Humour - page 310
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And also to poverty-stricken Russia
We have the means, we don't have the brains.... (с)
So you think it's all Putin's fault, don't you? )
He's their spokesman.
Whoever is first to master the production of this miracle will be first on the Forbes list,
three orders of magnitude away from second place)))
А. Galich.
HOW KLIM PETROVICH REBELLED AGAINST ECONOMIC AID TO UNDERDEVELOPED COUNTRIES
This is a very sad story, told by Klim Petrovich in a state of extreme irritation and therefore allows himself some not entirely parliamentary language.
...Straight away, I thought - I only wish I were alive,
I thought I'd be soaked to the bone!
And we were travelling around Algeria at the time
With a delegation from the Central Committee of the Trade Union.
Talking, meeting, this and that, hiding NATO,
But I was starving for a ride.
I don't want their frogs,
I'm not Chinese, you sons of bitches!
Mao, himself, would have gone crazy!
I wish I were living, I say, not so fat!
And my only salvation is canned food,
That Daria put in my suitcase.
But it happened that she, in a hurry,
She only gave me a herring.
I'm in their shitty hotel, the Palace.
I'll lock myself in my room when we get back,
I pray to Allah, as they say.
And chop up some pickled herring.
And in the morning I'm thirsty,
I don't care if I get water or piss!
I'm exhausted!
And then one evening,
I couldn't stand it and found myself at the grocery store...
I'm not fucking bald! - I'm not forever,
I could die from that herring!
I'm standing here, as angry as Malyuta,
One minute I'm cold in my jacket, the next minute I'm hot.
Even though it's crap, it's still currency,
But it's a pity to spend it all!
And I take something like a snack,
A shabby little jar on the edge.
But it's not written in Russian,
And I can't read theirs very well.
I go up to a lady:
- Excuse me, com bien, Bitte-dritte,
"Can you tell me if there's meat in the jar?
And she nods back, asshole!
And I went to the cashier's desk like I was unconscious,
And I woke up in my room at the Palace.
♪ I'm sitting naked on my bunk ♪
And wielding a can opener!
And till the dawn of the morning
I cussed like a dog that night.
There wasn't meat in that tin,
It turned out to be a can of herring!
And it wasn't a Brazilian "made" somewhere,
It's written at the bottom, on a sticker,
That it says "vade" in the Soviet Union,
In marinade, in Leningrad,
Four kopecks a rupiah!
...No, brothers, we should go nearer,
Not to the edge of the world!
We're helping them, the bastards, and we're
We're losing, like bedbugs, through this!
I thought it was a foreign country,
I thought the memory would be preserved.
Turns out that they, the poor bastards,
They understand that we're foreigners!
And all their life abroad is rubbish!
Even worse - sorry - than ours!
>
"I, the foreman Sidorov I.P., handed over a new 9-storey house built by our SMU to the commission of acceptance. The house was accepted with rating "good", but with the remark:
I had to demolish the old shack in the yard and clear a space for a children's playground.
1. I instructed the workers to bring a compressor and to use demolition hammers to demolish the building. After half an hour, the workers reported that the blasting hammers had burst their tips and there were no spare hammers. 2.
The workmen reported half an hour later, that the demolition hammers had burst their shovels and there was no spare. 2.
3. The excavator I sent also failed: the cast-iron beam broke and the rope broke.
I used my personal connections and asked a friend of mine, a demolition expert, to blow up the hut gently. After the explosion, however, a new 9-storey building collapsed, and the plaster fell off the building, under which we found a plaque with the inscription:
"This chapel was built by the villein Vanka Khlyustov lazily and lazily, for which he was whipped".