[Archive c 17.03.2008] Humour [Archive to 28.04.2012] - page 183
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Of course, he did it professionally... There were times when everyone was writing, and he just jumped up! And start looking under the desks! And if he found something, he'd be thrilled. And he kicks the student out. Baranovsky also liked to read the newspaper while the students were writing, or the Ogonyok magazine. So he reads and sometimes looks at the audience intently.
So, one day before an exam, people began to sit at their desks, all wanted to sit further away, and one fellow - sits right in front of Baranovsky. The students were all writing, panting, a couple of them had already been kicked out, and the rest were afraid to take out their handkerchiefs, let alone their cribs. Fedor Titovich calmed down a little, sat down, unfolded the newspaper and reads. Sometimes he shakes out suspicious noises and looks at the students. And again he reads.
Just then, a student in the first row, shamelessly takes a thick notebook from the back, unfolds it onto the page he wants, and puts it on the table! And begins to cheat. He senses that something is amiss, puts the paper down (on the notes!) and looks at the student. He is writing something - all at work. Baranovsky takes up the paper, reads on. The student continues to copy it off. The audience begins to giggle. Baranovsky sharply lowers the paper and looks at the student point-blank. Nothing. He gets up, walks around to the side, walks around the classroom a couple of times. Nothing.
Looks under the desks. Nothing. Shrugs his shoulders, sits down at the paper. Student continues to cheat. Quiet hysteria breaks out in the classroom. The student nonchalantly turns the page of his notebook. Everyone in the class is crying. Baranovsky throws the paper down, jumps up and literally searches the student. He finds nothing, of course. This repeats several more times. At last, the student unnoticed by Baranovsky (behind the newspaper) slips the lecture-book back into his pocket and hands in his work. Then Baranovsky cannot stand it.
- You were cheating!
- Come on, Fyodor Titovich, how can you... You saw it yourself...
- I didn't see it, but I know you were cheating! HOW?!
- No... The guys will confirm it...
- Tell you what, young man. Tell me how you did it and I'll give you a four.
The student explains. Baranovsky, grudgingly, writes "good" in his report card.
Applause. Curtain.
Where should I put the ace?
History is aware of only two cases when a soldier's duel with Zhuykov did not end with a knockout. The first case became a legend in the brig. The soldier STAYED all three minutes, even managed to land a couple of punches and dodged the final killing sequence. Zhuikov shook his hand at the end and released him the next day for exemplary behaviour.
But the second case became the legend of the brigade. A short, but strong lad, who had hardly taken the oath and rushed for joy into self-march, was brought to the lip. The occasion to call the soldier to fight was found rather soon. Zhuykov tied the doomed soldier's gloves, gave some fatherly advice on how to defend himself and how to fight, and the duel began. It began, as usual, with a series of 'warm-up' blows from Zhuykov, from which, however, the soldier somehow deftly escaped. What happened then, the spectators, specially removed from the cameras for the greater pedagogical effect, did not quite understand. The boy sharply approached the warrant officer and the warrant officer collapsed on the concrete floor. It was a classic knockout. And not just a knockout, but a perfect brain concussion, the warrant officer was staggering and shaking his head for two weeks. It turned out that the boy was supposed to be in the sports company, but they had overlooked something and sent him to our brigade. The mistake, of course, was corrected, because the army is not used to throw away prize-winners of junior boxing competitions who have a knockout left-hand punch... The army was not accustomed to the idea of a left knockout punch.
She is an intelligent creature of 25, a successful manager at a large company, lives alone and rents a flat. From her own words... "... The cistern in the toilet has stopped working. It won't flush, that's all. I find the number of the housing maintenance company and call a plumber. They said he'd be here in an hour. I wonder how to pay him back... I can't give him any money! I went to get a bottle of vodka... that's what everybody does. The doorbell rings. I open it, and there's a very decent-looking young man with a suitcase on the doorstep. I said: "Come in, take your jacket off." I showed him where the toilet was and explained what was broken. While he was fixing it, we had a very cordial conversation. Didn't take the bottle, but asked for tea in a couple of days... Came for tea... with cake... so nice... I'm so sorry that his profession is so... ...inappropriate..."
The story is told on behalf of a young man: "I made a deal with an old friend of mine to come and visit. I've been at his place for a long time, I don't remember the flat. I rang the bell and a pretty girl answered the door. Well, I think he got married and didn't say a word to me. The girl hangs up my jacket, I try to take off my shoes and she says: "Don't, I'll make you a bed of newspaper!" I'm standing there... ...thinking... WHY AND WHERE TO PUT THE NEWSPAPER...? The next phrase from the girl puts me into final shock: "Here, the toilet is here, go ahead". Standing.... .... And then she said about the broken cistern! Got it! I've been mistaken for a plumber.... Yeah..... Looking good,I guess... Fixed a girl's cistern. Asked for tea."
End of story on behalf of a friend: "And then he asks, sneeringly: "Did the plumber still not come?" Mute question in my eyes... he goes: "I'm actually a lawyer by trade... You were just so insistent..." We got married... Four months later.