Your coffee
Here, in one godforsaken hole, metropolitan tourists were brought. They went to a local catering point and ordered, after much deliberation, choosing between coffee and tea, tea. Reasonably believing that they probably dont know how to cook coffee here, and tea is somehow reliable. You cant spoil the tea. The waitress brings them some unimaginable vodka in glasses on a tray. Seeing that tea is not tea, they decide to change the order from tea to coffee while they still can. The waitress, with a completely unperturbed face, takes a new order, lifts a tray with glasses and immediately puts it on the table with the words: Your coffee.
Spring
Finally, the smell of spring has wafted, Galya said happily.
And she inhaled the invigorating aroma of thawed manure and the sweet stink of country latrines with full breasts.
The evening was a success
Then I have a friend named Vitya decided to invite the girl to his home for a romantic dinner. With all that it implies. Vitya, I must say, is still that character in itself. He is almost forty, and he has never married. He still lives with his mother. Classic sissy. She cleans him, feeds him, and, ultimately, takes care of him from all sorts of girls. And then it dawned on my mother that if not now, then her Vitya would never marry and she would have to hang around with him to the grave. And she wants to live herself. At least in old age. So she gave him full carte blanche for one evening and retired to visit him all night. Moreover, she managed to study Vitas chosen one far and wide during her timid visits to her and her son at the dacha. Vitya, without a mother, showed enviable culinary ingenuity and bought a fair amount of food for dinner at fast food: two buckets of chicken legs at KFC and several packages of fried shrimp at McDonalds. And two bottles of the cheapest red wine in the nearest supermarket. A sort of gourmet porn. And now our not-so-young young man Vitya was all in such, you know, extreme impatience, waiting for the girl and getting nervous and nervous: the love vitamin played in him and didnt even let him sit. To somehow occupy your hands, Vitya and lets eat chicken legs. I didnt even notice how I had knocked down two buckets. He switched to shrimp and immediately consoled himself with the thought that the girl would not come to him for food, so there was no need to worry. The shrimp disappeared unexpectedly quickly. There was only wine left. Wine is good, Vitya thought, wine will help in communication. Liberate. Ill drink a glass. One glass, two glasses. Look, the bottles are gone. And then the doorbell rings. The girl came. For dinner. Vitya escorted her to his room with all the solemnity of which he was still capable. And on the table set for dinner, there was nothing but a sheet of drawing paper as a tablecloth, two candles and a bottle of wine. I ate everything while I was waiting for you, Victor honestly admitted, but food is not the main thing. And the main thing is our communication with you. So to speak, a dialogue of two loving hearts. Lets have some wine, it will help us get to know each other better. Only you will have to drink alone, wine does not fit into me anymore. However, what a uniform disgusting, the girl was offended, but she didnt show it, I was getting ready, you know, I was dressing up. I hoped! And then its oh-la-la! But I decided to wait with the scandal. And she began to drink wine. There was no choice left. The girl quickly got drunk and the dinner was already rolling towards the finale planned by Vitya, but then there was an embarrassment. With Vitya. Fast food in his stomach did not find a common language with drunk wine and asked to go outside. And the rest of the evening and almost the whole night, Vitya and the girl spent on opposite sides of the toilet door talking, periodically changing places. And they confessed, they confessed. As they say, there is nothing to be ashamed of on the potty. Everyone knew about each other, as if they had lived together half their lives. When they parted in the morning, the girl confessed to Vita that she had never spent time like this before. Well, what can I say. Apparently the evening went well.
Taste of happiness
Sweets are a universal remedy for adults to solve problems with children. Remember as a child? As soon as you started pestering your parents, they gave you a candy or a chocolate bar and sincerely believed that they solved your problem or at least calmed you down. Probably, on their part, it was dishonest: they kind of bought us off, and we had no choice. We did not know that this is not love, but a deal. And now we are adults. We sell everything and buy everything, from time to time we betray and are largely disappointed. Especially in the fundamental values of this world. But the taste from childhood, the same one, remains the only holy feeling that reminds us of ourselves, the real ones, as we were in childhood. Happy and naive. Sweet tooth.
How does it happen
The following story happened to the poet Fedyashkin. He stopped hearing voices. More precisely, one voice that whispered poems to him, and he unsuccessfully tried to write them down. But the life of a poet is not the work of a stenographer, from 9 to 17 every day. No, its not that simple. Climb, for example, Fedyashkin in the shower, and then the voice begins to dictate. He is from the shower to record, and he immediately falls silent. Back to the shower dictates. In general, not life, but flour. This voice always sounded in the most inappropriate places and at the most inopportune times. And he, Fedyashkin, was torn between the desire to write down poetry and live normally for his own pleasure, like everyone else. Rest. Fedyashkin suffered terribly, but kept to the general line of being a poet. Its a pity for him, you know, it was to miss everything that came to mind. Yes, and it came, to be honest, all some kind of nonsense. So, zilch, verbal commotion, and nothing more. No one published his poems, and he was embarrassed to read them publicly. He was terribly poor, but he was proud that he was a poetic genius. And here again and silence. Inside. Dark and quiet. And the darkness is, you know, quite comfortable, and not such that the devil knows what hides: the horrors of the night in all their diversity. In general, the soul is dark and boring. Like an empty wardrobe. No poetry. Realizing his poetic sterility, Fedyashkin decided to return to his former profession. I started working as a proctologist again. In the clinic. He will come to work, look at the patient in one place and wait, maybe someone from there will begin to dictate: I remember a wonderful moment, you appeared before me, like a fleeting vision, like a genius of pure beauty. And in response, silence. She spends the whole day looking at patients with no result. No revelation. Out of grief, she will go to the urologist Parnokopytov. Together they will drink tea with gooseberries, they will discuss the nurse Zoya, and go home. Now he lives like everyone else, on one salary. And he cant understand everything, is he happy or not? As it happens.
Ascension
Here one incident happened. You could say its an incident. Well, straight to the chickens for laughter. One little man, in fact no one, took it and ascended. Just like that, in front of everyone and for no apparent reason. And most importantly, if someone worthy, well, then its clear. Boss type. Or someone else more important, all strewn there with laurels or wreaths of honor. And so some rubbish. A certain Cyril. Snot, not a person. I broke away, you know, from the earth and the team, without knowing it, and hung. In the air. From the very beginning, he did not understand that he had lost his foothold. I thought someone was playing a joke on him. Kicking around like some son of a bitch on TV, with no result. Out of fear, he even tried to fall on his back. It still didnt work. Hanging, you know, like some Indian fakir in a circus. And cursing. Clearly so and every word on the case. And then he soared to the ceiling, hit his head and fell silent. Until the paramedics tried to get him out of there. Yes, but nothing happened. As they put him on the floor, he again strives for the ceiling, like some kind of bubble with gas. Just an experience in physics class. Then someone gave a smart advice that he should have given him a weight in his hands. Then, they say, it will definitely not fly. Well, then and there, they got the weight. Pudovaya. They pinned him to the floor and thrust him into his arms. But he still took off, and dropped that weight on the doctor that he had come with the orderlies. There was a screech, as if a live pig was being slaughtered or a sawmill turned on. All around the poor fellow, the doctors are running around, bruised, but they forgot about Kirilka the bastard for a while. Do you think thats the end of it? It wasnt there. Kirilka slowly, like some kind of fly, crawled along the ceiling to the window: apparently he wanted to sneak away, while they forgot about him, and so that straight into the sky and forever. And we, then, are here and with nothing? But who will let him just leave if he owes everyone. This Cyrilka, a well-known licker, only did that he shot money according to his own special method: he would come up, the scoundrel, he would say compliments and immediately ask for a loan, and after that it seemed embarrassing to refuse, thats all they gave him. Then someone shouts to him, seeing his insistent intention to retire from here forever, they say, pay off the debt before you fly. You wont need money there anyway, but you will respect us all. And he, either in the agitation of a new life, or from an excess of feelings, how he began to pour out everything that he really thought about his creditors, that somehow everyone immediately became embarrassed. Even the doctor was silent. He turned out to be an ugly person, he simply exposed himself. But then something went wrong with his ascension: probably, in heaven they also heard that he spoke about everyone, and they clearly did not like it there. And he went straight back. On the floor. In the company, so to speak, of his friends, about whom he spoke so recklessly. This is where the ambulance comes in handy. And the orderlies had something to do, besides a doctor with a weight instead of a head. And everyone forgave Kirilka for this. After. So we did not have a new Elijah the Prophet. And thank God. And all because we have a way without a team, nowhere. Even to the sky.
Memory of the future
In the future, when people achieve relative immortality and live almost indefinitely, and all carnal needs are satisfied through special personal androids, the process of reproduction will be extremely selective and put under strict control to improve human nature. Eugenics will be revived again, but under a different name, and the moral arguments that previously rejected it will become a thing of the past. People of the future will live in a world consisting of a strange mixture of permanent euphoria and hallucinations, and the main goal of their existence will be to acquire happiness: absolute pleasure, the manifestation of which will be either creative work or work to achieve moral self-satisfaction. In the light of practically achieved immortality, the attitude towards death will also change. It will now be considered the inalienable right of every person to freedom of choice, perceived as an opportunity to be freed from the duties of life: an act of final disobedience to society. Outwardly, people will change a lot, races and countries will disappear, everyone will live in their own hermetic little world. Love in its current understanding will die out, it will be replaced by friendship as an opportunity for a person to interrupt his own solitude for a while in free communication with others. Friendship will henceforth be valued as the most sincere and pure feeling, devoid of everything carnal, as a selfless principle in human nature. Inner nobility will become a new cult for all mankind, deprived, thanks to the achievements of technological progress, of all their basic natural instincts, which from now on will cease to influence human actions and behavior. It will be a new wonderful world in which there will be no place for people like us.
Happens to everyone
The entertainer announces: Now the well-deserved and somewhere even popular, among all foreign rabble, our famous and beloved bath-and-laundry singer Razdvaplyuev will perform with his unfading hit I messed up your life.
A perky boy a la Basque jumps out onto the stage, dressed as a pastoral shepherd boy. He waves his arms, the orchestra plays an energetic overture and freezes. Razdvaplyuev turns his back to the audience, lowers his pants and, bending down, exposes his bare ass for everyone to see, from which he loudly blows gases. Hall applauds.
After speaking behind the scenes on the sidelines, Razdvaplyuev sincerely admits: I did everything I could. There just wasnt enough for more. Fans applaud him and assure him that it was real art.
This is how it happens with everyone. You think its art. And look closely one good thing.
That is how we live
Numbers are funny. It turns out that almost 2 people die every second, or rather 104 per minute. 6250 per hour, 150,000 per day. 54,750,000 per year.
At this rate of mortality, it will take 47.5 years for one generation to die and 142.5 years for humanity to be completely renewed. It turns out that we are not dying fast enough; thanks to progress, we begin to live longer and longer, which means that the achievement of active longevity is not far off, when you can live without old age: it is to live fully, and not to live out.
At the same time, one person produces 145 kilograms of feces per year, and all of humanity produces 1,131,000,000 tons of shit per year. We produce even more garbage 3,120,000,000,000 tons. We all live in a huge landfill. Where we bury our dead. We bury or burn 4,106,250 tons of dead flesh every year.
In fact, our civilization is a civilization of garbage dumps. The thicker the cultural layer, the richer the culture. All our future we draw from the past. All our ideas are borrowed from previous generations. In the dustbin of history.
We are convinced of the progressive nature of our civilization, that it has a specific goal to achieve which it strives, while the universe around us demonstrates the aimlessness of its existence.
As Parmenides taught, the world is self-sufficient, eternal, has no beginning or end, and feeds on itself. Everything in it moves in a circle, from atoms to planets and stars. But man refuses to believe in the closed nature of world existence, he hopes to find the point of its beginning and the point of its end. In space and time.
All this is due to the fact that people live in a linear world, the personification of which is the cube. The cube is the antithesis of the ball. The cube has a beginning and an end. The cube is counted and measured. We strive to reduce any circle to a square.
This limitation of our thinking results from the limitation of human life, which has a beginning and an end in time. Which people refuse to put up with. The circle of human life is broken by the human mind. He refuses to believe that human death is the beginning of another human life. Man considers his own death as the greatest curse that must be rid of.
Man does not want to be mortal. Choosing between personal immortality and the survival of the entire human race, a person does not hesitate to choose the first. And this is very understandable. Does this remind me of something? Oh, right, I remembered.
The late architect Meyerson used to say, I love every single person. But all together, humanity, I HATE. That is how we live.
Like lifeless
Two return from the funeral and share fresh impressions with each other.
Gorgeous funeral. I would like to be in his place.
And it seemed to me that the dead man did not look like himself. He lay in a coffin as if lifeless.
Lies like a navigator
I do believe in progress. Well, how could it be without him. There are different gadgets, all sorts of Google and Glonass. This is our everything! I get out, you know, from the house, I go to the bus stop and ask my navigator on the phone, like a progressive person: When will the bus be? He regularly shows: In one minute. I am waiting. A minute or two passes. There is no bus. I look at the navigator, and he regularly reports: The bus has already been. The next one is in fifteen minutes. And so every time. One of two things: either I dont see the bus, or our famous Glonass that still global ass! Now about all those who wishful thinking, I firmly say: Hes lying like a navigator.
Liar
There are people who lie as they breathe. They seem to be born to make any fiction come true. The only thing that gives them away is the details. After all, as the architect Fomin said, God is in the details. I knew one of those. He was always late for work and always found excuses: first one thing, then another. The masterpiece of his lies was the following story. Justifying his regular absenteeism, he fervently argued that he could not leave the apartment all day just because a counterweight from the elevator was put on the outside of his front door, which was changed to a new one that day. Heres just one thing: his apartment was on the second floor, which for some reason he mentioned at the very end, trying to add credibility. But in vain. They almost believed him.
Everything ingenious is simple
A toddler helping his mother take care of his twin brothers is asked what their names are. The peanut frowns businesslike and points his finger at the brothers in turn:
This one is called Uovka, and this one is another Uovka.
Everything ingenious is simple!
Still won
She was frighteningly beautiful and unhappy. In the depths of her blue eyes, crystals of pain froze, preventing her from smiling. Just six months ago, her husband left her and everyone at the table knew about it. Celebrated her birthday. She saw this and could not calm down, demonstrating to everyone the icy indifference of a wounded woman. Her whole appearance said that she was at war.