Humour - page 207
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I'm just teasing them (or maybe you?;)!
There is no need for confusion. February 23 is almost a professional holiday. While March 8 is a stupid legal day off, you know where the legs grow:).
p.s. My point is that the population is not divided into those who celebrate the 23rd or the 8th, the population is divided into those who celebrate the 23rd, the 8th and those who are not affected by either holiday.
I'm well aware of that. Two weeks ago at work I was making fun of the non-serving mowers, saying, "It's not a holiday yet.
No, you don't understand, that's not what I was writing about.
Long live!
Long live!
[From the internet]
I heard this story as a child, and to know or remember what that time was like, suffice it to imagine that at birth they wanted to name me Nikita. But because my father's name was Sergei, all my close village relatives, taxed by Khrushchev on apple trees, fruit bushes and all kinds of cattle, from small to horned ones, resisted it in every possible way. And my grandmother named me Vitaly. They swore it was a priest's name. Then they got used to it.
Summer 1944, Belarus. MZA battery was passing through the burnt-out village, stepping on the heels of advancing army. The battery was serious and well-deserved. The 37mm anti-aircraft guns* held then the most dangerous altitude range of -2, 0 - 3, 0 km and reliably covered crossings, railway stations and airfields from Fokker-190s to Junkers-88s . Messers, and especially Laptejniks, were almost nonexistent that year.
A short halt at the ruins of the village. Thank God the well is intact, we have hardly time to fill the flasks and rewind shoe covers. The only live soul was squinting at the sun on remains of burnt log house.
And that soul was a red kitten. People had either died long ago, or gone to Polesie, out of harm's way.
An elderly foreman, finishing his cigarette, was looking at the kitten for a long time and then took it and put it on the stump. He fed it with the rest of dinner, called the cat Red and announced it the seventh soldier of the squad. He hinted at his future fame as an exterminator of mice and other creatures in the field, and especially in the dugouts.
The young men were only interested in a spiteless bickering, and the hairless lieutenant didn't mind either, so Ryzhyk settled down at the battery. By the winter he grew into a big red cat with a modest, easy-going and honest Belarusian character and managed to please all soldiers.
During raids of enemy's aircraft Ryzhyk disappeared to the unknown place and appeared only after cannons were loaded. At that time the cat was noted for the especially valuable peculiarity, for the lack of understanding of which the regiment signalman, who tried to kick the animal, which was tangling under his feet, received a beating in the face.
Our petty officer noticed the peculiarity - half a minute before the air-raid (and before he went away) Ryzhyk growled loudly in the direction, from which the enemy planes were going to come. It all came out that his house, had been mistakenly or deliberately bombed by German aircraft. And the sound, carrying death, he remembered forever.
Such a hearing was appreciated by the whole battery. The efficiency of repulsing the enemy's withering attacks increased by an order of magnitude, exactly as did Ryzhik's reputation. During the war nobody ever thought of sending an inspector to the unit for cleanliness of lapels and green grass, and for this reason Ryzhik had lived till April 45, his finest hour.
At the end of April the battery was resting. It was in East Prussia or Germany, I do not remember, but it did not matter. The war had finished and was going to the end. There was a real hunt for the last Krauts in the air, so the MZA Air Defence battery was just enjoying the spring sunshine and Ryzhik blatantly squeezed the masses in the fresh air, excluding the legal meal time.
But lo and behold, een seconds, and Carrot wakes up, gives his fur a puff, demands attention and growls unkindly strictly to the east. It's an unbelievable situation because in the East Moscow and the rest of the rear, but the people are servile and trust their instinct for self-preservation . It takes 25-30 seconds to bring a 37 millimeter gun out of marching position. And in this static case - for 5-6 seconds.
Silence, guns pointed east just in case. We wait.
Our hawk appears with a plume of smoke. Behind it hovering, at minimal distance - FW-190. The battery cut in with a double burst and Fokker, without any extra movements, stuck in the ground 500-700 m away from our positions.
The Hawk on the turn rocked from wing to wing and went for a landing, fortunately all bases here are near - 10-15 km.
And on the next day we met our comrades. A car full of guests came and brought a pilot - his chest covered with orders, a confused look and a suitcase with presents. He has a face full of expressions: who do I thank? He says, how did you know (those fucking Air Defence Forces) that I needed help so quickly? Yeah, to hit the bull's-eye. I brought you a cigarette case, bacon and presents as a thank you.
We nod at Carrot-top - thank him! The pilot is bewildered, he thinks he is being played. And the foreman tells the long version of the story, you have already read it.
To his credit, the next day the pilot returns with two kilos of fresh liver for Carrot-top. He wasn't kidding about treating the cat, he believed and thanked him. Fate is a tricky thing.
After demobilization the master sergeant took Ryzhyk with him. And that means that there are colorful descendants of VHF radars running around in Belarus even now. It was the petty officer's homeland.
П. С.
To tell the truth, I don't believe that the pilot brought only 2 kg of beef liver. My grandfather, Maxim Viktorovich, fought as a gunner on IL-2. He said that in addition to the liver they should have brought three or four litres of alcohol at least.
I'm not gonna lie... I can't remember the pilot's name now. Let's call him N.* * * *
To the story of the anti-aircraft cat.
He flew the Il-2 during the war. Single-seater, no rear gunner. And they were shot down at first without mercy. Ilyushin designed his attack plane as a two-seater. But comrade Stalin considered that it would be better to take an extra bomb, and crossed out with his red pencil the place of the rear gunner and hundreds of pilots' lives. Then the planes began to be made two-seaters, but... that was later.
This pilot had a dog, which he picked up and fed, and it waited for him at the plane car park until he returned from the flight. One day, when he had to take the plane around the airfield (after repairs), N. decided to take the dog for a spin. Fortunately, an attack aircraft is not a fighter - there's more room in the cockpit. And it is not usual to make loops on fighter planes.
He backed the dog, put his paws on the armoured back and flew. He was about to land when the dog began to worry, its fur was furred and its eyes were watery, it was barking and choking on saliva. N. looked around, but did not notice anything.
I have to say, Il's view backwards is non-existent. Backwards and downwards, it's impossible to see anything.
But some intuition told N. that the dog was freaking out for a reason.
The steering wheel pedal down to the stop and into the left-hand slip. On the right a pair of Messer-hunters passed in a "juicy" cannon-gun burst.
After that N. flew only with his dog.
She looked back and barked only at "Messers and Fokkers". She ignored her own. At the same time, the dog even reacted to planes that were not in sight, but came in from below. How could it hear the sounds of German planes through the roar of the engine? Maybe she just wanted to live?
That's how N. got a live rear-view mirror.
[From the internet]
I realise that the Chukcha is not the reader, the Chukcha is the writer.
https://www.mql5.com/ru/forum/126325/page9#747520
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Hello, everyone! Speaking of the abnormal. I'm copying my own post from a famous literary forum (Aldebaran - http://forum.aldebaran.ru/index.php/topic,10191.msg1977484.html#msg1977484 ), - I posted it a couple of weeks ago:
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"Yesterday, as early as the first of the morning, I went to the site. By my work, English-language - http://www.commodityseasonals.com/ . I looked through its pages and had to make some translations with an automatic translator. To my surprise I found out that Google Translate returned the warning instead of translation: "We have reasons to believe that the page you entered may harm your computer..."
Strange! It couldn't be by "definition" because the site is purely professional, - an exchange site (the US commodities market). And to put viruses there is absolutely pointless. All right, I think. I opened another translator (online). Here I had to copy a piece of the test to the program: http://perevod.i.ua/
copied, loaded - translation started. And then something scary started ...
After 5-7 seconds, a creepy, mournful female voice behind me said (slightly stretching the words): "open your mail-o-o-u-....".
I jumped up and almost fell off my chair! I turned my head. But I was the only one in the room! Only a soft semi-darkness hid the far corners of the room... It got a little creepy.
I sat for a minute and decided to go back to work. But just grabbed the mouse - as icy, hoarse voice sounded again: "open your mail...". It was then that I realized that the voice was coming from the computer speakers!
It turned out that this was an unusual virus or something else in the pages. I did not try to figure out which of the above-mentioned links incorporated such an effect. Those who wish may (while it's still light) click - repeat my experiment." (С)