Sergey Soloukh. With a nose

With a nose
Sergey Soloukh

Publication date: July 10, 2001

Parallel to the big world, in which big people and big things live, there is a small world with small people and small things. In the big world, the diesel engine was invented, “Dead Souls” was written, the Dnepropetrovsk hydroelectric power station was built and a flight around the world was made; In a small world, the screaming “go away-go away” bubble was invented, the song “Bricks” was written, and “plenipotentiary” style trousers were built.
Ilya Ilf and Evgeny Petrov

And in this wonderful little cross-eyed world, buttons for belly machines were invented. Registration in the TOP-100 or in SpyLog is akin to the first glass and the first cigarette. Here I am an adult, here I am a pioneer. The Rambler in the Kremlin, his boots creaking, lighting his pipe, takes my bayonet into account, remembers me.

Similar to the “Two Bridges” sneakers and the nipple from the “Schoolboy” bicycle.

In the universe, which is not measured by an astronomical so-and-so arshin, but by an inch equal to twenty-five point four millimeters, frames multiply by themselves. The volume of the window sashes takes up thirty percent of the usable area, and that is why the symmetrically placed screensavers and other self-moving objects seem like Professor Pleischner’s ficus.

Center, I am Falcon. The mission of the Motherland has been completed. Seven, seven, four, eight, nine, five. Dot, dash, comma. I ask permission to keep ten kopecks of change for myself.

In the cozy bedbugs and paddling pools, chicken millet of yard syllogisms is scattered in blue letters on a black background. But graphic design elements are extracted, like goats, from one’s own nose. Cute and green, like the stars on the towers of the Emerald City. From one hundred kilobytes and above.

Sign my guestbook. The pathetic link shines, burns with a genuine desire to love and be loved. A three-button mouse crawls along a small rug, sometimes waving its tail, sometimes clicking expressively, and the keyboard, 101 soldiers, is puffy, puffy, silent. Did you fall asleep or something?

Comrade! Friend! Well, give me some advice on how to live next?

In the same directory, with the same carset.

Do you think all this will be read? I believe that all this needs to be made up!

Salute to you, MS FrontPage, like the great Buddha, moving with all his innumerable extensions. Let Yahoo PageBuilder be famous for centuries with its animated pop-up on the right wall, as if it were the hero-naval commander Nelson.

Millions of little Michurinsk residents work every day on their six hundred square meters of disk space. The "oligarch" jacket is getting cut, the song "Alice" is growing and getting prettier. The bee buzzes like the Dnieper Hydroelectric Station, and the diesel engine stalls, fundamentally unable to develop a thrust of only one hundred thousand ant forces.

We say yandex, we mean narod.ru.

The wind howls in the telescope - into a new century with a new scale!

Hands are stretched out everywhere, legs are stretched out everywhere - man has defeated the machine. Quantum optics and graph theory do not work for a worldwide revolution, as some here tried to tell us. A cheerful team is carrying painted sleighs, a bell is playing and the goslings are singing.

The network is the great global humanitarian warming. The universal melting of the cold, white and inaccessible. Disappearance. The level of bubble-populated protein broth increases day by day. The metrologist drowns along with the rice. The Pyramid of Cheops goes into the life-giving liquid up to the waist, up to the neck, up to the crown. Rarely does a bird fly to the middle of the pea soup.

What kind of flag was there on the top of Everest? Only a deep-sea scuba diver, crouched to the eyepiece of the bathyscaphe www.google.com, will recognize it.

And it pleases. Frankly inspiring, because at the very bottom of the Laptev Sea there remains something much more significant than Magnitka or the Max Gorky airplane. There the main abomination of the big world dies and perishes. Great concepts and guiding ideas. How they, the furry ones, feel sick in the mud, in the darkness of oblivion, sometimes they beat their tails with the letter “s” in their teeth, sometimes they rush towards the light with folk porn. They choke in the sewer pipes of the guest rooms, they stink of fish in the trash heaps of chat rooms.

Radio gave birth to Goebbels, the Internet left the hunchback no chance. Adye, Genosse, Gaupsturm-Secretary of the Party Committee, your armored train was reforged into pots and basins.

Here's a fishing rod, a hook and a worm. I'll show you where the bite is great in the morning.

Where is Ninka rowing in the picture with the fraer? And next to it in a frame against a pure yellow background without suspension and hangover carbon dioxide are two ICQ numbers. Who do you like best? They agree to any combination.

Fly to port eightieth, return with code two hundred. Chip-tweet.

The always open mouth of the free personal search engine is waiting for the treasured word, put it there like a snout, donate it for the construction of a new world with natural proportions.

Where they write with what they breathe, a flock of flash sparrows pecks out the pixels in one fell swoop, exposing the black dead bottom of the electronic tube.

Reloading the browser feeder is a natural price for non-resistance to environmental balance.

Freedom for Chuku and Gek. Hands off Pike and Heck.

And great. When everything big, leaden and clumsy sinks, the ducks have plenty of fun. And duck and dive are synonymous with the word gogol. Here is the answer to the problem.

Let's keep our noses open. Let's stay.

And thank God.