rural-looking woman cries out in a dreary, wistful voice: "Oh, you're too much!
Well, I bang it, and captured it purely automatically. And my aunt sobs and calls me. I approach cautiously. What is it? What happened? I start apologizing. I apologize. I took it by accident, I didn't take it at all. And she's all boo-hoo about it: Take off whatever you want! I just have a little boy so similar to you, only young... Ohioioioioioioio...
Well, of course I got worried. What's that about?
- What's wrong with him? - I asked.
- Ohioioioioioioioioio... He's been in Afghanistan for a year. He hasn't written for a long time. I went to the military commissar's office. He promised to find out, but nothing yet. I went to Moscow and nothing there either. Just promises... Ouch. Something's wrong with him.
- Calm down, please. I think everything's fine. I said he went on a secret mission behind enemy lines. I served in the war, too. I know. They don't send word from there. You can give yourself away. And if something happened to him, the command would have reported it long ago.
-So you think he's alive?
-He's alive for sure!
I'm thinking what am I talking about, idiot, what if they killed him or tortured him in captivity...
-Is he healthy, not wounded?
The unfortunate woman sticks her red, wet eyes into my brain.
-Well, maybe a little, a little... It happens all the time.
-Ohioioioioioioioioioioio...
-Why are you shouting? When he finishes his service, he'll be back in the fall! In six months, maybe sooner.
And people were already crowding around. The policeman is looking at me sideways. It's a nightmare.
And the aunt clings to my sleeve and wails:
-"He's going to turn around... for sure... Tell me...
-How should I know! I think he'll come back and everything will be fine!
-No! Tell me for sure he won't!
Oh, my God!
-That's right!
I don't know what I'm doing, so I write down my home phone number on a piece of paper. Call me when she gets here. This is just to reassure you.
-How do you sound, son?
- Sasha...
-Oioioioioioioioioioioio... His name was also Sasha.
-His name is...
-Oioioioioioioioio, my heart...
And then suddenly the aunt calmed down. Her eyes instantly dried up. She took her bag and went downstairs. Then she turned around and said firmly: Well, you know for sure. I believe you.
My friends, seeing that I got caught up with an unknown woman over a photo, came over to help me out. But they stood there with their eyes wide open...
A few months had passed, it was August, but everyone was already thinking about autumn. Then one evening my phone rang. I answered the phone: Hello...
-Sashenka! -Oioioioioioioioioioioio.... My son is back, battered only badly. I'm asking you for a visit... He'll take you by car to the village and bring you back to your house!
I was paralyzed. I'd forgotten all about it. I was denying it... And then I agreed. A couple of hours later, a Muscovite drove up to the agreed place. The guy behind the wheel, Sasha. There were a few little scratches on his face.
As we drove, I got to know his story in detail. He was in the war. He was taken prisoner. Escaped. Half a year passed like that. Got out. They tortured him a little more and let him go in peace. Never got wounded in combat. But a grenade went off nearby and a bit of earth hit my face. This is what my mother called "badly beaten up".
It was nice to be a guest. The neighbours were staring at yours truly as if I were a negro with a tail. And Sasha's mother introduced me to everybody as a saviour. I asked my father-in-law later, when I was taking him home:
-"Why did she call me a savior?
-When I stopped writing to her for obvious reasons she panicked. She ran to a fortune-teller, another one, another one... To no avail... An old man whispered to her that she'd meet a man with a camera and he'd tell her the truth and that his name was the same as her son's. But the old man can't say anything himself, because he doesn't know.
I fell silent, I felt uncomfortable. Then Sasha told me all sorts of army stories, and I thought about how easy it was to be a stranger in the hands of the unknown.
I went the next day to see a priest I knew. I told him everything. He read his prayers and said that all things can happen and that everything was in God's hands and even such coincidences. There was no sin, for all were alive and well, and the people were good...
http://uk-ua.facebook.com/people/Aleksandr-Lapin/100000444723429
Great story!
It's that picture.
WARNING!!! profanity!!!
WARNING!!! Obscene language!!!
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"The Globe of Russia"(c)
================
"The Globe of Russia"(c)
>>
no humour http://uk-ua.facebook.com/people/Aleksandr-Lapin/100000444723429
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Recalled a story of my own. Not humour.
-------------------------------------------
When I was a student, a friend of mine worked as a part-time janitor at a boarding school. The building of the boarding school was very old, only three stories high but with high ceilings, a kind of medieval castle.
One evening, I dropped in on him for a service. Brought a bottle with me. We're sitting drinking in his air-conditioned room and it's so nice... Then my friend decided to tell a story that happened to him recently.
"I came in for my shift", he says, "it was close to 9pm, it was getting dark, the kids had already gone to the dormitories. A cleaning lady came and brought her 5-year-old daughter, she had no one to leave her with. She went about her business, mopping floors, while I read the newspaper and she raced about the house cheerfully. Her gushing laughter reverberated through the high ceilings of the building.
Suddenly the laughter stopped. I jumped out of my chair, ran out of the air-conditioning unit into the corridor and saw the cleaning lady standing there with a rag in her hand... We heard the sound of the girl's light footsteps on the stone floor - it gave a sigh of relief to see that everything was fine, the footsteps sounded smooth and regular. Then we saw the girl herself, she came quietly to her mother and asked: "Who is the man on the floor above in the corridor? He was so strange, standing on one leg...". Later the woman told me about a former one-legged watchman who used to work here a year ago, and who died of old age in this very building ...".
"-That's the story," my friend finished. Only now did I notice the grey temples on his head. "-Every watch I hear footsteps echoing through the corridors of the boarding house," he added.
Footsteps were heard on the floor above. A slap from a kolosha - a clatter from a prosthesis, a slap from a kolosha - a clatter from a prosthesis, a slap from a kolosha - a clatter from a prosthesis.........