Kisa Vorobyaninov give the former deputy of the State Duma. Je ne mange pa sis jour: localization in French box office

Closhards.

Recently went to Nantes as before every other day on business on a cloudy drowsy Sunday morning. However, on Sundays, France is always half asleep, and then there is the beginning of October, fog in the morning - autumn is in full swing, the feeling that the city is three-quarters extinct altogether. I got out of the car near the entrance to my store. Directly in front of the corner wall, three people are sitting on the tiles and eating "French fried potatoes"," fries ", in short, in cardboard boxes. A meal right on the pavement, and it would be okay at a blank door, we are already accustomed to this ... the main thing is to sit so as not to disturb anyone. Oh well, what else to do. Drive away them impossible.

French bums - clochards - is a separate song. I first encountered them at the Lyon station in Paris, when for the first time I could independently (without the help of my wife) move around the country. And in Paris, I’m walking in some dark passage, I meet a guy with a dog, he says something in French, I happily declare that I don’t speak French, then he speaks good English: “Do you have a few centimes for me and my dog?" WITH with a pure heart I say no.

Most often, clochards are young hippie-looking people, quite stylishly dressed (if we mean hippie fashion, so to speak), even though they live on the street (maybe not 100 percent, maybe there are some "huts", I don't know, I only saw that, in particular, they spend the night in tunnels, under bridges, and river buses passing by along the Seine honk their greetings. Often they sit near shops or the post office, asking for money or food, a light. Usually their dogs, such as our mongrels, are quite tall, red or brown, sometimes even thoroughbred, like Rottweilers.

Remember the movie "Amelie Poulain". There is a very well shown such a type with a dog. When Amelie leaves for her father. The clochard at the station had a day off. And he doesn't work on weekends. That is, they do not take money. Principle. One Frenchman told me that it seems like if they are with dogs, then the police cannot touch them, but I didn’t understand why. Dogs must be collared and on a leash, even if it's just rough ropes. However, this is more of a style. The French have everything in style, even the homeless and their dogs. And it is not customary to shy away from them. People greet them, often by the hand, with a smile (I don’t know, I’m not drawn to greet them by the hand, but it’s also impossible to be sullenly silent when you are politely and politely addressed, although most often I try to get off with the phrase that I I don't speak French or Je ne comprends pas (I don't understand)). Although the local clochards in Nantes near the shop address me as Victor or maître (master). I give them bread, kefir ( Russian production), some sausage and a sidewalk brush, at first they took only food, but after two weeks they were scrubbing the sidewalk near the store every morning. Most importantly, I am calm. They are like guards for the night, and witnesses, if anything. And they will help unload the car, and disperse unreliable homeless people.

One of my Russian acquaintances told how she and her girlfriend shied away from them for the first time, so then the Kloshariki gave them a whole polite lecture, they say, why are you like that? We are not doing anything bad to you, etc. In general, brought up on highest level. They talk to passers-by, they can have a philosophical conversation, but they often ask for money or food, a light. Clochards themselves are very, very polite: " Good evening, madam! Do you have a few centimes? Have a good evening, love, goodbye, Bonne nuit. However, everyone here is so polite. And they never ask for a lot of money. Mostly a trifle. However, gypsies begging for alms on a commerce are often hurriedly bypassed by the French, contemptuously pursing their lips (mostly gypsies from Romania, Albania, Moldova). Moreover, they "get" these gypsies specifically and brazenly. Paris and all the cities of France, they will never fall ....

Clochards in Paris are not as common as they used to be in the 60s - 80s, perhaps they are looking for somewhere warmer. Or maybe it's an accident, but on the Cote d'Azur I saw them much more often than in Paris. I was especially struck by a tramp in Marseille. He had chosen a place on the pier next to the garbage cans, and all his belongings were laid out next to him. He had a lot of things - they were neatly arranged in piles around him. And clothes, and quite evenly folded, and some mugs, bottles, bottles, magazines, newspapers and much more ... But what struck me the most was when he finished something like a hamburger, he took out a napkin, wiped his lips, then threw it in the trash can. I couldn't take a picture of it (battery died).

But even in Paris, you can see more dull tramps sleeping right on the ground. Clochards of Paris - seemingly inconspicuous, but by no means simple beggars begging from local residents and tourists. Each Parisian clochard is unique in its own way, and in most cases it is either a ruined artist, an unrecognized poet or a musician lost in time, or simply someone who is tired of the bustle of the metropolis, drunk.

This is a clochard from Rennes. At first I thought the man had a heart problem. I asked him: "Problemes"? From his answer to my normal (in our) question, I realized that he had recently lost a lot in his life. Family, communication with children. work. Photo taken by me in moments of his despair. He cried. And the next day, near the metro station, he stood and greeted me with a smile. What did he experience, experienced during these days?

Many Parisian clochards know art, history, often among them there are very educated and educated people. Life and death in their prose go hand in hand here - even on famous cemetery Montmartre Parisian clochards come for a walk, bring their children and grandchildren.

This is not a clochard. I thought so right away. But I was told that this is a matter of taste. This is how some madams dress in Rennes and in many cities of France. About clochards further.

Paris, le Défense. It seems to be new modern center Paris. But you can see it there too.

Each visit to Paris surprises with the number of tourists, but the main thing is homeless people, that is, clochards, or as I call them clochards or cloches. I singled out the scene when, trying to push through a crowd of tourists with a baby carriage, the oncoming Parisian exclaimed with annoyance: “How tired of these tourists! Don't pass, don't drive!" But he apparently got used to the homeless, although there are a hell of a lot of them too. They are always grimy and often drunk lying on the streets and at the subway entrances almost in piles. They love to lie on a bench in the park during the day.

This photo is not related to the text above. This is not the Frenchman with the child. This is a clochard.

Some have completely sunk down - dirty, smelly, ragged ... Others look ordinary - a normal uncle walks down the street in the evening and suddenly turns to the nearest shop, lies down on it, pulls a jacket over his head and settles in for the night. Or a normal-looking aunt moves around the car and asks everyone for money to “eat”. But there is a special category, probably the highest caste or rank - these are clochards who know their own worth. For three months, his shorts may not have been washed, as well as his socks, but there may be a snow-white scarf around his neck, or in the breast pocket of a wrinkled and dirty jacket, clean neatly folded into a quarter handkerchief.

There is also a Russian "trace" among Parisian clochards. This is Vladimir Moskovtsev. How he got to Paris, how he stayed here, how and who he was before, is a mystery to me. I do not know yet. One thing is known, he had problems in Russia even under Yeltsin. But he did it like this...

Mike, sweatpants with which he probably got here.

Here it is, a modest but cozy (for a homeless person) dwelling under a bridge in Paris. Sat. Satisfied. Digital camera, camcorder, phone (and cell phones are oh so expensive in France). He wants to buy a laptop (he said that he wants to fly to Moscow for it). Near a cafe, Wi-Fi gets. In the evening the table is full of food. Drinks little. But if it starts...

The railway line where he lives is abandoned, so trains do not run on it and, accordingly, do not annoy. The woman next to our hero is his French friend Antoinette. She is not a homeless woman, but, on the contrary, a domestic woman - a doctor (or a nurse), works in a virological laboratory. With what hangover did she get in touch with a homeless foreigner who speaks disgusting French, with conversations "Well, like, what, again you brought the wrong sausage, are you persecuting?" It’s not clear to me, but she already understands Russian quite well, and in the summer they went on vacation to Italy. They traveled to Italy at her expense, of course. And for whose else? ..

There is also a special style. Aerobatics extortion. The most common way to earn money for dinner is to play the "golden ring". The fraudster allegedly lifts a massive jewelry from under the feet of the tourist, which he allegedly dropped. As soon as a person touches the bait, there is no getting rid of the annoying tramp. At best, you will have to thank him for the "find", at worst - under the onslaught of threats to contact the police.

There are also more exotic ways of taking money from gullible guests of Paris. Like from a hungry swoon on the threshold of a confectionery or a demonstrative attempt to drown oneself in the Seine in full view of compassionate Americans. However, even without acting talent starving to death in Paris is problematic: even on the worst days, a homeless person rarely makes less than €15 a day with a minimum wage of €1,200. Eat interesting rule in supermarkets - if you took something from the window and ate it, then you are hungry. This also applies to clochards. An ordinary buyer will not tear the packaging to the checkout. But clochards rarely use this. As a last resort. Honor, conscience, or something. In extreme cases, they steal very rarely. The main thieves of supermarkets are Albanians and Romanians.

I want to talk about Pierre. He is not one of those Frenchmen about whom one old traveler wrote that "you have not yet finished the question, but he said his answer, bowed and left." We met him six months ago, when I got into a situation while in Paris. At the turn from Concorde Square, a nimble car hit a woman, and immediately, as on any Russian street, a crowd “gasping” and hotly discussing the incident formed around. Only one man with a thin goatee and dark hair falling in a wave from under his hat light raincoat, stood on the sidelines and looked expectantly in the direction of the Tati store. There was a policeman with a radiotelephone to whom he immediately turned, and then a red car that looked like a fire engine emerged from the other side of the street.

- Who is this? I asked the man with the goatee as nimble guys in blue overalls jumped out of the car.

- "Poppier-sapper", they provide the first medical care he replied. And he introduced himself, raising his hat: - Pierre Laval.

So, it turns out, what “firemen-sappers” look like, about which I have already heard a lot. We didn't even have time to say a couple of words when the orderlies laid the victim down, carried her into the car and drove off, taking the howl of the siren with them.

- Fast! Yes? Pierre said. “They once saved my uncle Albert when he didn’t want to live on welfare and threw himself under a car.

I could not determine in any way whether Pierre was a real clochard or just a wanderer, but that during his hectic life he did not leave the main human qualities and their gourmet manners - that's for sure. Then laying it out neatly on a bench (of course, first placing a plastic bag and paper napkins) slices of sausage and cheese, he enlightened me on what and how they serve in Parisian restaurants, as if he had spent the whole evening there yesterday.

“Do you know that in the most expensive of them, in the Silver Tower near Notre Dame, they serve numbered duck? No? - He was delighted at my ignorance, and continued: - Since the founding of this restaurant, that is, for several centuries, the numbering of the signature dish - stuffed duck has been carried out. You gnaw the bones of a duck, of course, unusually tasty, and, in addition, you take with you a memorable “document” with the number of the bird you personally ate. Well, the “appetizer” is already ready, ”Pierre said the new one he liked. Russian word. I understood it and quickly went to the nearest "Russian" store (and there are many of them in Paris). And now a bottle of vodka poured into plastic cups, quite simply, in our way, with a conversation, only under a wonderful Parisian warm spring evening, played its part. We broke up despite the fact that he did not ask me for a cent.

And as it was before. IN Protestant England and Holland, starting from the 16th century, beggars were driven into workhouses. The worst conditions were in Germany: in some correctional institutions, beggars were kept in muzzles.

Beginning in 1596, a law was in force in Paris, according to which all beggars who did not leave the city could be hanged without observing legal formalities.

In the era of Peter the Great in Russia, the highest decree was issued, requiring not only to drive the beggars into "strait houses", but also to fine those who gave alms for 10 rubles - in those days a huge amount.

Before the 1980 Olympics, the Moscow authorities carried out an operation to resettle all homeless people outside the 100-kilometer zone around the capital of the USSR. Foreigners were once again convinced of the advantages of socialism.

The authorities of the gambling capital of the world, Las Vegas, have passed a decree banning feeding the homeless on the streets of the city. Violators face fines and jail time. In this way, the authorities want to push the homeless to look for legal work.

I still do not quite understand and do not know the philosophy and style of their life. Just from those whom I met were interesting and creative people. It doesn't mean that all bugs are like that. Live. They write poetry. novels. sometimes travel.

But you can often hear how they speak like they say like the immortal phrase: "Monsieur, do not mange pa sis jur"!

Kisa Vorobyaninov, "a giant of thought, the father of Russian democracy and a person close to the emperor," the Russian audience knows from two productions - Leonid Gaidai and Mark Zakharov. Both films became iconic...

As for Kisa, whose role was brilliantly played by Anatoly Papanov and Sergey Filippov, some of his phrases became catchphrases. The brightest of them are in our selection.

This May-spoiler, this May-sorcerer blows fresh with his fan! .. "

“Maybe you, holy father, are a party member?”

"This is robbery in broad daylight!"

"I think bargaining is inappropriate here!"

“Monsieur, it’s not mange pa sis jour. Geben world zi bitte etwas kopeck auf dem shtuk ford. Serve something former deputy State Duma"

"Hold him! He stole our sausage!"

"Let's go, let's go to the rooms!"

"You flatter me, naughty one!"

“Waiter, champagne! Hama!

“How old are you? - To the science that I'm in this moment I guess it has nothing to do"

“Why do you have salted cucumbers? - Piatak! - Okay, give me two!

"Never! Never before had Vorobyaninov stretched out his hand! “So stretch your legs, you old fool!”

- Hm ... We'll have to operate within these limits. Can you say the following sentence in French: "Gentlemen, I haven't eaten for six days"?

“Monsieur,” Ippolit Matveyevich began, stammering, “monsieur, hm, hm ... isn’t it, isn’t it, isn’t it mange pas ... six, how it is, en, de, trois, quatre, senck, sis ... sis ... zhur. So - it's not mange pa sis jour!

Well, you have the pronunciation. Kitty! However, what to demand from a beggar. Of course, a beggar in European Russia speaks French worse than Millerand. Well, Kisulya, and to what extent do you know German?

Why do I need all this? exclaimed Ippolit Matveyevich.

“Then,” Ostap said weightily, “that you will now go to the Flower Garden, stand in the shade and beg in French, German and Russian, emphasizing that you are a former member of the State Duma from the Cadet faction. The entire net fee will go to fitter Mechnikov. Got it?

Ippolit Matveyevich instantly changed. His chest arched like the Palace Bridge in Leningrad, his eyes darted fire, and thick smoke, as it seemed to Ostap, poured out of his nostrils. The mustache slowly began to rise.

“Ay-yai-yai,” he said. grand schemer, without any fear. - Look at him. Not a man, but some humpbacked horse.

“Never,” Ippolit Matveyevich suddenly began to ventriloquize, “never did Vorobyaninov stretch out his hand ...

“So stretch your legs, you old fool!” shouted Ostap. - You didn't put out your hands?

- Didn't hold out.

How do you like this gigolo? Three months lives on my account! For three months I feed him, sing and educate him, and this gigolo is now in the third position and declares that he ... Well! Enough, comrade! One of two things: either you immediately go to the "Flower Garden" and bring ten rubles by the evening, or I automatically exclude you from the number of concessionaires. I count to five. Yes or no? Once…

“Yes,” muttered the leader.

“In that case, repeat the spell.

“Monsieur, it’s not mange pa sis jour. Geben world zi bitte etwas kopeck auf dem shtuk ford. Give something to the former deputy of the State Duma.

- Again. More pathetic.

Ippolit Matveyevich repeated.

- OK then. You have a talent for begging since childhood. Go. Appointment at the source at midnight. This, keep in mind, is not for romance, but simply in the evening they serve more.

“And you,” asked Ippolit Matveyevich, “where are you going?”

“Don't worry about me. I act, as always, in the most difficult place.

The friends parted ways.

Ostap ran to a stationery shop, bought a receipt book with his last dime, and sat on a stone pedestal for about an hour, renumbering the receipts and signing each of them.

“First of all, the system,” he muttered, “every public penny must be accounted for.

The great strategist moved with a shooting step along mountain road leading around Mashuk to the place of the duel between Lermontov and Martynov. Past the sanatoriums and rest houses, overtaken by buses and horse-drawn carriages, Ostap came out to Proval.

A small gallery carved into the rock led to a cone-shaped (cone up) failure. The gallery ended with a balcony, standing on which one could see a small puddle of malachite fetid liquid at the bottom of the failure. This failure is considered a landmark of Pyatigorsk, and therefore a considerable number of excursions and single tourists visit it every day.

Ostap immediately found out that a failure for a person devoid of prejudice could be a profitable item.

“It’s amazing,” thought Ostap, “how the city hasn’t thought of charging dimes for entering Proval until now. This seems to be the only place where the Pyatigorsk residents let tourists without money. I will destroy this shameful stain on the reputation of the city, I will correct the unfortunate omission.

And Ostap did as his mind, healthy instinct and the situation prompted him to do.

He stopped at the entrance to the Proval and, waving the receipt book in his hands, from time to time cried out:

“Get your tickets, folks. Ten cents! Children and Red Army soldiers for free! Students - five kopecks! Non-members of the trade union - thirty kopecks.

Ostap beat for sure. Pyatigorsk residents did not go to Proval, and it was not the slightest difficulty to charge ten kopecks from a Soviet tourist for entering “somewhere”. By five o'clock, six rubles had already accumulated. It was not members of the union that helped, of which there were many in Pyatigorsk. Everyone trustingly handed over their kopecks, and one ruddy-faced tourist, seeing Ostap, said triumphantly to his wife:

“Do you see, Tanyusha, what I told you yesterday? And you said you didn't have to pay to enter the Proval. It can't be! Really, comrade?

“It’s absolutely true,” Ostap confirmed, “it can’t be, so as not to be taken as an entrance. Union members - ten kopecks. Children and Red Army soldiers for free. Students - five kopecks and non-union members - thirty kopecks.

Before evening, a tour of Kharkov policemen drove up to Proval on two lines. Ostap was frightened and wanted to pretend to be an innocent tourist, but the policemen crowded around the great strategist so timidly that there was no way to retreat. Therefore, Ostap shouted in a rather firm voice:

- Members of the union - ten kopecks, but since the representatives of the police can be equated with students and children, then five kopecks from them.

The militiamen paid, having delicately inquired for what purpose the nickels were collected.

- With the aim of overhaul Fail, - Ostap replied boldly, - so as not to fail too much.

While the great strategist deftly traded with a view of a malachite puddle, Ippolit Matveyevich, hunched over and wallowing in shame, stood under the acacia tree and, without looking at the walkers, chewed the three phrases handed to him:

“Monsieur, it’s not a mange… Gebenzi, peace be a bitte… Give something to a deputy of the State Duma…”

Served not so little, but somehow unhappy. However, playing on the purely Parisian pronunciation of the word "mange" and exciting souls plight former member of the State Duma, managed to grab three ruble coppers.

Gravel crackled under their feet. The orchestra played Strauss, Brahms and Grieg with short breaks. The bright crowd, babbling, rolled past the old leader and returned back. The shadow of Lermontov hovered invisibly over the citizens who ate matsoni on the veranda of the buffet. There was a smell of cologne and narzan gases.

From the transcript of the meeting of Vladimir Putin with the leaders of the factions:

V. ZHIRINOVSKY: Personnel issue according to Borodin. The manager was affairs. A person sits without a pension. Somehow here, maybe, to solve? Now there is a decree signed by you, prepared by Golikova. Initially, this law was equated with the head of the Presidential Administration. Now there is a man who has worked so much, practically receives a regular pension, and held a position that is listed everywhere as a nomenklatura. And Golikova did not turn it on. I included all the positions, but forgot about him, because he is one, only one position. Maybe there to see how you can?

G. ZYUGANOV: Vladimir Vladimirovich, support Borodin, that's right. By the way, he was one of the best mayors in Yakutsk in his time.

VLADIMIR PUTIN: I heard, I noted.

V.ZHIRINOVSKY: I will pass it on. All materials are ready, all calculations.

G. ZYUGANOV: Just support. He worked all his life.

V. ZHIRINOVSKII: The lawyers did their work, that is, they only give Golikova to include him in this list, and that's it. Three lines.

As recently as April of this year, I saw a starving Pal Palych in Montecatini Terme. The starving man was cheerful and rosy-cheeked. He brought his whole extended family to rest. He settled the whole crowd in the most expensive five-star hotel Grand Hotel e La Pace, and he himself lived in the same presidential suite where Svetlana Medvedeva lived a month earlier. Seeing Pal Palych, I was really happy for him. After all, not so long ago, after Russia barely pulled him out of a Swiss prison, he was somehow afraid to go to Europe. Moreover, the Italian prosecutor's office, after Borodin left the Swiss prison, having paid a bail of 5 million Swiss francs, opened its own case: regarding the laundering of 62 million dollars in an Italian bank, allocated under Borodin for the reconstruction of the Kremlin. In Russia, the fact of Borodin's release from a Swiss prison was widely reported, but few people know that in the end a Swiss court found him guilty and sentenced him to a fine of 300,000 Swiss francs. And Borodin paid this fine!

Gennady Andreevich remembers Borodin as the best mayor of Yakutsk. But in Yakutsk they remember something else:

My friends, and again I am with you, Mikhail Bityov.

Choose from 3 to 7 pieces.

Go?

1. Mikhail Bityov (out of competition)

Where the air is clear and fresh.
To get away from the noisy capital.
To - silence. To - bearish corner

I was once a Russo tourist
I arrived on a ticket, "on the ball."
And quickly got used to the sea.
And stayed. And here he became a clochard.

Then I'll pick up a couple of euros in the sand,
I'll catch a lobster for dinner.
And no one shakes my nerves here,
And I don't need anyone here.

Well in a half-asleep province.
Where the air is clear and fresh...
Thirty kilometers from Nice.
On Lazu-u-urn of such a coast ...
*

2. Yana Lyubicheva

Feeling no misfortune
And cheerful and cheerful,
Came from Karaganda
On vacation in the summer I'm in Odessa.

The intoxicating color of Odessa

Didn't find wallet.

In the south - how without a wallet?
Where now without the nth amount?
But, thinking a little,
I seem to have found a way out.

I walk along the beach until sunset
I say like a cockatoo ass:
-Give me, people, than they are rich,
I need a ticket to Karaganda!

Odessans are sitting by the sea,
But they don't care about me

Covered, apparently, my ticket!
*

3. Yuri Voinov

Walk the fool before
Could for a rupee on the shore
And now do not take off for a three-ruble note
Even grandmother Yaga ...
All! I'm leaving today
Help, girls, grandfather!
*

4. Rose Naryshkina

So I’ve been walking all day, “Je not mange pa sis ...” - I repeat,
Something there about the deputy. People believe, I'll see.
I suddenly decide to take a walk, order a restaurant.
I will invite two interesting girls with me.

I'll hang around with them! What can I say to Bender?
He promised to get chairs, but I value them!
This Bender, I'll tell you, he is not against courage.
So that we have enough for everything, I’m still a little like ...
*

5. Yuri Kozhanov

“But not mange pa sis zhur ...”
My only translation
Quite different, "bonjour"
Not quite the same

"Six days without a woman already"
And it's in a resort
Come women to me
Don't shame your gray hair
*

6. Grandmother Yoshka

ON THE BEACH

What a cool old man!
Probably, on the beach looking for fools.
Here comes, look, Natasha!
And he: - Well, not mange pa sis jur ...

- Don't tell your wife! Really, Alka?
Looks like grandpa likes it.
- Yes, something to us! Sit down, don't worry.
And he: - Tre bian, merci boku ...

- Itching in the side? And what did you sink?
Are you drunk or what?
- Zhe ne ne pa ... Zhe shersh ...
- Oh, pop?
Get out of here, dude!
___
* Je ne mange pas six jours (Je ne mange pas six jours) - I haven't eaten for six days.
* Tres bien, merci beaucoup - Okay, thank you very much.
* Je ne peux pas... Je shersh... (Je ne peux pas... Je cherche...) - I can't... I'm looking for...
(author's note)

7 Anna Khamatova (out of competition)

A banner hangs at the entrance to the city of Sochi.
The letters are bright visible, very large:
"DO NOT PLAY CARDS WITH THE LOCAL. THANK YOU.
WHY? YES, JUST EVERYONE HERE KNOW THE PURCHASE!.."
*

8. Irina Pudovkina

Look, Lucy, people are coming out of the sea,
Looks at us with appreciation ...
- No, Man, that grandfather turns me on,
Kepar with dough! Yes, and in appearance - not a disabled person!
*

9. Eduard Petrovich

Full of beauties on the beach
Now I'm going to turn their heads...
- Grandpa, what will you give in return?
Damn, it's not a mange full of money!
- Shall I read you poetry?
- Then go to your wife, hee-hee...
- You are all ... so ... Pa sis jour!
Then I'll take a look for free.
*

10. Marina Tarnopolskaya

"Matveich"

Matveich was a deputy,
He often sat in the Duma,
Took bribes, gave "kickbacks"
And don't forget your friends...
Once Comrade Bender
Invited him south
Promised to provide
Accommodation and leisure.
But the money ran out
(All the same inflation in the country),
And pretty girls
As always, at a great price.
Ippolit Matveich in a trance
Nothing to pay for lunch
Yes, even at the station ticket office
Need to book a ticket...
He wanders in the morning along the beach -
A frown from under the brows.
Hey beauty, MP
Give me at least five roubles.
*

11. Tarnopol Marina

And their eyes turn to me.

And I do not lose timid hope

*

12. Garik Zet

Walking with a heaviness in the back of my head
He was looking for yesterday's madam,
To the bottle drunk in the evening
"Phenazepam" was mixed ...

Grandfather woke up already without money,
How the wind blew away two girlfriends,
Only a broom remained in the house
And some more pants

fragrant cypresses,
And he was depressed and gloomy,
Kitty's phrase was spinning in his head
About "Zhe not mange", and "Pa sys jour"!
*

13. Em Glebov (out of competition)

I was given a task in our journal
Take a picture of the number of night moths.
But, the truth is, I can hardly cope with the task -
I'm not ready to sleep at night.

Then I decided to embark on a trick:
Walked along the beach on a fine day
He asked the beauty, - they say, tell me for mercy,
Don't want to be a "night moth"?

"How could you offer me such a thing?
And what could you think of me?
And yet ... A hundred bucks - I'll be with you.
Even a gray moth. Agree? Went..."
*

14. Vladimir Potapovsky

REMEMBER AND TELL OTHERS!

I'm walking along the beach
I see girls in negligee.
All - with makeup faces.
(On the "star" to be like!)

Here is one leading the "game": - Do I look like Monru?
And the other (with a bust - BEFORE ...)
He says: - And I - Bardo!

You see, uncle, we
Definitely a hottza in marriage -
For ... prosperous people!
So we mow - "under the stars" ...

Well, I haven't eaten for SIX DAYS!
Bald and thin!
I am their mother! - I answer:
- I'm here from you ohhh ... Renel!

Yes ... for the status of a wife (!)
"Stars", in general, are not needed.
We need pilaf ... and jelly ...
And - under the glass! - cucumber...

And - HOME (!) - dumplings!
And a smoked side of taimen!
And with gravy sorcerers!
And capons with mushrooms! ..

And in the morning - you need a brine,
There is sugar in the soup...
Appetizing pie.
(You are underwear - do not unzip:

I don't care about sex now
Get your boobs out of your eyes!
No time to think about the body:
I'm talking ABOUT IT!)

So, so ... isho - ear
And veal giblets!
And salted butter
And, of course, piglets!

A bowl of juicy mushrooms -
Urgently! - no nails!
Chakhokhbili and barbecue...
Well, in short, everything - "on a fang"!

Quiet with your "Monroy":
I stand for BORSCH - a mountain!
In FIG me your "make-up"?!
Better let's grill!

Well, after grilling -
I... look at you...
Don't rejoice for a while:
I... isho... I'll think...

Tomorrow - with dumplings broth,
Fuck the cake "Napaliyon"!..
For now, good night:
I have healthy sleep!
*

15. Vladimir Alekseev Pskov

ELDERLY LOVELAS

Here I am active, I walk, I do not sit,
Full of love and mind
But for others, I'll see - Pasiszhur,
And I don't have one!
*

16. Yaroslav Dobry

To me, a deputy of the first convocation,
Don't refuse, ladies, I beg you...
No, no, not this: I would use a mug of beer -
With intimacy, alas, while I pass.
*

17. Tatyana Davidenko

Dad, please go back to your tent
Here, in vain did this march.
You would have tarted a bucket and a shovel,
And if I could, in addition, a pot.
Yes I bad daughter and even rude
But if thirty is nonsense.
Leave me alone, dad, with your panama hat,
I will never marry her!
*

18. Galina Hristova

Wonderful moments ... or foreign vacation

We have arrived in the country.
The one that we know by guilt.
Old farts walk on the beach
I don't look at all!
I didn't long here for a long time,
Macho soon saw.
Word for word conversation
We met after lunch.
How he sang and danced
Hollywood is resting!
I thawed my soul:
Happiness! Be always with me!
Well rested!
Only .. the money is gone.
By candlelight, he is a glamorous prince!
In the morning I see ... cleaning the bins?
You would be an idol in Russia!
And here are your pants from the holes.
The sea caressed us all,
Strength, vigor gave!
The sun was real
And the tan color is brilliant!
I'll tell you what was cool
Let Anyuta envy!
What's the point of spoiling the mood?
There were wonderful moments!
*

19. Valentin Sysoev

Summer is in full swing. Beach. Anapa.
An old man walks along the shore
He has a hat in his hand,
Calm and confident face.

Such old men in the market
For suitors now in price,
Two tanned blondes
Everyone knows something about them completely.

And I tell you a hundred times
One said to the other,
For the groom, age is not important,
And pokes at the old man with his hand.

“For example, by the way, here he is the grandfather!
Contact this old man
And you'll live in a big cottage
You go straight to heaven.

In a series of simple orientations,
What beckons you and me around
No need to lock up at all.
Single or double.

As school showed life
Solving problems with children
Completely does without sex.
But it's clear to everyone."
*

20. Vladimir Khotin

The old man and the sea, the beach and thighs...
Girls. Looks like twins.
*

21. Nikolai Belozubov

You want to get married...

Swimwear, of course, not shiny,
Yes, and on the faces we - let's say so! - Not good,
But the soul ... almost real! ..
Single - so far! - by the way!..

Always on the lookout is no easy task! -
We are up to the stars - it's beautiful, isn't it, the body,
Much more important - on Rublyovka cottage,
And so that it always rustles in your pockets

Preferably in dollars or euros,
Krainyak - in rubles, but in thousandth bills! ..
With a friend, we may be bitches,
But, sorry, not stupid at all! ..

We distinguish a quadrille ... from a Viennese waltz ...
(Man, why are you puffing your eyes at us?)
We don’t need - for Vanka ... a village one! ..
Let's find on the beach ... something ... better! ..
*

22. Julius Treskin

Reviews

My friends, I am with you again, Mikhail Bityov.

And these are our "near-beach" results.

SECOND place - Yana Lyubicheva and Yuri Voinov (9 votes each) - 200 points each

THIRD place - Tarnopolskaya Marina, Tatyana Davidenko, Garik Zet and Yaroslav Dobry (8 votes each) - 100 points each

FOURTH place - Babka Yoshka and Eduard Petrovich (6 votes each) - 70 points each

Thanks to everyone who smiled at my "rhymed baubles" from Em Glebov and company -

Thank you all for the game, prizes - a little later, but for now, let's once again give the floor to the current laureates:

Julius Treskin

You understand, the sea is not a river.
Here are those who are richer than our locals.
Oh, Man, freeze, I see an old man.
And he is a client with money, not otherwise.

In the hands of a cool Adidas cap,
And Nike shorts, maybe cooler.
He is a foreigner, Man, my eye is a diamond!
I suppose the costumes are from Gucci.

Coming here! What a great grandfather.
You see, French. Ran with him somehow to Nice.
Bonjour, Monsieur!.. Empty bottles?.. No...
Oh, Manya, how I want to get drunk!
*

Yuri Voinov

Walk the fool before
Could for a rupee on the shore
And now do not take off for a three-ruble note
Even grandmother Yaga ...
All! I'm leaving today
Help, girls, grandfather!
*

Yana Lyubicheva

Feeling no misfortune
And cheerful and cheerful,
Came from Karaganda
On vacation in the summer I'm in Odessa.

The intoxicating color of Odessa
Turned my head so much
That, after walking along the Richelieu,
Didn't find wallet.

In the south - how without a wallet?
Where now without the nth amount?
But, thinking a little,
I seem to have found a way out.

I walk along the beach until sunset
I say like a cockatoo ass:
-Give me, people, than they are rich,
I need a ticket to Karaganda!

Odessans are sitting by the sea,
But they don't care about me
One thing is rushing after you: - You go ...
Covered, apparently, my ticket!
*

Tarnopol Marina

Let me not be young and sentimental,
But strong, even a gray head.
Girls say it's sexy
And their eyes turn to me.
For the third day I wander along the coast
Among the beautiful, tanned ladies
And I do not lose timid hope
And affectionately whisper: "Cherche la femme!"