Alexey Sinyakov talks about binge

Alexey Sinyakov is our full -time alcoholic and historian by education. The last time you heard about Sinyakov, when on the air of our podcast the “headquarters” he met face to face with a psychiatrist-narcologist and sobered up. Today we publish Alexey’s memoirs about alcohol: pompous banquets of bandits officials, a story about the stuffed Hedgehog and an attempt by Sinyakov to steal a cash register from Cheburechny.

The monkey came from a person, ”a neighbor told me. He is in retirement and after binge always watches “Animal Planet”.
But I understand my neighbor only now - the monkeys do not go to the New Year's binge in the winter, do not look to the state of the Trans “Crooked Mirror” and do not consume consumer loan for firecrackers and fireworks.

And it turns out that the main reason for our non -evolution is work.

If we have not worked, then:

1. Nobody would have given us a consumer loan; 2. Hypnotic repetitions of the “crooked mirror” would have bored a week in a week; 3. The mathematical probability of New Year's binge would be minimized - what to drink?

Perhaps that is why a person strives not to work by all forces. It would be more precisely to say - evolve.

But not me.

GERANIUM

- And who is sleeping here? -Continuously asks the artistic director of the “Moon Theater” with his press secretary.

He is wandering.
- He sleeps directly on the stairs. Is this VGTRK or Radio "Mayak"? - The Khudoruk looks even closer. - Culture TV channel?
“The newspaper“ Behind the Kaluga Outpost, ”the press secretary replies.

I open my eyes.

Behind me, the face of a solid man who played the main role in the film “The Squal of Nannies”. Decent and, apparently, to the best of the drinking, unlike me. In his mouth, he has an unnecessary cigarette. I get up and light him. They take me by the arms and led to sleep on the chest behind the stage. Everyone laughs. From this moment I understand - you can drink at work.

In the last Luzhkov years, competitions for the best sports ground were held in Moscow at the level of administrative districts. The first places in them were received by millions of prizes and grants. The first places were determined simply - who would suit the jury the richest banquet, he wins.
Konkovo ​​district government: nine in the morning - nine bottles of cognac.
The district manager of Zyuzino: champagne, wine, vodka or cognac - for an amateur.
The district manager of the Teply Stan: Wine.
Directorate of the Voruchevsky district: Lawful (defeat)
The administration of some kind of area: a banquet in the Azerbaijan restaurant (victory).

We are sitting with a photographer at a huge table. Spiers of various bottles stick over the watermelons, melons, pork carcasses, plates with soup and adzhabsandals, which lead almost Gothic horror - it seems that I can’t drink anymore. There is everything on the table. You can only put a naked woman, but she will drown here.

I am sitting drunk, and I get ashamed of this.
- What does the press want? - asks the head of the council.

It becomes even more shameful for me.
- The press wants Tekiilka! - shouts the photographer.

The bottles of tequila swam past me, moving up and down, like carousels with horses. Someone pronounced toasts, accelerating the movement of bottles. Twice I ran to the toilet to puke. The queue finally comes to me.
“You,” I say, “is the best chapter of the council.” But on Paustovsky Street ... there is a portrait of Paustovsky.

Someone starts to move, the photographer touches my hand.
- And under the portrait of Paustovsky, - I restrained the urge, - poems were written ...

The photographer turns away.
- But these verses are Zabolotsky!

Everyone knows that the head of the administration himself writes poetry, and therefore any reproach in ignorance of poetry may be an insult, especially from a drunken correspondent. In addition, the head of the council, as it turned out later, is a bandit.
“I'll check it,” says the head of the council, and we drink intensely.

I am ashamed and scary, and I can’t take a snack from the table - it seems that everyone around me is looking at me, as if at a button. I turn away, it seems like to tie a lace, and bite a piece of geranium growing in a pot. More
I don't remember anything.

The head of the council was put in prison a year later. And it seems to be for theft. But I think that in vain they are the wrong graffiti on Paustovsky Street, he painted over.

CAMERA GUN

This story was told by colleagues.

The editorial office of one very large newspaper was a photographer named G. at the height of the hunting season of him and several correspondents sent a large report on the hunting of the Taimyr peninsula. The plane flew. There was a booze: for you, for us, for Moscow, for Taimyr and so on. Official reception. The photographer G. after a booze disappears, just like a regional budget that came from the center. Everything is, there are guns, the hunt begins, and there is no photographer. The correspondents of the newspaper return from Taimyr, but G. still does not. We must call the Ministry of Emergencies, the police, the FSB ... Finally, slowly, holding on to the plasterboard wall of the editorial office, G. himself enters the room himself
- Where were you? - Ask him. - Where are the photos?! We were going to call the police!

G. Silently, with dignity, the first picture takes out of the backpack - a deer runs in the photo, a small deer is running next to a deer. To take such a photo, you must certainly merge with nature. Hide. Bow and barely breathe. Or even burst into a stack.

G. takes out the following photo. On it is a gloomy and dense wood hollow. From this hollow, a little Taimyr owl is looking at the frame, who directly says so with his own eyes: well, ate editorial rats?
“G.,” they say in the editorial office, “for such rare personnel we will arrange a personal exhibition for you, this is drawn to the prize.” How did you make them?

“Calm,” Mr. gestures and takes out the next photo. It has a full morning fun and naive stupidity, as is the case in Soviet cartoons, a hedgehog walks. Walking on his hind legs. A basket hangs on one paw of a cheerful hedgehog - it is filled with apples and mushrooms.

Like in a fairy tale.

I do not know the dramatic denouement of this story, but its essence is as follows: G. was washed down with the director of the local history museum for two weeks. Together with him, they carried out museum stuffed animals in the city park and photographed them - so as to create an atmosphere of pristine nature. Still, a report from hunting was needed.

Incredibly useless fact No. 4 West African tribe mats playing football with a human skull

Poetry and Chebureks

Once, the poet Vsevolod Emelin agreed to give me an interview. I considered this a very great success, since I wrote then for a state youth newspaper with the Soviet title “His Guys”, which no one knew. We went to the restaurant of the house of composers. The cop at the entrance, in the corners - composers with the hair of Bach or Mozart. Less commonly - just long hair, like a snitches.

Olympic "Putinka" for 350 rubles a bottle.

In this atmosphere, one 0.5 was drunk. I prudently recorded the voice on the recorder. After the interview, another bottle appeared, and I moved at the next table, the poet left. At the next table were two more poets. With them, I began to discuss the prospects of future interviews - and the more we drank, the more interesting and vast the future interviews became. After 0.5, they began to spread to strip materials and turns. I even began to read my poems to them. Timidly and exciting.

The poets frankly and sickeningly frowned - the poems were extremely graphomaniac. They had excessively many white birches, Russian open spaces, Ryazan scarves and incense. All this looked ineptly and pathetic. Imitatively, but much worse than the original. As if Yesenin had shut.

It was not possible to trace the course of further events. The next day after work, I went to Cheburechny in Kitay-Gorod. He took beer and Cheburek. Bomi in the corner, officials, intelligentsia. Almost every time I raised my eyes, a thick -skinned guard squinted at me. Finally I could not stand it:
- What do you look? - I say.

The guard impressively comes up to me and reminds me that he barely reassured me yesterday.
“Was I in your Cheburechny yesterday?”
-And who then, in your opinion, wanted to steal a cash register with us? Article 158, up to two years.

At that moment, I felt so unbearably a shame that I thought: it would be better if I were a monkey. Because the guard added: from this day - no more than three beer per day.