No wonder they say that men are surviving children.
In general, it was like that 20 years ago. I was 5 or 6 years old, I don’t remember exactly, but I didn’t go to school yet.
The elder brother brought something interesting, he did not let go of the whole evening. I looked - like a box of some kind, but with a button. But they didn’t give it to me to play with, citing the fact that I was still too young .. Ugh.
But it was not there. I need how it is. '' I waited until everyone went to bed and stole this shit from my brother's locker. I twist it in my hands and I can not understand what this garbage is. There is some kind of slit in front, but the button is not pressed .. Well, let me look into this slit, what is so interesting there. Along the way, I tried to press the button, but it didn't budge.
After tormenting for half an hour, I left her. Finally, I decided to put the squeeze on the button all the same, making every effort. I press my hands and from there - BOOM! The blade .. I was crazy .. After all, just a couple of minutes ago I was trying to see what was hiding in this gap)
In short, lucky. I don’t know what would have happened if the blade had popped straight into my eye. Only after some time did I realize how lucky I was)
Keep an eye on the children, they are constantly striving to find themselves an adventure)
Year probably 1995-96. The city of Nerekhta. 1st school where my brother Seryoga studied. An event a la Autumn Ball is planned. And Seryoga, if only to star in front of the girls, invites me and my friend Yuran (Serpent for our own) to speak at this event. We came to the hall in the afternoon. There is a smashed piano and our two guitars. I tried the tool, got used to it a little. They drove out once the song, then quite popular "Smoke of cigarettes with menthol" and left until the evening. In the evening we are slowed down at the entrance by a local "gopota", like, what are they, all our girls here and in general you guys seem to have beguiled the coast. But, word by word, the "real pasans" were imbued with our "clear" repertoire (after I performed some yard song) and solemnly escorted us into the hall with heartfelt wishes and a great desire to meet after the concert.
Our number! I'm at the piano, Seryoga with Juran with guitars. Smoke from menthol cigarettes. In the middle of the song I decided to declare myself too (because I was present only with my back to the audience and did not sing) and. oh-oh-oh-oh. although it sounded nothing more than a "dog to the moon" - uuuuu. The guys, barely holding back their laughter, gagging and snorting, somehow finished the song and fled from the stage, followed by me, to the friendly laughter of the audience. He snatched out the guitar from Seryoga, Yurka for the rustle and, they say, bring down, while safe. But in the corridor we were overtaken by local girls! Well, they say, you are playing, guys, but our number is on - the phonogram has been lost. The girls are okay, prominent, affectionate (judging by the touches, gentle voices and playful looks) - it's impossible to refuse! Motive DDT "What is autumn.", Self-written text. They immediately went to the stage and drove to lab. Everything goes smoothly, the girls pull it out, we burn. And I look into the hall, the guys who met us at the entrance, are already, to put it mildly, unhappy and show us unambiguous gestures, they say, we are escorting you like real stars (with stars in our eyes). In general, we played the number with a bang and run in the gardens. Well, it gets dark early in the fall and we dumped into the night, and behind our backs into the darkness there was only swearing and phrases, - Let's catch, we will beat the guest performers!