Sergey Soloukh. Fifteen centimeters

Fifteen centimeters
Sergey Soloukh

Publication date: April 10, 2001

Since the time of Chichikov, our people’s love for the fruits of technical progress has been a common place. Three-liter engine, five-speed gearbox, and that’s it, get out of the way bird, get out of the way beast. Eh, what Russian doesn’t like to download a FreeBSD modem with V90 support.

Another thing is that the effect of high speeds on the mysterious mind of fellow tribesmen is wonderful. It’s a well-known fact that on the third kilometer the soul is inflamed with such passion that you urgently need to head back to the city for vodka and girls.

Honestly, the image of a modern Kozlevich, a webmaster of some server on a two-mega pipe, stands before my eyes.

“Aren’t you going to whip the white one?” Will you dance naked under the moon? To hell with you, host for nothing.

This is the extent to which tricks with the Latin alphabet can emasculate the generally related Slavic mentality. How can we not do this, Mr. Webmaster? Who can resist! Hey, coachman, come on, put down the brown Apache for a minute, I want to die as soon as possible to write the word “ass” in a beautiful Times New Roman font!

And the more decent and modest the forehead is in the remote off-line of everyday life, the more unbridled, indomitable in the vastness of the Russian network. Sic.

I remember in my youth, excellent students of all levels, winners of Olympiads and competitions, loved to compare bolts. Brother Lesha Frippovsky simply did not part with the ruler. I carried it in my pocket. Just now they were talking about Hess, quoting Steppenwolf, shaking their heads, and suddenly - they lined up behind the door, freed the ganders from the blotting codpieces and are maraking, Pythagoras.

- Twelve centimeters! And if he gets up, there will be all fifteen. Not a cockerel, an eagle! If you don’t believe me, well, of course, he himself has nine.

Something similar is observed in that segment of the world network, which is called, not without Tyutchev’s pathos, RuNet. Here is the literary critic, star of the Moscow newspaper X. The most decent young man. The wit, the life of the party, recently left his chair at a South Russian university. Masters discourse like a god. That is, the basement of the analytical article will be written and that’s it, run for a dictionary, a large, multi-page one of foreign words. But no, not in order to understand, it is not necessary to place the correct emphasis and sing. How to play Bach with your eyes closed.

Man of the future.

And it goes online - and as if the buttons were cut off at once, let's wave the handsome hose, which, the root is clear, cannot be measured with a common yardstick. Spools, spans, elbows. Russia is the birthplace of long and thick ones.

- Look, only two fingers don’t reach my knee.

- Bullshit, look, mine has a mole on its cap. The women are crying.

Oh, the flight of an electron over the Central Russian Upland is tricky, but predictable. He will definitely finish it, rubber, and jump to Moscow. Because Castrol oil is in the heart of every car. Heat the Samsung in the red corner of every yaranga. And if there is a star from the sky, then it will certainly be in the dear’s pants.

Such chemistry. An acute sense of the pulse of time. The rhythm of the era.

In general, don’t wait, there will be no peace for you, Adam Kazimirovich. It is not the destiny of your fast-winged antelope.gnu.ru to show wedding flashes with ribbons and festive javascripts at children's matinees. Every night, philologists, in or without shorts, will pile in and fe-te-drink until they are stupefied, loading up words, words, words. And every second one is separated by the letter “s”. A man, for example.

And what? But seventeen centimeters to the waterline and three in diameter. Ibid.

However, according to the Hamburg count of one-two-three and seven-by-eight, this desire of national humanitarian personnel in the hundred-megabyte Osaviakhim and Dobrolet, of course, pleases. Frankly inspiring.

At the very least, as a result of the general computerization of universities, the walls of public toilets will become cleaner. In the end, all this intricate and inspired ru will one day grunt, fly apart, settle with magnetic dust, but the outhouses will remain. And it is by them, just as we now judge the Romans and Greeks, that inquisitive descendants will judge us and our time.

And with Gloria Mundi - everything is very simple. Certainly. The main thing is not to get confused when converting inches to feet.