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A selection of random quotes - Runet Quote Book.

A selection of random quotes - Runet Quote Book.

21.03.2019

Dark Rider. The initial database of quotes was collected by Lavrov from archives of bots installed on the channels of the RusNet IRC network, where anime fans communicated. He also wrote the site engine and in January 2004 organized hosting at his work - on the corporate server of AMM CJSC in Ufa.

In the future, the base was replenished by readers of the site, many of whom were visitors to the quoted channels. Due to the small number of visitors, there was initially no moderation on the site and quotes appeared on the site immediately after being added. As popularity grew, the number of quotes began to increase, and a few months later, a preliminary screening of quotes according to the subjective criteria of moderators was introduced.

Initially, only IRC chats were quoted, later there were fragments of correspondence from other means of Internet communication (instant messaging programs, forums, blogs), as well as statements and stories sent daily by site visitors. As the popularity of the site grew, some visitors began to send self-invented quotes (the so-called "fakes", from the English. fake ).

Video

Criticism of "Bashorg"

Commercialization

In the spring of 2007, the administration began to place advertisements on the pages of the site, explaining this by an increase in the cost of maintaining the server due to an increase in load. Advertising on the pages of the resource is placed in the form of graphic banners or blocks with text that differ from quotes only in the color of the text. Such text ads contain conditionally humorous text, often in the form of a quote, and a link to the advertised product or resource. Many readers reacted negatively to the commercialization of the site, however, after the appearance of advertising, the popularity of the site did not decrease.

Comments on quotes

Some quotes make readers want to discuss them because of the content of unreliable facts, the desire to talk about a similar case, or simply express their opinion. For such cases, the administration specially created a community on the LiveJournal platform, which, however, did not become popular, and readers prefer to discuss the quote in the Abyss itself. To do this, the user copies the text of the quote, adds his comment below and adds it to the site as new quote. Once in the Abyss, a commented quote can prompt other users to respond to the comment or express a different point of view. To solve this problem, it was proposed to add the ability to leave comments for each quote. The developers of bash.org.ru ignored this proposal, and most of the visitors spoke out against such an innovation.

Style change

Since the creation of "Bashorg" to date, the style of quotations has changed significantly: when it was created, the site contained mainly quotations related to professional near-computer humor. Some of the early quotes may be incomprehensible to a person from the outside, requiring professional knowledge of a programmer or system administrator. With an increase in site traffic, the number of such quotes has significantly decreased, and the number of quotes with everyday humor, fragments famous jokes and stories, various "button accordions". As a result, a site has appeared that tries to follow the original concept of posting computer humor.

Other projects

On November 3, 2008, the founders of bash.org.ru created a companion project, in which they publish "stories about the knights of the console and the soldering iron." In this capacity, both quotes from The Abyss, altered in history, and specially sent materials act. Currently, the project has not been updated since December 3, 2015.
A project has also been launched with stories of sellers about buyers who have bothered them and vice versa.
After a whole wave of quotes, negatively met by readers as depressingly meaningless, Bashorg's fans created a site where quotes about various misfortunes are collected.

Write a review on the article "Bash.im"

Notes

Anton Lenin.. Lenta.ru (November 1, 2007). Retrieved March 28, 2012. .
(Russian). Union "Ezhe". Retrieved April 27, 2009. .
. Balcony (July 3, 2007). Retrieved April 18, 2012. .
bash.org.ru commands in LiveJournal
//Lenta.ru
. - “On March 1, 2012, we moved to bash.im. After eight years at org.ru, it’s already possible!” Retrieved March 28, 2012. .
(March 1, 2012). Retrieved March 28, 2012. .
Administrators comment: “The rating is hidden not in order to recognize it by clicking on the first button that comes across”

An excerpt characterizing Bash.im

- And what are you yawning?
- Good! So it flows from them! Don't wet our living room.
“Don’t get Marya Genrikhovna’s dress dirty,” the voices answered.
Rostov and Ilyin hurried to find a corner where, without violating the modesty of Marya Genrikhovna, they could change their wet clothes. They went behind the partition to change their clothes; but in a small closet, filling it all up, with one candle on an empty box, three officers were sitting, playing cards, and would not give up their place for anything. Marya Genrikhovna gave up her skirt for a while in order to use it instead of a curtain, and behind this curtain, Rostov and Ilyin, with the help of Lavrushka, who brought packs, took off their wet and put on a dry dress.
A fire was kindled in the broken stove. They took out a board and, having fixed it on two saddles, covered it with a blanket, took out a samovar, a cellar and half a bottle of rum, and, asking Marya Genrikhovna to be the hostess, everyone crowded around her. Who offered her a clean handkerchief to wipe her lovely hands, who put a Hungarian coat under her legs so that it would not be damp, who curtained the window with a raincoat so that it would not blow, who fanned the flies from her husband’s face so that he would not wake up.
“Leave him alone,” said Marya Genrikhovna, smiling timidly and happily, “he sleeps well after a sleepless night.
“It’s impossible, Marya Genrikhovna,” answered the officer, “you must serve the doctor.” Everything, maybe, and he will take pity on me when he cuts his leg or arm.
There were only three glasses; the water was so dirty that it was impossible to decide when the tea was strong or weak, and there was only six glasses of water in the samovar, but it was all the more pleasant, in turn and seniority, to receive your glass from Marya Genrikhovna’s plump hands with short, not quite clean nails . All the officers really seemed to be in love with Marya Genrikhovna that evening. Even those officers who were playing cards behind the partition soon abandoned the game and went over to the samovar, obeying general mood courtship of Marya Genrikhovna. Marya Genrikhovna, seeing herself surrounded by such brilliant and courteous youth, beamed with happiness, no matter how hard she tried to hide it and no matter how obviously shy at every sleepy movement of her husband sleeping behind her.
There was only one spoon, there was most of the sugar, but they did not have time to stir it, and therefore it was decided that she would stir the sugar in turn for everyone. Rostov, having received his glass and poured rum into it, asked Marya Genrikhovna to stir it.
- Are you without sugar? she said, smiling all the time, as if everything she said, and everything others said, was very funny and had another meaning.
- Yes, I don’t need sugar, I just want you to stir with your pen.
Marya Genrikhovna agreed and began to look for the spoon, which someone had already seized.
- You're a finger, Marya Genrikhovna, - said Rostov, - it will be even more pleasant.
- Hot! said Marya Genrikhovna, blushing with pleasure.
Ilyin took a bucket of water and, dropping rum into it, came to Marya Genrikhovna, asking her to stir it with her finger.
“This is my cup,” he said. - Just put your finger in, I'll drink it all.
When the samovar was all drunk, Rostov took the cards and offered to play kings with Marya Genrikhovna. A lot was cast as to who should form the party of Marya Genrikhovna. The rules of the game, at the suggestion of Rostov, were that the one who would be the king had the right to kiss the hand of Marya Genrikhovna, and that the one who remained a scoundrel would go to put a new samovar for the doctor when he wakes up.
“Well, what if Marya Genrikhovna becomes king?” Ilyin asked.
- She's a queen! And her orders are the law.
The game had just begun, when the doctor's confused head suddenly rose from behind Marya Genrikhovna. He had not slept for a long time and listened to what was said, and apparently did not find anything cheerful, funny or amusing in everything that was said and done. His face was sad and dejected. He did not greet the officers, scratched himself and asked for permission to leave, as he was blocked from the road. As soon as he left, all the officers burst into loud laughter, and Marya Genrikhovna blushed to tears, and thus became even more attractive to the eyes of all the officers. Returning from the courtyard, the doctor told his wife (who had already ceased to smile so happily and, fearfully awaiting the verdict, looked at him) that the rain had passed and that we had to go to spend the night in a wagon, otherwise they would all be dragged away.
- Yes, I'll send a messenger ... two! Rostov said. - Come on, doctor.
"I'll be on my own!" Ilyin said.
“No, gentlemen, you slept well, but I haven’t slept for two nights,” said the doctor, and sat down gloomily beside his wife, waiting for the game to be over.
Looking at the gloomy face of the doctor, looking askance at his wife, the officers became even more cheerful, and many could not help laughing, for which they hastily tried to find plausible pretexts. When the doctor left, taking his wife away, and got into the wagon with her, the officers lay down in the tavern, covering themselves with wet overcoats; but they didn’t sleep for a long time, now talking, remembering the doctor’s fright and the doctor’s merriment, now running out onto the porch and reporting what was happening in the wagon. Several times Rostov, wrapping himself up, wanted to fall asleep; but again someone's remark amused him, again the conversation began, and again there was heard the causeless, cheerful, childish laughter.

At three o'clock, no one had yet fallen asleep, when the sergeant-major appeared with the order to march to the town of Ostrovna.
All with the same accent and laughter, the officers hurriedly began to gather; again put the samovar on dirty water. But Rostov, without waiting for tea, went to the squadron. It was already light; The rain stopped, the clouds dispersed. It was damp and cold, especially in a damp dress. Leaving the tavern, Rostov and Ilyin both looked in the twilight of dawn into the doctor's leather tent, glossy from the rain, from under the apron of which the doctor's legs stuck out and in the middle of which the doctor's bonnet was visible on the pillow and sleepy breathing was heard.
"Really, she's very nice!" Rostov said to Ilyin, who was leaving with him.
- What a lovely woman! Ilyin replied with sixteen-year-old seriousness.
Half an hour later, the lined up squadron stood on the road. The command was heard: “Sit down! The soldiers crossed themselves and began to sit down. Rostov, riding forward, commanded: “March! - and, stretching out in four people, the hussars, sounding with the slapping of hooves on the wet road, the strumming of sabers and in a low voice, set off along the large road lined with birches, following the infantry and the battery walking ahead.
Broken blue-lilac clouds, reddening at sunrise, were quickly driven by the wind. It got brighter and brighter. One could clearly see that curly grass that always sits along country roads, still wet from yesterday's rain; the hanging branches of the birch trees, also wet, swayed in the wind and dropped light drops to the side. The faces of the soldiers became clearer and clearer. Rostov rode with Ilyin, who did not lag behind him, along the side of the road, between double row birches
Rostov in the campaign allowed himself the freedom to ride not on a front-line horse, but on a Cossack. Both a connoisseur and a hunter, he recently got himself a dashing Don, large and kind playful horse, on which no one jumped him. Riding this horse was a pleasure for Rostov. He thought of the horse, of the morning, of the doctor's wife, and never once thought of the impending danger.
Before, Rostov, going into business, was afraid; now he did not feel the least sense of fear. Not because he was not afraid that he was accustomed to fire (one cannot get used to danger), but because he had learned to control his soul in the face of danger. He was accustomed, going into business, to think about everything, except for what seemed to be more interesting than anything else - about the impending danger. No matter how hard he tried, or reproached himself for cowardice during the first time of his service, he could not achieve this; but over the years it has now become self-evident. He was now riding beside Ilyin between the birches, occasionally tearing leaves from the branches that came to hand, sometimes touching the horse's groin with his foot, sometimes giving, without turning, his smoked pipe to the hussar who was riding behind, with such a calm and carefree look, as if he were riding ride. It was a pity for him to look at the agitated face of Ilyin, who spoke a lot and uneasily; he knew from experience that agonizing state of expectation of fear and death in which the cornet was, and he knew that nothing but time would help him.
As soon as the sun appeared on a clear strip from under the clouds, the wind died down, as if he did not dare to spoil this lovely after a thunderstorm summer morning; the drops were still falling, but already sheer, and everything was quiet. The sun came out completely, appeared on the horizon and disappeared in a narrow and long cloud that stood above it. A few minutes later the sun appeared even brighter on the upper edge of the cloud, tearing its edges. Everything lit up and sparkled. And along with this light, as if answering it, shots of guns were heard ahead.
Rostov had not yet had time to think over and determine how far these shots were, when the adjutant of Count Osterman Tolstoy galloped up from Vitebsk with orders to trot along the road.
The squadron drove around the infantry and the battery, which was also in a hurry to go faster, went downhill and, passing through some empty, without inhabitants, village, again climbed the mountain. The horses began to soar, the people blushed.
- Stop, equalize! - the command of the divisional was heard ahead.
- Left shoulder forward, step march! commanded ahead.
And the hussars along the line of troops went to the left flank of the position and stood behind our lancers, who were in the first line. On the right, our infantry stood in a dense column - these were reserves; above it on the mountain were visible on a clean clean air, in the morning, oblique and bright, lighting, on the very horizon, our guns. Enemy columns and cannons were visible ahead beyond the hollow. In the hollow we could hear our chain, already in action and merrily snapping with the enemy.
Rostov, as from the sounds of the most cheerful music, felt cheerful in his soul from these sounds, which had not been heard for a long time. Trap ta ta tap! - clapped suddenly, then quickly, one after another, several shots. Everything fell silent again, and again crackers seemed to crackle, on which someone walked.
The hussars stood for about an hour in one place. The cannonade began. Count Osterman and his retinue rode behind the squadron, stopped, spoke with the regimental commander, and rode off to the cannons on the mountain.
Following the departure of Osterman, a command was heard from the lancers:
- Into the column, line up for the attack! “The infantry ahead of them doubled up in platoons to let the cavalry through. The lancers set off, swaying with the weathercocks of their peaks, and at a trot went downhill towards the French cavalry, which appeared under the mountain to the left.
As soon as the lancers went downhill, the hussars were ordered to move uphill, to cover the battery. While the hussars took the place of the uhlans, distant, missing bullets flew from the chain, screeching and whistling.
This sound, which had not been heard for a long time, had an even more joyful and exciting effect on Rostov than the previous sounds of shooting. He, straightening up, looked at the battlefield that opened from the mountain, and wholeheartedly participated in the movement of the lancers. The lancers flew close to the French dragoons, something tangled up in the smoke there, and after five minutes the lancers rushed back not to the place where they were standing, but to the left. Between the orange lancers on red horses and behind them, in a large bunch, blue French dragoons on gray horses were visible.

Rostov, with his keen hunting eye, was one of the first to see these blue French dragoons pursuing our lancers. Closer, closer, the uhlans moved in disordered crowds, and the French dragoons pursuing them. It was already possible to see how these people, who seemed small under the mountain, collided, overtook each other and waved their arms or sabers.
Rostov looked at what was going on in front of him as if he were being persecuted. He instinctively felt that if they now attacked the French dragoons with the hussars, they would not resist; but if you strike, it was necessary now, this very minute, otherwise it would be too late. He looked around him. The captain, standing beside him, kept his eyes on the cavalry below in the same way.
“Andrey Sevastyanych,” said Rostov, “after all, we doubt them ...
“It would be a dashing thing,” said the captain, “but in fact ...
Rostov, without listening to him, pushed his horse, galloped ahead of the squadron, and before he had time to command the movement, the whole squadron, experiencing the same thing as he, set off after him. Rostov himself did not know how and why he did it. He did all this, as he did on the hunt, without thinking, without understanding. He saw that the dragoons were close, that they were jumping, upset; he knew that they would not stand it, he knew that there was only one minute that would not return if he missed it. The bullets squealed and whistled so excitedly around him, the horse begged forward so eagerly that he could not stand it. He touched the horse, commanded, and at the same instant, hearing the sound of the clatter of his deployed squadron behind him, at full trot, began to descend to the dragoons downhill. As soon as they went downhill, their gait of the lynx involuntarily turned into a gallop, becoming faster and faster as they approached their lancers and the French dragoons galloping after them. The dragoons were close. The front ones, seeing the hussars, began to turn back, the rear ones to stop. With the feeling with which he rushed across the wolf, Rostov, releasing his bottom in full swing, galloped across the frustrated ranks of the French dragoons. One lancer stopped, one on foot crouched to the ground so as not to be crushed, one horse without a rider got mixed up with the hussars. Almost all French dragoons galloped back. Rostov, choosing one of them on a gray horse, set off after him. On the way he ran into a bush; a good horse carried him over him, and, barely managing on the saddle, Nikolai saw that in a few moments he would catch up with the enemy whom he had chosen as his target. This Frenchman, probably an officer - according to his uniform, bent over, galloped on his gray horse, urging it on with a saber. A moment later, Rostov's horse struck the officer's horse with its chest, almost knocking it down, and at the same instant Rostov, without knowing why, raised his saber and hit the Frenchman with it.
At the same moment he did this, all the revival of Rostov suddenly disappeared. The officer fell not so much from a blow with a saber, which only slightly cut his arm above the elbow, but from a horse's push and from fear. Rostov, holding back his horse, looked for his enemy with his eyes in order to see whom he had defeated. A French dragoon officer jumped on the ground with one foot, the other caught in the stirrup. He, screwing up his eyes in fear, as if expecting every second of a new blow, grimaced, looked up at Rostov with an expression of horror. His face, pale and spattered with mud, blond, young, with a hole in his chin and blond blue eyes, was the most not for the battlefield, not an enemy face, but the simplest room face. Even before Rostov had decided what he would do with him, the officer shouted: "Je me rends!" [I give up!] In a hurry, he wanted and could not disentangle his leg from the stirrup and, without taking his frightened blue eyes off, looked at Rostov. The hussars jumped up and freed his leg and put him on the saddle. Hussars with different parties fiddled with the dragoons: one was wounded, but, with blood on his face, would not give up his horse; the other, embracing the hussar, sat on the back of his horse; the third climbed, supported by a hussar, onto his horse. Ahead ran, firing, the French infantry. The hussars hastily galloped back with their prisoners. Rostov galloped back with the others, experiencing some kind of unpleasant feeling that squeezed his heart. Something obscure, confused, which he could not explain to himself in any way, was revealed to him by the capture of this officer and by the blow that he inflicted on him.
Count Osterman Tolstoy met the returning hussars, called Rostov, thanked him and said that he would present to the sovereign about his valiant deed and would ask for the St. George Cross for him. When Rostov was demanded to Count Osterman, he, remembering that his attack had been launched without orders, was fully convinced that the boss was demanding him in order to punish him for his unauthorized act. Therefore, Osterman's flattering words and the promise of a reward should have struck Rostov all the more joyfully; but the same unpleasant, vague feeling morally sickened him. “What the hell is bothering me? he asked himself as he drove away from the general. - Ilyin? No, he's whole. Did I embarrass myself with something? No. Everything is not right! Something else tormented him, like remorse. “Yes, yes, that French officer with the hole. And I remember well how my hand stopped when I picked it up.
Rostov saw the prisoners being taken away and galloped after them to see his Frenchman with a hole in his chin. He, in his strange uniform, sat on a clockwork hussar horse and looked around him uneasily. The wound on his hand was almost not a wound. He feigned a smile at Rostov and waved his hand in the form of a greeting. Rostov was still embarrassed and somehow ashamed.
All this and the next day, Rostov's friends and comrades noticed that he was not boring, not angry, but silent, thoughtful and concentrated. He drank reluctantly, tried to remain alone and kept thinking about something.
Rostov kept thinking about this brilliant feat of his, which, to his surprise, bought him the St. George Cross and even made him a reputation as a brave man - and could not understand something. “So they are even more afraid of ours! he thought. “So that’s all there is, what is called heroism?” And did I do it for the fatherland? And what is he to blame for with his hole and blue eyes? And how scared he was! He thought I would kill him. Why should I kill him? My hand trembled. And they gave me the George Cross. I don't understand anything!"
But while Nikolai was processing these questions in himself and still did not give himself a clear account of what so embarrassed him, the wheel of happiness in the service, as often happens, turned in his favor. He was pushed forward after the Ostrovnensky case, they gave him a battalion of hussars, and when it was necessary to use a brave officer, they gave him instructions.

Having received the news of Natasha's illness, the countess, still not quite healthy and weak, came to Moscow with Petya and the whole house, and the entire Rostov family moved from Marya Dmitrievna to their house and completely settled in Moscow.
Natasha's illness was so serious that, to her happiness and to the happiness of her relatives, the thought of everything that had caused her illness, her act and the break with her fiancé passed into the background. She was so ill that it was impossible to think how much she was to blame for everything that happened, while she did not eat, did not sleep, noticeably lost weight, coughed and was, as the doctors made her feel, in danger. All he had to think about was helping her. Doctors went to Natasha both individually and in consultations, spoke a lot in French, German and Latin, condemned one another, prescribed the most diverse medicines for all diseases known to them; but not one of them came up with the simple thought that they could not be aware of the illness that Natasha suffered, just as no illness that a living person was possessed by could be known: for every living person has his own characteristics and always has special and its own new, complex, unknown disease to medicine, not a disease of the lungs, liver, skin, heart, nerves, etc., recorded in medicine, but a disease consisting of one of the innumerable compounds in the suffering of these organs. This simple thought could not come to doctors (just as the thought cannot come to a sorcerer that he cannot conjure) because their life's work was to heal, because they received money for that, and because they spent on this best years own life. But the main thing is that this thought could not come to the doctors because they saw that they were undoubtedly useful, and were really useful for all the Rostovs at home. They were useful not because they forced to swallow the patient for the most part harmful substances (this harm was not very sensitive, because harmful substances were given in small quantities), but they were useful, necessary, inevitable (the reason is why there always are and will be imaginary healers, soothsayers, homeopaths and allopaths) because they satisfied the moral the needs of the patient and the people who love the patient. They satisfied that eternal human need of hope for relief, the need for sympathy and activity that a person experiences during suffering. They satisfied that eternal, human - noticeable in the child in the very primitive form- the need to rub the place that is bruised. The child will kill himself and immediately run into the hands of the mother, the nanny in order to be kissed and rubbed on the sore spot, and it becomes easier for him when the sore spot is rubbed or kissed. The child does not believe that the strongest and wisest of him do not have the means to help his pain. And the hope for relief and the expression of sympathy while the mother rubs his bump consoles him. Doctors were useful for Natasha in that they kissed and rubbed the bobo, assuring that it would pass now if the driver went to the Arbat pharmacy and took seven hryvnias of powders and pills in a pretty box for a ruble, and if these powders were sure to be in two hours, nothing more and no less, the patient will take in boiled water.

Created in 2004, the entertainment Internet portal "Runet Quote Book" - bash.im - today is a popular Russian-language humorous resource.

If you don't know anything about BAS yet, then just use the visual online bookmarking site and visit this interesting site. The site is simply created for those who are not used to living a boring, monotonous life. The "trick" of iKnop bookmarks is to make your life more diverse.

The website "Runet Quote" - bash.im - is a set of small humorous stories, funny fragments of correspondence, funny stories from the life of people around the world.

BASH has two main sections - the Abyss and the Quote. When a user submits their quote, it gets into the Abyss before being reviewed by moderators. In this section, users can vote "for" or "against" the new humorous masterpiece. Here you decide for yourself - like it, funny, cool, then click "+". The quote with the most upvotes will go to the "Top of the Abyss", from where, after moderation, it will go to the Quote Book.

If you want to get a real drive, then clicking on the visual bookmarks of the site will give you a lot of pleasure, and you will find out how a simple guy from Ufa Andrey Lavrov turned the idea of an English-language site into real entertainment. Do not stand still like a stump, rejoice and bring joy to others!

#4816973 added to bash 2018-03-28 09:19

They explained to me at the age of 5 that you can contact a policeman (I knew the form - strong point in the yard), and in case I get lost in the subway, it’s worth going to the duty officer at the escalator / station duty officer, to the driver’s door, as they showed me on the next trip by subway.
===
About metro employees and machinists - yes, but in general I teach my children to bypass policemen as far as possible. They will be more wholesome. If something happens in the yard - there are trusted neighbors, parents and grandparents of my children's friends, so they are taught that you need to run home or to them. You can also go to the nearest school or library - there are security guards, they will help.

#4816978 added to bash 2018-03-28 09:27

"Russia has Long hands, Russia has a lot of tentacles,” Nauert said.
The State Department believes that Moscow "will continue to show interest in elections in the United States and in many other countries."
"This is a monster sea depths", - she added, answering the clarifying question of journalists."

#4816979 added to bash 2018-03-28 09:28

x: Got it!!!
Y: hmm...
x: Desktop
x: Alive
x: What was that???
y: glitch :)
x: Is this a sign of what is such a glitch??
y: sign of Windows :)

#4816981 added to bash 2018-03-28 09:35

thoroughly investigate the further sexual development of these hyenas.
___________________
Well, a friend has a husband and a daughter. intimate details I don’t know, but presumably, at the sight of a naked husband, the reflex neighing does not overcome her) There seems to be no paranoia regarding her daughter from the realization that she herself was actually shown in her youth - but so far too small to experimentally find out whether she will be in ten to let go for a walk on their own (on the territory with abandoned buildings, on which we wandered in the nineties, now a luxurious housing complex has been built). I don’t know anything about boys, a couple of years later, due to the onset of puberty, they became friends with girls, for them future fate didn't follow.

#4816983 added to bash 2018-03-28 09:39

Instead of completely mirroring the expulsion of diplomats, it would be worth refusing to expel 4 Germans (they still gave the green light to SP-2) and divide the German share equally between Britain and Poland - expel 4 British and 6 Poles.
That would be some serious trolling.

#4816986 added to bash 2018-03-28 09:51

I came up with the idea: it is necessary to create the Association of Russian Cats. Membership is paid, but gives nothing but beautiful crusts. The fee depends on the breed. For outbreds, the minimum contribution, for purebreds more, for pedigree cats - the largest. All proceeds go to cat shelters.

#4816988 added to bash 2018-03-28 09:54

>Why to the kids in the yard, and not to the grandmothers on the bench?

Mathematical normal distribution + biology + socio-cultural environment.
Occasionally, scumbags-gerontophiles are maniacs.
Perhaps Rodya Raskolnikov was closer to them than Humbert Humbert.

Personally, I love Vavilen Tatarsky, if anything.

#4816989 added to bash 2018-03-28 09:55

Somehow a crowd of pussies and pizdosufferers flew into a humorous resource ...

#4816990 added to bash 2018-03-28 09:55

Scum.
=========
but it’s not a bad thing to neigh over people who were burned alive.

And they consider themselves human...

So defensive reaction same. And so fucked up, and the whole Internet is procrastinating, at least throw away the charger from the phone. You can't help anyone, you can't bring people back.
==========
And that's why you have to laugh at them? Well, you and the creatures ...

#4816991 added to bash 2018-03-28 09:58

> Well, no, the original function of the poison is to bring death,

That is, not a hot dog, but a burger? To complete the analogy?

#4816992 added to bash 2018-03-28 10:01

Okay Germans, but why don't you like Czechs so much?

Well, formally speaking, if we consider what we owe in the West for the attacks - that way we can fairly seize the whole of Europe for ourselves
=================================
I am for it". I would love to go without a visa to the German or Czech region.
-----------------
And what's the point of going there if Russia is the same there?

#4816993 added to bash 2018-03-28 10:06

let me disagree:
"Education does not teach you to think" - the mantra of lazy people who did not have enough willpower to get this very education.
As practice shows, it is easier for some people to pay for a diploma. And now, there is a crust about education, but the tree is sitting and frankly stupid. At the same time, certificates of completion of courses and so on do not have the same weight as a diploma of higher education. So it turns out that the presence of a document on the education of nichrome does not speak of the abilities of the bearer. And for getting this very crust, a huge part of the population is simply not able to pay.

#4816994 added to bash 2018-03-28 10:10

What smacks of artistic whistling is that a six-year-old immediately recognized the behavior as sexual (and at the same time she was not taught to say "do not touch"). Either the author of the idea ascribes his later feelings - she realized what was done to her and was belatedly frightened - to blurred childhood memories, or the "family friend" of the child was infuriated by something more ordinary.

#4816995 added to bash 2018-03-28 10:10

And when I was a child, no one looked or touched me. After your cool stories, I already feel inferior! It turns out that I was so unattractive that not only peers, but even perverts did not like me? Sadness...

#4816997 added to bash 2018-03-28 10:21

Let's get this screw...
- Okay, can't you?
- When I drop it, I'll be a crooked asshole, and when you drop it, it will be "Yes, damn it, this is an uncomfortable place!"

#4816999 added to bash 2018-03-28 10:39

If it doesn't work, don't touch it.
If it works, fill it with epoxy and don't ever touch it.

#4817001 added to bash 2018-03-28 10:46

Russia is a monster from the depths of the sea.
The next logical step would be to claim that Putin is Cthulhu.

More like Sebastian. Medvedev - Flubber. Who, by the way, will we have Ariel?

#4817002 added to bash 2018-03-28 10:49

Commentaries for the match Russia-France (1:3)
1. Interestingly, is it possible to hold the World Cup, but not to participate in it?
You can boycott!
2. All day the child could not sleep, but now he fell asleep
3. All the same, one goalkeeper is not enough for us at the gate)))
4. Football stars and the French team play
5. Commentator, what are you doing to me?! Have mercy!!!
"It is impossible not to note the progress of the Russian team compared to the match with Brazil" ... There 0-3, here 1-3, there is progress!!!
6. Mutko in 2011:
“Our goal is a strong team, not a strong championship. Would like to do best league the world would have done. They would cancel the limit, give free rein to business, and you would now list Spartak, Zenit and CSKA among the strongest teams on the planet along with Chelsea, Manchester and Real Madrid.
As a result, neither the strong championship, nor the national team. There is Mutko in Russia, there is no football in Russia.
7. In Russia, everything except the national team is ready for the World Cup .. (

#4817006 added to bash 2018-03-28 11:05

> Precisely a normal massage, without any inadequate

KMK the main trauma causes the strangeness and incomprehensibility of the behavior of an adult. Well, or unpredictability. That is, you don’t know what to expect next, you don’t feel safe, or you know, but you don’t know how it will end.
When I was self-satisfied, but didn't know what it was, "jolly aunt", as they say here, would scare the hell out of me, I guarantee it. It's scary to even imagine.
When I found out (from books) what exactly the body really wants, then I myself began to analyze all the aunts, whether the “fun” one would come across.
Only my uncle showed up, he was not called. The uncle was not needed for nothing, he understood the word "no" poorly and had to hand over the uncle to the right place. The reaction is calm. little adventure with villain and victory. If I didn't understand his actions, things would be much worse.
In general, to what extent you understand what is happening, you are not afraid to such a limit. Something like this, plus or minus a kilometer of error. And massage, it's very understandable. Whatever his stepfather meant somewhere in his head. There is nothing strange in the massage, so it's not scary. Maybe he didn’t mean anything, some even let the cat in on themselves so that they trample on the back with their paws, it’s very pleasant and hardly speaks of belonging to, uh, latent furfags.

#4817007 added to bash 2018-03-28 11:16

Dead or Alive Xtreme: Venus Vacation - lotions affecting the female breast appeared in the game

xxx: And then I thought... maybe you shouldn't ignore F2P projects))

yyy: Fap to play?

#4817008 added to bash 2018-03-28 11:18

I remember, when I was small, I loved it very much when my stepfather gave me a massage. Just a normal massage, without any inadequate. She massaged it herself, just walking on the back with her heels. Only about seven years after they had already stopped, the twelve or thirteen-year-old me realized in hindsight that it is better for a girl not to have such a close relationship with a male non-relative.

So he pulled you at least once? No? Even oral massage of the penis was not? Well, it doesn't count then. And as if family ties are at least something in the way. Interestingly, logically, a professional massager generally darns his pants every three days, because he breaks through with a jade wand - such a stressful job, yeah. Those who have such romantic ideas about the work of a "bouncy butt maker" have never tried to massage themselves for more than one session. It would blow out instantly.

#4817009 added to bash 2018-03-28 11:24
#4817010 added to bash 2018-03-28 11:28

Bravo. This is where your hypocritical nature comes to light.
Those who vainly mention the dead in Kemerovo you instantly stigmatize with scum, but you yourself do not disdain to laugh at the same Mavrodi (you can over him, everyone hates him, right?). For you, in reality, there is no difference over whose death to laugh, you do not value anyone's life, but simply pretend to be decent. You hypocritical bastards are no better than those cynical scum who try to joke about the tragedy.

#4817011 added to bash 2018-03-28 11:28

XXX: I'm thinking of going out with bagpipes in the summer :))
YYY: Don't forget the kilt
XXX:Of course
YYY: And the monster of Loch Ness
YYY: To peek out
ZZZ: From under a kilt?

#4817012 added to bash 2018-03-28 11:29

xxx: Would you give yourself up for $100 million?
kkk: No, my ass is worth more than money.
vvv: It smells of latency. It’s better to get screwed over at a real job than not to sit down all your life later.
hhh: What high moral liars are gathered here. Bigotry is not a virtue, my friends. On the topic - of course I would give myself. Customers fuck my brains out every day for significantly less money.
zzz: What do you mean "fuck your brains"? Are the genital organs driven around the hemispheres?

This is a special section, the voice of the people, the choice of readers. This includes quotes that scored high enough in the Abyss, but did not make it into the main set. They are stored for a year, and then disappear forever. All this happens in a fully automatic mode - in fact, the section is the exact opposite of the main one.

If you see spam, disclosure of private information and other incitement -. It works!

#AA-304060

30.03.2019 at 9:10

We noticed here that our janitor collects cigarette butts from the asphalt in a separate bag. They asked - why?
The answer simply killed: "I bury them in the cemetery in fresh graves. So that all these pigs die."

#AA-304059

No, only Sitaraman Narayanan.
As his fan club motto says, "Adobe has many hundreds of programmers in tertiary positions, but only one is named Sitaraman Narayanan."

#AA-304058

03/30/2019 at 8:50

Xxx: I'm more interested in local alkonauts who can stray to us

yyy: How many people didn’t rest there - no one came up to us at all

xxx: It can only mean that you were those local alkonauts. :D

#AA-304057

03/30/2019 at 8:40

Oleg (also Oleg Tamulilingan), also often referred to as the bumblebee dance, is one of the dances of Bali, Indonesia. It's also a dance of love.

You're sitting like that, not touching anyone, and here is Oleg.

#AA-304056

03/30/2019 at 8:40

"What childhood memories do you have?"
Kindergarten. Quiet hour. The teacher came out, and the “peacefully sleeping” children made a fuss. I was one of those who tried to sleep. Turning back and forth, he decided to straighten the blanket that had strayed into the duvet cover.
And then the disgruntled teacher returns. Everyone is quiet, and whom does the teacher see as awake? Me.
Without listening to any excuses, they reprimanded, punished, complained to their parents, and even flew home.
In general, this wonderful feeling of injustice remained forever when you were punished for everyone simply because you decided at the wrong time to straighten the blanket. ((
After 25 years, I remember this every time I put a blanket in a duvet cover. Psychological trauma, damn it.))

#AA-304055

03/30/2019 at 8:30

#Now I have a house on the seashore, and there is a cottage in the forest (c) Robinson Crusoe

Even in those days when the story of "a son, a house and a tree" was born, the house was built "by the whole world." They called all the men of the family, and the men from the village. The stove was laid by a stove-maker - a safe and reliable stove, in addition to skill, requires specific knowledge and high skills - the roof was also covered by those people about whom it was known for certain that they were not beginners and knew what they were doing. It is difficult for one person to create a solid, high-quality and large house alone, starting from the foundation and down to the last nail.
How, however, to raise a son alone.

Created in 2004, the entertainment Internet portal "Runet Quote Book" - bash.im - today is a popular Russian-language humorous resource.

The site "Runet Quote" - bash.im - is a lot of small humorous stories, funny fragments of correspondence, funny stories from the life of people around the world.