Tale of Krivorukov "people" Bashny.Net

Every evening, when the sun hides behind the tops of the pine trees, the sky lit stars, but somewhere in the woods nearby begins to hoot owl, which we have already two months we can not catch to cook from her soup - and so every time when our landfill darkness falls, all the kids gather around a rusty kettle into an empty oil tank on the western edge to drink boiled water, eat a piece of sugar, and listen to a bedtime story.

Hums, starts boiling kettle. Owl hoots. Eight noses poshmygivayut expectantly. Eight pairs of eyes watching me carefully.

 - What did you tell today, granddaughter? - Pull the time. - Maybe about how sixty years ago Mumusika where we Lebedev went to ethnographic expedition failed engine?

 - No, Grandpa. Just not about the engine and not about Lebedev. We are about the engine and Lebedev about a hundred times already heard.

 - Well, - I reluctantly agree. - Maybe then about the old pedophile?

 - The grandfather - a small voice asks very little girl - please just about old pedophile. Forces of our no longer about the old pedophile listen.

 - Okay, I will not - I nod, scratching his beard. - What then? Maybe the queen of planking inverted - the most beautiful girl in the whole ...

 - Grandpa - menacing barks the eldest boy, clenching his fists - if you will again begin to about it, we will select again you have oxygen bag and smear your mustard enema tube.

 - Well, - I to die down - then I do not even know what to tell you. Evil you. They take away the pillow, ish ...

The boiled kettle whistles. Eight heavy sighs children hang over the table. Eight pairs of eyes ready to cry.

And here is the little girl asks plaintively:

 - Grandpa, tell us about Krivorukov eblanov!

The room instantly filled with sonorous interrupt each other with children's voices.

 - Yes, about eblanov! About eblanov!

 - And about cookies!

 - And about the miller!

 - And about the chickens!

 - And about the Chinese mold!

 - And about why in this country never anything good will!

I wave my hands:

 - Okay, okay, you will be a fairy tale about Krivorukov eblanov will just keep quiet. It is better to pour the boiling water for a minute cans. Listen.

And I'm starting to tell.

TALE OF Krivorukov EBLANAH

Once upon a time in one country people lived. And they were unhappy. Because all of that they only wished to undertake, they turned through the ass.

The satellites have not been started, and if they start, fell. Machine gets ugly, and did not go. The deputies whom they elected to parliament, appeared asshole and Gandon. On the roads they built, they themselves could not pass - and even if we could, then gathered in huge traffic jams, where there were signals and the mother of the government. And the laws they were completely idiotic. And the patriarch was in them some muddy. And even the Ombudsman appeared obmudkom. And beer - tasteless. And the thesis - pizzhennye. And TV - vile. And even the most advanced and creative people from despair they choked each other, undressed in the bathroom, stuffed in the trunk and then noisily searched the whole internet.

And that day, these people built lousy roads and cooked tasteless beer, and in the evening going to the social networks and surrounded by shit all in a row - and the roads and traffic jams, and the Ombudsman, and each other. And I think - why did they have all through the ass, and all around - on uebke uebok. And there is no clearance in front. And no hope. Only one was a joy to have, if you look - is the queen of planking inverted, that is the most beautiful in the whole ...
 - So, Grandpa, we warned you. Varya, take away his pillow! Petka, bring here enema tube! Bear, run to the kitchen for mustard!

 - All, all, will not only give a pillow. I got it all. Listen to this.

In general, all of them were bad.

We can not say that they did not do anything. They did. And the number of stories produced twenty-seven gay. And at the pulpit in Balaclava danced. And they gathered online hundred thousand alone likes under treatment. And there were meetings. And even tied the white ribbons. And even sang in shrill paddy soulful songs.

But nothing helped.

So every evening, they again went to the Internet, ached there spitting and wondered why in all the other countries, people and hummus to cook, and the shoes are strong do and processors today released, and they have, what they may take, still in One result is only the gulag, and even the Ombudsman - obmudok obmudkom.

And at some point, some dude and I said to them: "All of this will happen through the ass until the biscuits will not understand».

Then everything fell silent, having ceased to discuss even Dima Yakovlev. "And what's the cookie?" - Asked.

"And thus," - says the man. - "So you do like cookies?»

Well, they told him. In every detail.

To make the pastry, you need the work of many people.

The farmer grows wheat and takes it to the mill.

The miller grinds wheat flour.

Attendant pours grains hen to get the eggs.

Milkmaid cow feeding with hay and pulling the udder cow to give milk.

Oilman produces oil, pour it into a tube and sends abroad to from abroad to get a sweet sugar cookies without which it will not turn. Well, a little bit of oil sends oil refinery there to make gasoline from it and sent to the gas station.

At the filling station petrol is poured into the tank of the car, which drives the driver.

The driver of the car with petrol brings seasoned flour, milk, eggs and sugar confectionery factory, which gives it all confectioners.

Confectioners take eggs, milk, flour, sugar, lay in a big iron machine and name the chief technologist, so he pushed the button.

A chief technology officer calls the chief engineer and asked whether the come from China molds for cookies.

A chief engineer and is responsible, saying that came from, but some strange. Uebischnaya any. Che-Chinese mixed up there. A couple of letters literally.

A chief technology officer and asks - how then to be?

A chief engineer and he answers: yes fuck - put some there huyar currently cookies. Dick with them, with two letters something. And so come down.

A chief technologist and puts huyarit.

Roars large steel machine. Burle boilers. Flashing colored bulbs. Playing the national anthem. Since coming off the assembly line cookies, packed in boxes, loaded into trucks and shipped to the store.

And then come to the shop the farmer, the miller, the milkmaid, oilman, a chemist, and the driver of the tanker. Buy cookies and carry it home to drink tea with him. Pull out the bag of cookies. Look at him. Turn off not had time to boil the kettle. Sigh. Pull out of the freezer a bottle of vodka. Pour a full glass. Drink. And go online to tell everyone in some shit they all live, that around one Krivorukov eblany that nothing ever good will in this country that the President have - shit, and ministers have - shit, and Deputy Ministers - shit, and only Dima Yakovlev was not shit, but it did not save him, and life - shit, and there is no hope, and even the Ombudsman - obmudok and hands fall, and no lumen, and how can you not drink when even cookies - uebischnaya .

And the mother of the authorities.

And for the second pour.

That something like that and make cookies. Such is our special, hence, the path.

"Well, that's a cookie and start - says the man - catch, for starters, that the chief engineer and his otpizdite for such molds. And until otpizdite, then the cookie, you will have here is, and everything will be in harmony with him ».

"Yes, you go into a pussy - people respond to it. - We're engaged in business, and you to us from the garbage climb. We've got another child is not clear from what is dead, and we are experiencing. We've got a police state. We Ombudsman - obmudok. And you're here with your fucking cookies. Do not be ashamed, and? »
Above the table hangs a silence. Only sometimes I hear an owl hooting in the woods.

 - And that, my grandfather - says suddenly someone - just that they have not caught the chief engineer? And so on and living shit?

 - A grandfather?

 - Why are you crying?

 - Do not cry, Grandpa!

 - Varka, give him a pillow!

 - Well, do not cry, grandfather, darling, please, well, do not cry!

© Norwegian Forest





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