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10 funniest parodies of Alexander Ivanov, a man with a unique sense of humor
80 years ago, the permanent host of the TV show “Around Laughter” was born, a man with a unique sense of humor Alexander Ivanov. Even outwardly, he looked like Don Quixote and, like a knight of a sad image, also devoted his life to a hopeless struggle with stupidity and vulgarity. Website publishes a selection of the best parodies of Alexander Ivanov.
High ringing A furry cloud wanders over me,
And the light guns go up.
Valentin Sidorov
In a thin kit, putting rye bread,
I'm going where the bird rings.
And I see the blue sky above me,
A furry cloud and a high crown.
I'm home here. I didn't come here to visit.
I'm taking off my hat, wearing a bead.
A jolly bird waving its tail,
My poem is whistling.
The green grass is lying under your feet.
And the hand reaches for the paper itself.
And I whisper to the shaking lips:
"Great to the mighty Russian language!"
Prophet's Rock Krivonos and squirrels,
I was surprised and confused.
six-wing
He appeared as a young man.
Vadim Rabinovich
At least I love it as a muse.
No matter how hard I pick,
six-winged
I've never been there.
Instead, I was despondent.
Like he fell from the moon,
six-wing
He came to me at the crossroads.
- Well, he began his speech.
What do you want to do?
- Now I want to jagle.
So I started to talk. -
I write for people.
He didn't appear naked before people.
So to speak, heart men.
I'm going to jaglo...
Six-winged head pony
And waving his wing like a falcon,
snatched my sinner,
Don't let Pushkin touch it.
After a sweet nap. Continuously,
Since childhood,
Originally
My bad soul.
I put it on an anvil in the morning,
The hammer is fierce.
Anisim Kronhaus
A lot of people [write about it].
I know a lot of weak souls!
They start their day primitively.
Brushing their teeth,
Showering.
When I got out of bed,
Originally
I'm starting to fight myself.
I put my head on the anvil,
I lift the hammer above me.
Putting it down.
That's how years go by.
The results are generally good:
If I miss, I take the translations.
I will.
I sit down to write poetry...
Photo source: Izbrannoe.com Lyrics with a twist I can hear a needle under my shirt.
Your nipples are my lingonberries,
You have power over me and you have no power.
And once again, your squirrels are dry...
Vladimir Tsybin
You were all with some damn thing,
with a captivating laugh on his lips,
with a cloth to a sob, with a cunning,
With a draft goose in his legs.
You're all so zestful, so sad,
with an onion in dry scavenging,
It is a gentle poem with a lyric.
It was made up in my convolutions.
I admired your piece,
I have delved into all your vats,
And when he got to the lingonberries,
All my sensibilities played out.
I wrote with the folly of the poet,
Then there was the danger:
They'll tell me if it's cranberries.
With a lot of hanging, too? .
He can, but... No, Dantes is alive.
He lives dangerously,
alive
Until now.
Every minute,
Hourly
He could shoot me.
Nikolai Dorizo
St. Petersburg is very excited.
The rampant tsarism.
Darkness and decay.
Sad, gloomy and bitter.
Baron Louis de Geckeren.
He tells his son carefully:
- Why do we need Pushkin?
God knows,
You can shoot anyone.
You shoot Doriso,
Son!
With a sad smile endlessly
dante
Looks at him.
- I can go to Doriso, of course.
Of course.
Whatever,
To whom?
But suddenly
His face crooked,
And he whispered.
As in a dream:
- But who, then,
Say to your mercy,
In a word.
Will he remember me?! .
Something touching. I see everything, I feel it beforehand.
We're eating your candy.
Why are you touching knitting?
So be it, touch me.
Nina Krasnova
I don't know how hard I am.
And so on and so forth,
I'll touch something.
Or let me touch it.
You, my friend, are a miracle.
Sitting on my trouser chair,
You rust your paper with newspaper.
You don't touch me at all.
Then you leave your way,
You'll sleep like a rhinoceros.
I did not know that I was inaccessible,
It is a pity that you are a terrible untouchable...
Poetic ravings I mean, it's not clear.
... Cap
Delusional.
- It's shallow.
Go ashore!
Igor Grigoriev
Throw down the Yelen, where the Curge cries,
I'm taking the endala to the trail.
I'm not clear, I'm sobbing.
She's chanting, put her in the stump!
Anadas, having torn his throat,
I'm running into a lot of dust.
On the horn where you can't step.
But it's shallow in verse and taper.
It's a mess.
An umbilical
The oak tree's squirming.
Wopia, a counter-pupuppy ghoul.
My verse-making ravings! .
Pouring Your eyelashes are like a horse,
It's easy to carry big buckets of eyes.
That so full of live sky blue
Splashing over the edge.
I was waiting.
What if you splash at me by accident,
And the splashes of the stars will shine,
And blind,
I want to see others...
But you are.
I passed by.
Dmitry Smirnov
Not lips, not knees, not thighs,
And the buckets of your eyes have captivated me.
There were two.
They were hanging from their eyelashes.
Besides, you poured them this morning...
And I was waiting.
And if you pass and splash,
In case you spill,
Involuntarily...
But you passed,
I didn't.
And I'm sad.
I poured my eyes.
Talking. Infinite ages,
There's a reason.
hands-on
A loving man.
Rimma Kazakova
Met me unexpectedly.
and disturbed.
And that he wanted me.
He showed me.
Silently I looked passionately,
I didn't say
And by the hand that I agree,
I showed it right away.
A pattern of love passion
We were shown.
Talking to lovers, fortunately,
Contraindicated.
And then the lamp burned,
We smoked silently.
They thought silently, "Okay, well,
And we talked.
That's how happiness works.
long ago, centuries...
Everyone just stays.
Hands out.
From: Ivanov A. A. Fruits of inspiration. — M., “Soviet writer”, 1983
via izbrannoe.com/news/yumor/10-luchshikh-parodiy-aleksandra-ivanova/
High ringing A furry cloud wanders over me,
And the light guns go up.
Valentin Sidorov
In a thin kit, putting rye bread,
I'm going where the bird rings.
And I see the blue sky above me,
A furry cloud and a high crown.
I'm home here. I didn't come here to visit.
I'm taking off my hat, wearing a bead.
A jolly bird waving its tail,
My poem is whistling.
The green grass is lying under your feet.
And the hand reaches for the paper itself.
And I whisper to the shaking lips:
"Great to the mighty Russian language!"
Prophet's Rock Krivonos and squirrels,
I was surprised and confused.
six-wing
He appeared as a young man.
Vadim Rabinovich
At least I love it as a muse.
No matter how hard I pick,
six-winged
I've never been there.
Instead, I was despondent.
Like he fell from the moon,
six-wing
He came to me at the crossroads.
- Well, he began his speech.
What do you want to do?
- Now I want to jagle.
So I started to talk. -
I write for people.
He didn't appear naked before people.
So to speak, heart men.
I'm going to jaglo...
Six-winged head pony
And waving his wing like a falcon,
snatched my sinner,
Don't let Pushkin touch it.
After a sweet nap. Continuously,
Since childhood,
Originally
My bad soul.
I put it on an anvil in the morning,
The hammer is fierce.
Anisim Kronhaus
A lot of people [write about it].
I know a lot of weak souls!
They start their day primitively.
Brushing their teeth,
Showering.
When I got out of bed,
Originally
I'm starting to fight myself.
I put my head on the anvil,
I lift the hammer above me.
Putting it down.
That's how years go by.
The results are generally good:
If I miss, I take the translations.
I will.
I sit down to write poetry...
Photo source: Izbrannoe.com Lyrics with a twist I can hear a needle under my shirt.
Your nipples are my lingonberries,
You have power over me and you have no power.
And once again, your squirrels are dry...
Vladimir Tsybin
You were all with some damn thing,
with a captivating laugh on his lips,
with a cloth to a sob, with a cunning,
With a draft goose in his legs.
You're all so zestful, so sad,
with an onion in dry scavenging,
It is a gentle poem with a lyric.
It was made up in my convolutions.
I admired your piece,
I have delved into all your vats,
And when he got to the lingonberries,
All my sensibilities played out.
I wrote with the folly of the poet,
Then there was the danger:
They'll tell me if it's cranberries.
With a lot of hanging, too? .
He can, but... No, Dantes is alive.
He lives dangerously,
alive
Until now.
Every minute,
Hourly
He could shoot me.
Nikolai Dorizo
St. Petersburg is very excited.
The rampant tsarism.
Darkness and decay.
Sad, gloomy and bitter.
Baron Louis de Geckeren.
He tells his son carefully:
- Why do we need Pushkin?
God knows,
You can shoot anyone.
You shoot Doriso,
Son!
With a sad smile endlessly
dante
Looks at him.
- I can go to Doriso, of course.
Of course.
Whatever,
To whom?
But suddenly
His face crooked,
And he whispered.
As in a dream:
- But who, then,
Say to your mercy,
In a word.
Will he remember me?! .
Something touching. I see everything, I feel it beforehand.
We're eating your candy.
Why are you touching knitting?
So be it, touch me.
Nina Krasnova
I don't know how hard I am.
And so on and so forth,
I'll touch something.
Or let me touch it.
You, my friend, are a miracle.
Sitting on my trouser chair,
You rust your paper with newspaper.
You don't touch me at all.
Then you leave your way,
You'll sleep like a rhinoceros.
I did not know that I was inaccessible,
It is a pity that you are a terrible untouchable...
Poetic ravings I mean, it's not clear.
... Cap
Delusional.
- It's shallow.
Go ashore!
Igor Grigoriev
Throw down the Yelen, where the Curge cries,
I'm taking the endala to the trail.
I'm not clear, I'm sobbing.
She's chanting, put her in the stump!
Anadas, having torn his throat,
I'm running into a lot of dust.
On the horn where you can't step.
But it's shallow in verse and taper.
It's a mess.
An umbilical
The oak tree's squirming.
Wopia, a counter-pupuppy ghoul.
My verse-making ravings! .
Pouring Your eyelashes are like a horse,
It's easy to carry big buckets of eyes.
That so full of live sky blue
Splashing over the edge.
I was waiting.
What if you splash at me by accident,
And the splashes of the stars will shine,
And blind,
I want to see others...
But you are.
I passed by.
Dmitry Smirnov
Not lips, not knees, not thighs,
And the buckets of your eyes have captivated me.
There were two.
They were hanging from their eyelashes.
Besides, you poured them this morning...
And I was waiting.
And if you pass and splash,
In case you spill,
Involuntarily...
But you passed,
I didn't.
And I'm sad.
I poured my eyes.
Talking. Infinite ages,
There's a reason.
hands-on
A loving man.
Rimma Kazakova
Met me unexpectedly.
and disturbed.
And that he wanted me.
He showed me.
Silently I looked passionately,
I didn't say
And by the hand that I agree,
I showed it right away.
A pattern of love passion
We were shown.
Talking to lovers, fortunately,
Contraindicated.
And then the lamp burned,
We smoked silently.
They thought silently, "Okay, well,
And we talked.
That's how happiness works.
long ago, centuries...
Everyone just stays.
Hands out.
From: Ivanov A. A. Fruits of inspiration. — M., “Soviet writer”, 1983
via izbrannoe.com/news/yumor/10-luchshikh-parodiy-aleksandra-ivanova/
