[Archive c 17.03.2008] Humour [Archive to 28.04.2012] - page 468
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So the trade... The timeframe changed - a different picture.
And it seemed uncertain.
Probably need to move away from the three ticks more often.
At least three masters.
;)
So the trade... The timeframe changed - a different picture.
And it seemed uncertain.
Probably need to move away from the three ticks more often.
At least three masters.
;)
Where can you get so many gurus? It's not like they're just lying around.
Where can you get so many gurus? They don't just walk up and down the road.
:)
There's more... And some have three fridges, too. On all the floors.
And the beer is spoilt and won.
And not just beer.
;)
>
:)
There's more of them... And some people have three fridges, too. On all the floors.
And the beers are spoiled and won.
And not just beer.
;)
So quit soon, get high, get high, get high, get high, get high, get high, get into AA. Do something.
Get yourself a new nickname, a fourth one that doesn't drink.
So quit, get high, get high, get high, get high, sign up for AA. Do something.
Get yourself a new nickname, a fourth one that doesn't drink.
What are you talking about?
Purr-fect...
;)
Yes, an option, by the way.
The first nick will write a short but coherent text. That means he's coded.
The second nickname would write scraps of phrases and special characters, like now. - on the verge of forgetting what I was going to write while writing half a sentence.
The third nickname, the most badass, will write meaningless scraps of words and morse code. We'll know it's a bust.
Sorento:
What do you mean?
Purr-fect...
;)
Better open a PAMM.
You can watch the fluctuations of equity forever, like a fire.
It calms your nerves.
:)
Yes, an option, by the way.
The first nickname would be writing coherent text. That means coded.
The second nickname would write scraps of phrases and special characters, like now. - on the verge of forgetting what he wanted to write half a sentence.
The third nickname, the most otvyazny, will write meaningless scraps of words and morse code. We'll know he's off his rocker.
You, Vadim, are all hijinks and hijinks, but I feel sorry for him. After all, who better to lend a helping hand to a degenerate colleague than us? How long does he have? A year, a month, less. We have to do something.
What are you prepared to do for him?
In the intensive care unit of Hospital No. 6, on the 6th floor, in bed 6, a patient dies on Friday and Saturday night. He is understandably replaced by someone else. But after a week in the intensive care ward on the 6th floor, ward 6, bed 6, Friday night to Saturday, he too dies. Cynical half-jokes were spread around the hospital, saying the place was unhappy. But that is no reason to leave the bed empty in light of their extreme scarcity, so another unhappy person was put there, who exactly one week later follows his two predecessors safely into the night. After this the doctors' jokes began to reek of nervousness. Some bought books on occult sciences, but, what can you do, the bed was filled with another patient. The poor guy died exactly one week later. On a fateful night. Doctors' jokes ended at once, one and a half centimetres' worth of orderlies were placed in bed six, and on Friday night from Friday to Saturday, the doctors, the strongest in body and spirit, were spread all over the hospital ward and waited for the dreadful hour.
So, the clock strikes 12... and into the room... all dressed in white... cleaning lady Mania with a hoover, pulls the plug of the respirator out of the socket, puts the hoover in, cleans herself thoroughly....
-----------------------------------
- Petrov, your final test results are in. I think you'll be out of the hospital within the week.
- Doctor - thank you very much!
- I'm afraid, patient, you've misunderstood me...
------------------------------------
- Doctor! There's something absurd going on here. A patient two beds away from me was taken to the morgue the day before yesterday, a neighbour died yesterday. These patients are supposed to be in the dying room!
- I'll tell you the truth, sick man, this is the dying room.
-----------------------------------
Husband on his deathbed, wife coming in to say goodbye.
- I'm about to die," says the husband, faintly breathing. I would like one last piece of chocolate cake, I can feel it, I can smell it...
- No, no! I'm making it for your wake.