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Once again, I invite you to read some Internet jokes; for the address where they were ripped from, check the first issue of OUT SIDE.
But first, here is a short story about goodness knows what...
I was once wandering down the street when suddenly I saw a poor, bloodied hedgehog running toward me.
— How odd, — I thought, — how on earth does it manage to run so fast without getting crushed under the wheels of the equally fast-moving traffic?
I walk on. I see a squirrel sitting on the power lines. I think: "That's definitely a squirrel." And I hear back: "You're a squirrel yourself." Odd...
I reach a doorknob, thinking: "Well, finally I've reached the handle, time to turn around."
Not a chance. I got swept up into a stream of human crowd, unable to turn anywhere. And so they dragged me to the very end. Only that end was way too long; they pulled and dragged me until blisters started forming, when suddenly I hear a joyful shout. I realize they aren't pulling anymore — people must have finished walking down this street and turned onto another, wider one... And having broken free from the embrace of the massive crowd, with a sense of universal dissatisfaction, I walked further.
Walking toward me is this rather cute girl, showing off her massive, hairy right arm; she must have spent her entire life doing nothing but bodybuilding. I tried to walk around her, but she poked me with her tiny fist, the size of my head, grabbed me by the scruff of the neck with her other hand, and dragged me somewhere. Dragged me there. Threw me down. I squint — the sign reads: "REGISTRY OFFICE". At that point I couldn't take it anymore and fainted...
I open my eyes. Look around. I'm lying in my bed, it's still dark, wind quietly howling outside the window with a light drizzle falling, the calendar still shows yesterday's date — which means it was all just a dream!
Thank God! I get up, get dressed, and head outside...
THE END.
I strolled along the poplar lane,
Pursued by unavoidable plight.
My pockets held not a single ruble,
Yet a boner stood, just in case, upright.
Suddenly arose upon my desk
A curve of white buttocks and a slit grotesque.
Seems the muse sat down, legs open wide...
No point writing poems when on vodka fried!
(c) Alekseev I.G. (The Frenchman)
I lie in confusion
On sheets in profusion,
And she whispers softly:
"Not in there, dummy,
That's my rear tummy!"
(c) Zheka
Winter
Snowflakes fall, wind blows up the rear...
Only one damn peasant feels festive cheer.
(c) Max
You came over, sat by the door,
Tugging your earring in distress:
"What else did I come here for?..
Damn it all... Ah yes! For sex!"
(c) Alisa
I feel jealous of you
Even toward my own cock!
(c) Mitya
How fucking awesome and so neat
To write poems without swearing at all!
(c) Sergey
Before you bend over,
Take a look behind your shoulder!
(c) GRAY
The sun shines brighter, the landscape sweeter,
When C₂H₅OH sloshes in your belly meter.
There are plenty of reasons for gloom:
Gone is all chivalry, gentleness dead,
And TAMPAX has taken the place of men
In the battle for woman's crotch instead.
(c) Alexey Gromov
MEN! Remember: 1 + 1 is not always equal to 2, as many scientists used to think and still do, but more often equals 3, and sometimes even more! Use contraceptives! ;))
And now — the continuation of "NOTES OF A VILLAGE NATURALIST".
NOTES OF A NATURALIST
PART 2: SUMMER
In the warm sun a grass snake lies,
Tied in a knot, poor chap;
Down the road a toddler flies,
Giving a yellow stray a slap.
Dusty trails in distant haze
Are peppered thick with cow dung patties;
Ivan the shepherd was carried away,
Feet first this time, to rest where the flat is.
O Russia, in your endless woods,
Old wartime landmines still abide;
A thunder echoed, and across the clouds
A hefty peasant took a glide.
Scorching heat; during harvest chores
Kolchoz workers nurse their morning shakes;
Frogs are croaking down by the pond
While kids tear off their legs for fun.
Down the river floated a boat,
Bottom side up. Oh, what a pity!
A little girl was picking blooms —
Not a blade of grass remains in the field.
A plump herd of swine arrived
To scratch their flanks against the fence;
I smeared some glue upon the wood,
They won't get unstuck anytime soon.
Gloomy graveyard in the distance
Gleams with crosses dark and grim;
That's where boys arrange their dates
With local girls at midnight chime.
A foal went dashing past my eyes
On just three legs. What sheer brutality!
In the meadows a ram munched grass
Until he burst from pure gluttony.
Hark! A woodpecker got stuck in a tree,
At least he won't be tapping more;
A gopher flew right out of his hole,
In the rye fields someone's mug looked sore:
There lies our village poet Semyon,
Staring into the open skies;
A combine harvester rolled down the lane...
A fine new additive for bread and pies!
Mother Russia! Across your vast domain
Cries of agony ring and pierce the air:
That's the folk with wooden clubs
Trying to peel the pigs off the wooden fence.
Well, that is all! The grand finale,
I have no strength to write of summer;
Truth be told, I'm worn and tired,
I wish the autumn would come on sooner...
(c) Vlad
Youth's mistakes were pardoned with ease.
Ah, youth — a pipe's faint, distant sound...
We often sawed off the boughs we sat on;
And neither we nor the boughs are what they used to be.
(c) Georgy Frumker
NOTES OF A NATURALIST
PART 3: AUTUMN
Withered leaves already blow
Straight out of the village privy;
A starling sits upon the wire —
Too bad the village lacks electric power.
Chilly rain came pouring down
On pig carcasses beside the paling;
A passer-by sank right on the spot:
Mountains of manure had piled up deep.
A rooster crows without much joy
Beneath the cook's experienced knife;
And the fact that the morning sun is rising
Is about as useful as a poultice on a corpse.
In the barn the cows are chewing hay:
The rotting straw gives off a stench;
In the field people yank up beets
To distill a fresh batch of moonshine.
O Russia, what a gorgeous land,
Covered my coat and pants in mud;
The cries of a crane rang through the air,
Strangled swiftly by a fox.
The sun's bright rays no longer shine,
Let them stay dim, I couldn't care less;
And under the canopy of gray clouds,
As always, the village women cuss.
Soulfully the drunks begin to sing,
Splendidly tearing their vocal cords;
In the shed the sheep are beating a wolf —
I poured a bottle of vodka in their trough.
The river's swift and chilly flow
Brings dark thoughts of death to mind;
Flocks of joints are rolling past,
Stuffed tight by local druggies.
Hark! Someone swallowed a toad,
Now it croaks right inside his belly;
Electrician Fyodor routed current
Into wet dirt. What hilarious pranks!
Standing on one leg alone
In the muckiest swamp around,
Not a crane, but an old drunk vet —
Things like that happen here as well.
Opening my eyes wide open,
I marvel at this Russian sight:
Having murdered the wolf, the sheep
Headed off together to fetch some beer.
Yet the autumn has passed away
And the first snow taps upon the pane;
No matter how dreary the boredom gets,
I will have to write of winter next.
(c) Vlad
NOTES OF A NATURALIST
PART 4 AND FINAL: WINTER
Beneath a snow cap white and deep
Lies a cow that kicked the bucket;
And in a thin crust of solid ice
Our stern night-watchman got encased.
The forests are covered in silver sheen
And unanimous swearing from lumberjacks;
In fact, everything around is covered,
Covered in curses was Officer Zubov,
And the foreman, and the lumber trust...
Still, enough with digressions, back to the scene:
A horse is hauling a cart up the hill,
Unable, poor thing, to climb any higher.
Its hooves slipped on the glassy ice,
And with a look of utter sorrow
The horse rolled downward behind the sled...
I laughed like a raving maniac.
Frost and blizzard. Right in the face
A peasant tosses snow with a shovel;
The ring of the frozen village pond
Silently waits for its next victim.
O Russia! Frozen, frigid realm,
Even the Chukchi freeze right through;
Old man Prokopych, terribly hungover,
Carves up his granny with a kitchen knife.
A boy and girl played in the snow,
Shattering all the windows around;
A capercaillie slept in a drift
Until someone crushed it beneath their boot.
Hark! A coffin with a corpse flies by,
Though the weather isn't fit for flight;
Ivan the shepherd sits inside the box —
How I adore this time of year!
Soft snow sparkles across the fields,
Two severed wires short out with sparks;
Icicles hang from every branch,
Along with a pair of ancient partisans
Dating back to the last World War...
Still, that's enough of gruesome gloom!
A long, drawn-out howl echoes afar:
Our watchman howls from starvation.
I love the pranks of the village kids
Having a blast near the edge of the woods —
Where that poor horse, down the icy slope,
Came tumbling down for the umpteenth time...
And the children's clamor reminded me
Of how one truly ought to unwind:
It makes me want to run down the ski track
With my bare feet in the freezing snow...
P.S.: Author unknown. The manuscript was found on the table, while the author himself could never be found. Only in the forest, near the described village, bare footprints were discovered along the ski track, mingled with wolf tracks...
(c) Vlad (Thrawn@got.mmtel.ru)
P.P.S.: And with that, our Internet jokes come to an end due to the lack of direct access to the INTERNET :( Or maybe not? :)
Stay tuned for the next one...
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