Tales of an entomologist. About adventures and travel

  
And you need a sense of humor more, a song that's fun to listen to And then I kind of joked, and then everything is soooo serious.. )))

Many people here don't understand your jokes, not just me. Obviously, we have a very different idea of what humor is. There is a way out - joke with your own kind. And you will be happy!

cichrus, write your own version, delov something

it's just that there are moments that are not widely used... and in a distorted form, it looks like unnecessary PR. such things are usually just discussed in person, and not exposed in dubious literature...

It's not easy. It all depends on the point of view, if your point of view differs from mine, it remains only to expose it in the form of equally dubious literature.

It's not easy. It all depends on the point of view, if your point of view differs from mine, it remains only to expose it in the form of equally dubious literature.

Let's not be like that, and even in the bosom of the public... there is enough flood here as it is...

ВРЕДНИЙ НАСЕКОМИЙ:
Byl al nebyl, I do not undertake to judge... dropped one familiar one...

Lecture At The University Of Tbilisi.
Dear dear friends, we are starting our lecture about arthropods. Today we have with you who? Today we have a wall calendar Saturday the twenty-fifth number-spider. Well, let's study the spider. We look at the picture, we hear me, the topic is important, everyone should know. What is this spider? It's a kind of insect beast that feeds on flies. What is a fly? This is the one that's everywhere. When it's summer. He sleeps in winter because he's as cold as a bear. We're warm in the summer, and so is he. It's coming up. Summer never sleeps, all the time the dumpster is blinking, the microbe is wearing. To us the dish puts, we eat-we get diarrhea. Very unprofitable flies, harmful insects, worse than the best scoundrel! Wings in the air tada-here goes, suda-there also goes, a small one, all the time buzzing, tired, firecracker-bang! "he's dead. Spider doesn't have such a good cracker. Do you have a spider shield? Nishto no.
Only a very scary face! In the corner under the pilinthus quietly, quietly one sits, poor, honest, the bread box does not steal, the refrigerator does not go-where will the food come from? He comes by himself. Muh is a fool. Thinks you can go everywhere. A complete fool. He thinks, I'll go there, I'll go to the courts, I'll do everything badly, no one will do it to me. Because I'm a fly! Because I am the most cunning, bistrian, supersonic flying insect! People are not at home, at work gorges, firecracker hid-I do what I want! Zh-zh-zh-zh-zh-zh! - the trash bucket itself ugly poop took-zh-zh-zh-zh-zh! - a small Roller on the page "ABC" put. Z-z-z-z-z-z! - from under a dirty rag a piece of sticky stinky touched – z-z-z-z-z-z-z! - Valiko mama discoveries compact threw. Ka-a-a-iphone! I-moo-oo-oo-oo! I fly randomly without schedules where I want! All your hygiene was observed to death I will stain you! Oh, what a small one, I can fit everywhere! For one change of five kilos every rubbish bacteria cholera dysentery brought, everywhere every dish threw-tomorrow the whole family chorus toilet sick ran! Because I'm a diversa-a-a-a-a-ant! That's why mat-prirodo mina said: "Muh! Do what other people do "How"!!!" "Here's dysentery for you - wear it!"
What about the spider? Nothing. He sits in the corner, doesn't look at flies, knits a thin ball of thin thread. Maybe for volleyball? Tennis? No! For a throwaway fool. For flies. Consider with you the mechanism of getting flies to the next world. Via spider. So… Even sami-sami any of the flies-the eyes are big, baschka small. That eats, vso sees, but will not understand anything. Then he eats and thinks that if there is no one in the apartment, it means that no one will stand up for hygiene. Nobody. Tolko velcro sweet on wallpaper wall hanging. And vso. Muh is a fool, but it doesn't hurt to sit on Velcro. Because his grandmother, grandfather, father, mother, nephew-all on Velcro died. Muh spent the whole day thinking and realized that you can't sit on Velcro. It makes flies. Because he's an idiot among the entire aerial fauna. A spider among all the land flora-ay, maladets! Sitting, knitting. One knot top, one bottom, tyutelka sideways, loop court, thread here, thread there – for desat minutes shchestsot kilometer tied. In width. Mezhdu wall in the corner hung, ravine. For the pilinthus. And sleeping. One eye. The other one is watching. On the clock. Waiting. What about the flies? Flies. Dumpster-table, dumpster-table. Garbage-toilet-socks-dead crow-toilet-socks-table. It hums. Oooh-oooh-oooh! I-moo-oo-oo-oo! Я самий великий насекомий! I am the most elusive mystic as a Bun-from the bird gorges, from the cracker gorges, from the Velcro gorges-no one caught me! And I've got it all! I put all the infection on myself, put all the infection on my shoes, put all the viral microbe in my backpack! I moo-oo-oo-oo! I'm a-a-ace! From one little me to a hundred big people in the toilet tormenting your ass!
That's what muh is like. So bad, it's not even a good cloth word I want to say. But I won't. What about the spider? He is a wise man. Vso vperyod knows itself. His nerves are quiet, strong, and calm. Hysteria doesn't work. Like flies. At flies-vso time beats. When he wants to go home, and the glass is impassable at all. Window next to the opening, but flies-stupid. Like the reverse side of an axe. He thinks that if he swings hard at Cyril, the glass will buzz. The cretin. Horseradish is a root vegetable in his drawbar. Mat-nature gave him vso, brain-forgot. So do-o-olgle through the glass in place in the air marching. What about the spider? And the spider is busy with its own affairs, sneezes, does not look at the flies. He's watching TV. Feature film "Basic Instinct". About sex. Shiveren Stone speaks and nods. In general, after five minutes at the flies, Cyril is tired, his paws are walking. By default. On the windowsill, On the wall. By default. And the grid-once! "and caught it. Because shto shto? Web. Arrest. In the name of the law-Cyril on the hood, little hooliganism and gastronomic banditry! Sentence-turremny imprisonment in the stomach of a spider. Gosadin spider! I will forgive you to execute it. And-turns off…… Softly, softly from behind the pilinthus bistro-the bistro is running. And-duschit! Shtoby flies in his ears he did not yell. It's just like going to the theater. For scheya. Did you pray at night, Drozdofila?! Die, beggar! And thickens it. Put it in your mouth. That's what a spider does with flies. Because it is a useful and burrowing arthropod. Not dobri, though. But very necessary. Because that's what one little hygiene thing behind us does to you. Catches flies. So, dear friends, the web rag wall is removed – but do not touch the spider. Let him live. Although…… Koneschno..... Still..... His face is scary! And what to say... Menya's finished.

But approximately in the subject of the photo-imagine this in the morning with a hangover to see...

This post was edited by Penzyak-05.06.2012 11: 14

Pictures:

auto_____.jpg — (97.75 k)

Sorry not about beetles, of course - but a cautionary tale from the depths of the literary Internet...

AND THE CAT SCIENTIST WALKS:
In a great mood, gorging on sour cream, the cat Barsik went for a walk on the eaves of the balcony of the ninth floor. Moving steadily, the Badger at the end of the path rested his head on the whitewash wall. Then he decided to turn around, but he lost his balance on the narrow plank and began to slowly but inevitably fall down.
To an outside observer, it was obvious that free fall was not part of the cat's plans, because the cat instinctively waved its paws a couple of times (which did not help him much), rolled its eyes and began to scream heart-rendingly, rapidly gaining speed.
A few floors below, Uncle Fedya was smoking on the balcony, crossing the cat's flight path with his long-gone curly head, basking in the sun and occasionally spitting down at the painters who were suspended on duty in a cradle on the third floor and cursing Uncle Fedya allegorically. Attracted by the unusual sound, Uncle Fedya looked up. Something dark was approaching from above, blotting out the sun. After a moment, he realized that it was not only dark, but also soft.
The badger grabbed the head of its rescuer with all its available paws and, without ceasing to yell, let out its claws in joy. Uncle Fedya did not share the cat's joy. After watching enough movies about aliens, he ranked the object that fell from above as an unidentified flying object and screamed out of fear even louder than a Badger. With their desperate cries, they attracted the attention of the old ladies who were hanging out on a bench in the courtyard. "What a shame!" - concluded one of them, then spat and shook a stick somewhere in the direction of new buildings.
After a couple of minutes, Uncle Fedya tore the scratching Badger away from his face and, spinning it, threw the newcomer back to where he came from, that is, up.
On the floor above, Zabuldygin, a plumber who had a severe morning hangover, lived and lived, and drank up the good stuff. As the locksmith sat in the kitchen, glancing at his watch and then out the window, he thought about life. At 10: 01 a.m., a neighbor's cat flew down, sounding like a downed fighter jet. At 10.03. the neighbor's cat flew back, froze for a moment at the highest point of the trajectory, spread its paws to the sides, turned around its axis, reminding the locksmith of the Ka-50 "Black Shark" helicopter, and, unable to cope with either the laws of physics, or even with the laws of aerodynamics, continued its fall. Zabuldygin was determined to stop drinking.
The unfortunate Badger flew down, passing through floor after floor, and would have reached the ground without incident, if it had not been for the painters at the level of the third floor.
The painters didn't do anything wrong. They painted the house by attaching a warning sign to the bottom of their bassinet, so that a passer-by, turning a corner, would first get a few drops of green, or one or two of the more expensive white paint, and then look up and read: "Watch out! Painting works!"
The badger, almost without splashing paint, entered the bucket like a fish (all judges - 9 points). After making sure that the liquid in the bucket was white, but not sour cream, the cat gradually began to get out. The painters could hear something smacking into their paint. "He threw a rock at us," said the more experienced painter, and looked into the bucket. A stone of an unusual shape, resembling a cat's head, floated to the surface and suddenly opened his eyes. From surprise, the more experienced painter dropped the name brush and said: "Get out! Get out! " he kicked the bucket. The bucket, having turned twice in the air (the Badger got out of it already on the first turn), almost fit a passing citizen who wished not to mention his last name, and the cat that turned white, barely touching the ground, started to run.

After scaring away the sparrows and pigeons, he crossed the flowerbed and began to quickly climb the first birch tree that came along, and climbed it until it ended.
And in the shade under a birch tree there was a stubborn duel, they played chess. Pensioner Timokhin, nicknamed the grandmaster, fought in a game not for life, but for a bottle of moonshine with pensioner Mironov. Having got wind of such a large prize pool, the janitor immediately hung around and, seeing that the match was unnecessarily prolonged, every minute advised Timokhin or Mironov to sacrifice the queen. The game itself turned out to be extremely boring, and the fall of a Badger from a birch tree on the thirty-eighth move revived it very much. After skidding a little on the board and throwing the pieces around, the cat grabbed black's queen in its teeth and ran away from the chess players. The janitor was the first to come to his senses, he grabbed a stool and with a terrible cry: "Give up the queen, you bastard!" threw it after the fleeing Badger.
Statistics show that cats dodge stools very easily. According to the State Statistics Committee, the probability of hitting a running cat or cat with a stool from twenty paces is almost zero. In general, the average cat easily leaves the chair, another thing is the intelligent Skripkin.
It's hard to say what Skripkin thought at that moment, but the shout: "Give up the queen, you bastard!" and the blow on the back with the stool, he clearly took it personally. With a shudder, a ballet-style swing of his arms, and a drop of his grocery bag, he ran to his front door as fast as he could, and even faster. Barsik, thinking to have a good time, quietly slipped into a bag of groceries.
The intellectual Skripkin ran like a bullet up the stairs (although he always used the elevator) and reached the ninth floor (although he lived on the fourth).
The janitor, feeling that somehow everything turned out badly, picked up the bag and decided to take it to Skripkin,thereby making up for his guilt. Badger, feeling himself lifted and carried, pretended to be dead, rightly thinking that a horse or a rook might be forgiven, but a queen certainly would not be.
The janitor went up to the fourth floor and rang the doorbell, at which point the cat, who had pretended to be dead and hadn't moved, began to feign agony for more credibility. The bag in the janitor's hands moved ominously, horrifying him beyond words. Dropping the wiggling bag by the door, the honorary broom worker ran down the stairs and straight into the jamb at the finish line.
Twitching a little more for decency's sake, Barsik listened: it was quiet, it was time to start eating. Spitting out the queen, the cat began to eat the smoked fish with professional understanding.
Twenty minutes later, the intellectual Skripkin, catching his breath behind the garbage chute on the ninth floor, made sure that there was no pursuit, and went down to his home. A few paces from the door lay his bag, smeared with white paint inside. Already in the apartment, Skripkin made an audit of the purchased products. They bought: a kilo of smoked fish, a bag of sour cream and two lemons, and left: a bag of sour cream, two lemons (one of them is bitten) and a chess piece. Beside himself with anger at the hooligans who not only spoiled the food, but also abused the bag, Skripkin went out on the balcony and looked out into the courtyard.
Chess was being played in the courtyard; retired players Timokhin and Mironov were black, and the janitor, who had little game practice before and was confused about the pieces, was white. Timokhin moved the inverted rook that replaced the missing queen, and Mironov said: "Check to you." "Checkmate you!" Skripkin the intellectual screamed, and launched the black-and-white queen from behind cover. The ill-fated queen plopped into the center of the board and scattered the rest of the pieces within a three-meter radius.
The terrible cry of the janitor:" I'll kill you! " caught the Badger on the roof, where he climbed to dry. It was boring to dry, his paws stuck to the warm tar, and the cat began to rub his right side against the antenna that one of the tenants had installed all day yesterday. The antenna dropped safely. Looking for something to wipe himself on, the would-be marine went down the stairs this time and out into the courtyard. The right thing was hanging on the clothesline - an old blanket. Badger hung on to the blanket and pulled it to the ground. This outrage was seen by the owner of the blanket, an old woman who lives on the eighth floor, unsociable, spiteful,but still not without a certain charm given to her by senility. "Eva, what are you up to?" said the old woman, and began to frighten the cat away by shouting "Shoo!" and "Shish!" On the contrary, he rolled over on his back and began to crawl on the blanket. The old woman began to whistle, but instead of whistling, it came out with an incomprehensible hiss, the same hiss that made the neighbors think that the old woman who had lost her mind had found a snake somewhere. Not succeeding in whistling, the owner of the blanket given to her as a wedding present, took a mop and, swinging as much as her sciatica would allow, launched it from the eighth floor.
The mop whizzed past the painters and hit the ground a few paces from Barsik, who looked up, then jumped sharply and did it just in time: the second mop thudded on the blanket. "Oh, you parasite, you damned bastard," the old woman wailed, but the damned parasite, knowing from experience that his grandmother had only two mops available, even sprawled in a somewhat indecent position.
Barsik was absolutely right about the number of mops, but he did not suspect anything about the arsenal of felt boots. Smiling maliciously in anticipation of revenge, the grandmother stretched her arms, making rotational movements, and fired three felt boots in a row. All three felt boots hit the target, one of them even hit Barsik. Another one ricocheted off the head of an experienced house painter and caught his pupil by surprise, while the third felt boot hit the janitor flat on the back, who, having tasted the prize moonshine, was tired of intellectual games and was relaxing nearby in the sandbox. The two painters swore dirty words, and the janitor woke up and started singing. Barsik ran away. The grandmother, on the occasion of such a successful throw, let out a victory cry, imitating Tarzan.
Ninth-grader Petya tied a bulldog named Napoleon to his bike, and he went to the store to buy bread. Napoleon was told to sit still, but the instinct that the cat's rapid movement in space had aroused in him was too strong. And now they were running, three of them: Badger, Napoleon, and a bicycle, the latter running reluctantly, which rang loudly.
Ivan Ivanovich Sidorov and his little daughter would go out to buy her something nice for her birthday; they would return home happy. My daughter was clutching a Japanese tamagotchi toy in her hand, and Ivan Ivanovich was carrying a huge cake on his outstretched arms. Then a cat crossed their path. The girl shouted to her father: "Careful, cat!", and then " Careful, dog!", to which Ivan Ivanovich replied complacently: "Yes, I can see," then he caught on Napoleon's leash, but he didn't fall yet, but balanced like a cake, bouncing on one leg, and would have held on if the bike hadn't arrived. Like an enemy bunker, Ivan Ivanovich covered the cake he had just bought. Some passers-by found the situation comical and laughed, but they did it in vain, because Ivan Ivanovich was a big man. When he got up, he didn't go into any more details, but started slapping people right and left. After about ten minutes, he finished slapping and started kicking. Steklyashkin, who was openly indignant and kept trying to find out why he was being kicked, and Petya, a ninth-grader, came running to the noise and asked Ivanovich during a short break if he had seen his bicycle and dog.
Already in the late afternoon, tired of the day's bustle, the cat Barsik scratched the door of his native apartment number 35 on the ninth floor with his paw. They let him in, and the little girl Lena, whom he treated with respect because she usually begged sour cream for him from her parents, just threw up her hands: "He's all white this time!".
Resigned to being washed as a punishment, Badger lowered his head dejectedly. Two hours later, still unwashed, the cat was sitting on the lap of its owner, who was stroking it and saying: "Well, where have you been? I was worried, I thought you'd crashed." How nice and cozy it was at home, the Badger purred softly with pleasure and gratitude for being stroked, and thought: "Why are some people so kind and some so evil?"
Night descended on the city, carefully wrapping a soft blanket of darkness around the streets, houses, and trees. Everyone was asleep, and so was the hero of our short story, curled up on the windowsill. Outside, it was calm, cool, and pleasant, and somewhere in the silence, the occasional chirp of grasshoppers could be heard.
The stars twinkled silently in the sky, and the moon looked down on the sleeping city and was touched.
It was a quiet summer night, and tomorrow... tomorrow will be a new day.

This page on our forum will give a head start to any bikes:

http://molbiol.ru/forums/index.php?showtop...0&#entry1329719

Here is one example of a horror movie script::

Goodnight! Please help me understand who it is? cockroach or beetle? Appears for the third day in a row at midnight in the bedroom. I kill each time, and a new one comes the next night. It moves very, very slowly. Black color. From above, it consists of three parts: the head and two halves of the carapace on the body. Length 2 cm. I attach a photo. If I can't identify it from the photo, I'll look for a better quality photo.

This page on our forum will give a head start to any bikes:

http://molbiol.ru/forums/index.php?showtop...0&#entry1329719

Here is one example of a horror movie script::

Goodnight! Please help me understand who it is? cockroach or beetle? Appears for the third day in a row at midnight in the bedroom. I kill each time, and a new one comes the next night. It moves very, very slowly. Black color. From above, it consists of three parts: the head and two halves of the carapace on the body. Length 2 cm. I attach a photo. If I can't identify it from the photo, I'll look for a better quality photo.

Here I have my mother also describes approximately insects. Well, the average person is far from this - what is funny here?

Yesterday...
A hot afternoon, a dusty provincial street in a small county town...
On the road brakes UAZ "Loaf", two fall out of it in faded encephalitis and short boots...
One goes to the grocery store at a brisk pace - the other dives his head under the cool stream of water from the street pump...
A passing grandfather jauntily wrings his cap on the back of his head, dreamily and nostalgically utters...
- "Already caught"!!?
I almost choked with laughter under the pressure of the life-giving moisture...

And so, the usual, rolled, road through the field, along the edge of the forest, well known to anyone who has ever been here and those who are not too lazy to walk at the risk of their lives. It's a hot, fine day when you want to spread out on the couch under the air conditioner, but there's a person who doesn't care. Not far from the construction site, the workers are doing their job, looking at the same calcined road. There are two representatives of Central Asian nationality, nervously discussing something and poking each other with stubs of pencils, they are silent for a minute, seeing a boy with outstretched arms, eyes closed and smiling at the sun, the Central Asians pass by, no longer talking. This guy with his arms outstretched, the very person who doesn't care. So he lowered his hands, smiled to himself at the discovery of some harpalus, glanced at the clock, the sun, a fallen birch tree, wished he had put on long trousers and looked in the direction of the dump, slapped his pocket to make sure that he hadn't left any boxes, whistled, crouched down, and ran at a medium pace in the direction of the garbage piles, well known to them, but that's another story...

In the area of Aktash (Altai) in the evening, two local friends saw a light trap glowing on a slope. Going down to the village, they spread the news that they had found the grave of a shaman

Strange, it seems that the people there are familiar.

Well, there are all sorts of people and villages

I turn on the lamp on the balcony. It flies well.
A neighbor comes in an hour later.
- You on x::I, su:: ah, did you light the lamp on the balcony? Mosquitoes b:: b don't let you smoke!

A beautiful joke / humor I recently heard from a guy I know...

WITCHCRAFT:
Summer, heat, at the entrance is a great blonde and slowly smokes...
A nice guy is walking by, staring, frantically considering what to do... Hesitantly approaches:
"Excuse me, girl, can you buy me a cigarette?"
The blonde gives him a pack of cigarettes...
"And the lighter?"
I hand him the lighter...
The guy frantically thinks about what to say next, decided to make a joke, asks:
"Do you have any more gum?"...
The lady takes a Dirol out of her purse and hands it to him with a laugh.
"Oh, my God! I'm actually a sorceress, and you were so stupid to spend all your three wishes!!!

Something people spread the topic about the transportation of material from friendly Abkhazia so I remembered....
On the way to the interior of the "country" put "glasses" in the vicinity of Pitsunda and drove west... The parking lot was stationary and we got to different points (checks/installations) on foot or by car. It was time to check the traps at Pitsunda, but then it started raining and it was impossible to get out in our car. The places are beautiful and everyone in a crowd wanted to be photographed there, etc. and so on (I apologize for td and so on, but I'm not a writer-I'll tell you better when I meet you over a glass of tea-that's why I bow to travelers-fiction writers), as a result, we got 6 people and a driver for one "niva" we are going. there is a post ahead (one of the two general posts we met). the driver, in order to avoid excesses (the traffic police chief was replaced), asked us to get out and walk around the turn after the post. my friend and I went out. we walk along the side of the road, a photo camera around our neck and passports in our pockets. we approach the post and ... they're stopping us.
"Both of you come here!"
coming up.
"To the booth!!!"
Going up
-What are we doing here?
- tourists-walking
-chot you on the easy, far to go to the house. but it doesn't matter. we know that you came out so that there was no overload. you will be fined!
- tourists-walking, what kind of car?...
-.......
"how much?"
-150 p
- and what is so much? then why don't we go out on the way back?
- OK.
our car pulled up and the driver found us already coming down from the "cup". when we said that we gave 150 rubles, he said that we were fools and that we should not have done this in any case, but waiting for him in the "monkey house" was not an option for us. he (the driver) went to the " cup " and from there for several minutes there was loud, apparently swearing, in a language incomprehensible to us. he returned with our money, and the traffic policemen very kindly said goodbye
on the way back we took another chela and put him in the trunk and driving past the post we waved sweetly in all 16 hands

This post was edited by AGG - 18.08.2012 22: 15

It was in Chang Mai, Thailand.We decided with Den in order to save money, to move around the city on one motorbike(that is, a moped).Then it was the main means of transportation(and now,probably,too).You don't need a license,you can drive up to any place and park easily.But the minimum conditions were still there-you had to ride in hard hats.Koi and were given to us along with the moped.It was scary to put a helmet on your head because of its unkempt and dirty appearance.Therefore, after watching the traffic,I saw that the hard hats are driven by units in a ratio of 1: 100,and even then, more to show what a cool helmet they have.Our hard hats didn't have the steepness at all and were tied to the steering wheel-which ,by the way,was convenient, in the manner of baskets.So we were both with hard hats and baskets.
We are driving, so we are in this chaos, not standing out much from the crowd(there are two of us on a moped,most of the locals are the same, but there were also 3 and 4 passengers each), we did not break the speed limit,we did not climb ahead of everyone,but on the contrary, closer to the edge of the road.In short, they occupied their niche of newcomers and non-locals at the curb.
Before the next traffic light (!) there was a chaotic traffic jam,I was trying not to collapse and create even more inconvenience,when suddenly the hand of the law,in the person of a policeman,leaned on the steering wheel and pulled to the sidewalk.Extremely unceremonious.
-You eat without helmets!
-So everyone goes without helmets-I retorted
-But you have helmets, but not on your heads!!!What's your name?!- a policeman decided to meet you.
"Tommy," I said modestly
.- the cop took out some kind of form with hieroglyphs and began to write something enthusiastically.
I smiled modestly, hoping for an autograph request.
"Where do you live ,Tommy?"calmly continuing to fill out the form.
- San Francisco, CA, USA-Den was already snorting with laughter from behind-Washington Street 32.4 floor.
Judging by his businesslike face and repeated questions, the policeman took notes and finally asked for an autograph with a proud look....at the bottom of the form.Well, as he called himself, so he signed up.We were given a copy in which everything was in the local dialect,only the number 3500 was clear to me.Well,okay,I think Tom Cruise will not be impoverished

It will be funny when Tom Cruise is called by your name somewhere. The invoice will definitely not be 3500 baht.

Beekeepers in the north-east of France were extremely surprised when they found honey in a honeycomb of unusual greenish and bluish colors!??
The results of their investigation pointed to a biogas plant in the town of Riboville in Alsace. It was to this plant that bees flocked to feast on the dregs of chocolate production, or rather M&M sweets in multi-colored shells. The plant management apologized to beekeepers and promised to make sure that waste containers were inaccessible to bees.

http://lenta.ru/news/2012/10/09/roacheating/

I can't even think of any comments.

  http://lenta.ru/news/2012/10/09/roacheating/ 

I can't even think of any comments.

I hope tarkany were not Madagascar?)))))

I hope tarkany were not Madagascar?)))))

They probably squeaked when he swallowed them...

in fact, in this article, solid advantages:
1 - for the dude - A) he won; B) otmuchilsya
2 - for the gene pool of the Planet = for the theory of natural selection-even in our age of advanced medicine, morons manage to die because of their own stupidity
3-most of all lucky PYTHON-he will have a normal host, otherwise this one would have started to learn from him piggies to steal

This post was edited by AGG-09.10.2012 18: 11

in fact, in this article, solid advantages:
1 - for the dude - A) he won; B) otmuchilsya
2 - for the gene pool of the Planet = for the theory of natural selection-even in our age of advanced medicine, morons manage to die because of their own stupidity
3-most of all lucky PYTHON-he will have a normal host, otherwise this one would have started to learn from him piggies to steal

+1! Let's be happy for python!

On Alibe.ru once again, they are selling a wonderful book of short stories by Babenko, I recommend everyone to buy it:

Babenko V. The frog on the wall. Green series. M. Armada 1998. 428 p., fig. hardcover, regular format. Price: 250 rubles
(BS-bisky) All copies on sale
Author of the book 2lyagushka on the wall⌡ Vladimir Babenko, a professional zoologist who worked for a long time at the Moscow State University.M. V. Lomonosov (now teaches at Moscow State University). During his long-distance business trips, he had to observe a variety of animals. However, this book is not just about frogs, birds, and animals. On their expeditions, zoologists also meet people - foresters, gamekeepers, hunters, fishermen, poachers, and other wanderers. Such meetings are usually associated with extraordinary personalities, interesting events, and unexpected adventures. This is, so to speak, a by-product of expedition work, impressions that have an indirect relation to zoology. Based on them, the author wrote the book of the isu, showing the work of people of a rare specialty-field zoologists and telling what happens to them during their travels. Monographs, books, articles, theses and reports speak about the scientific work of zoologists. But how this material was obtained and what remains `behind the scenes`, few people know. And this is also the subject of the book 2lyagushka on the Wall⌡. Some of the stories are funny, some are sad, and some are dramatic. In general, as it happens in expeditions, and in ordinary life, too.
Condition: New
See: Cover

POLYGON AND APOLLO

(About loving the army that saves rare butterflies)

.."Stop, they're shooting!" signs warned me on the way to the place. But there were Apollos in my eyes. The rarest butterflies I've ever seen. The ones I've always wanted to see, ever since I became an entomologist. And they were found by a friend who was far from the topic, who was at military training camps "somewhere near Tambov..." I put my jacket over two hundred such cabbage rolls. With red spots. And he brought me a sample. I put my hand over my eyes. He pinched his nose. Apollo! God, there are Apollos in this part of the world! And where, exactly, did you see them?! "shaking a discouraged friend. "Give me the map." He pointed to a dot. At the point there was a forest road, shot signs, and...

"Wait." They're shooting, " said a voice out of nowhere. A figure detached itself from the tree. Dusty cap, tired eyes...
"Where are we going?"
I have a net in my hand...
– On a fishing trip
– - Pond in the opposite direction...
Ugh, we need to make our way through the forest. Skittish roe deer sneak into the center of the desired square. And I'm sneaking around... I've really missed it. And something flutters there like...
Automatic queue.
No!!
But the bullets missed. Hit the target. Shooting started in the lighted clearing.
"Private Petrov, for fuck's sake..."
My mother, giving me Akimushkin's book "The World of Insects", taught me that butterflies are beautiful and useful creatures. But they can be dried. And build a collection. And she made me a net.
But I didn't think about the bulletproof vest...
- Sidorov! Come on...
I push myself into the ground. No, it was the wrong plan. I should have gone for the weekend. Or sign up for military training. A net under the tunic...
I'm walking away. I'm going at random now. A kilometer, somewhat dense forest.
Tablet. "Tank training ground". And there... I see Apollo!!! A huge butterfly flies in the sun streams over the wasteland. Pearl wings. I touched a flower...

The barbed wire keeps me out.
In those years, there was still no Wasserman vest, with a thousand necessary things, but wise people took a sapper's shovel on trips. I dig a hole with my penknife... The sand is still good, and the wire is raised above the ground.
I crawl into the polygon. I jump up. Running after a white butterfly in the distance! And there's another one. More. My God, they're the Apollons! I look at the captured ones. I toss it up... I still put one in the stain. The landfill is covered in potholes and shell fragments. Hare cabbage is everywhere – the food of Apollo caterpillars. Seeds germinate better if sprinkled... Military agricultural equipment.
Suddenly the sound of a car. Ural with "kung". I don't have time to hide. In the hands of a net. The Ural passes slowly by. Happy soldiers look at me from kung Fu.
Why am I not being arrested?
I go to the other end of the landfill, where bushes grow and you can hide. Among them – huge curtains of red clover. And there are twenty, thirty Apollos on each one! Butterflies greedily drink nectar, "do not notice" me and are easily taken in hand.
Then they float again... God, it's beautiful. I lie down on the ground and watch the Apollos pass by in the sky.
"Ta-ta-ta... Ta-ta-ta..." Automatic weapons are beating somewhere. The cars roar strained beyond the edge of the forest. "Sleeping" sentries on patrol...

I crawl back out. A forest, a road, another wasteland. How I passed by! It's out of the war zone, and there are Apollos floating on it, too.
Pine undergrowth... The forestry company made furrows and planted hundreds of pine trees on the wasteland. In five or seven years, it will be gone. There will be no more Apollons who need sun and flowers.
I was and still am a pacifist. I don't accept wars, no matter what their purpose is. I love foresters and their great work of improving the earth. But then my morale went "upside down".
– I want to.".. to have war zones, " whispered the sun-cracked young lips. - So that foresters are not given landfills... So that there are Apollons... To...
My speech was interrupted by a low-flying SU-28.

...

Apollons (photo by Pavel Korzunovich).



This post was edited by Wild Yuri - 02/24/2013 15: 45

Last week's scary story.Getting up in the morning, before work, I decided to place ready-made, on dies, tropical barbels in a finishing box.I took off the lid and placed it,at the moment of closing the box (from Romald) I sharply sneeze once4, to tears and loss of orientation, I put the corner of the box oh....nny damage in the middle of the collection, restored a week, constantly asked myself the question-why did I go to the box in the morning??

A story about one of the trips for butterflies. There is not much about butterflies, but this information will be useful for tourist entomologists. Especially if you want to go to Eastern Siberia. (Photos of the author and from In-eta websites: http://kolyma.ucoz.ua/,
http://nobody-thefirst.livejournal.com/307054.html and http://clubklad.ru/gallery/photo/23713/).

KOLYMA HITCHHIKER'S GUIDE



There were Gulag zones in Kolyma.
Kolyma produces half of Russia's gold.
On Kolyma, they cut down the forest and catch red fish.
Entomologists sometimes come to Kolyma to catch the insects they need.

And here I am at the Magadan airport, a flight from Moscow, I get a backpack in the luggage "hall" and go to the airport hotel. Tomorrow by bus to Susuman. And then-hitchhiking, to the Yakut mountains of Suntar-Hayata. There won't be any more buses, and taxis are like planes.
Old hotel, still "Soviet", oil-painted walls, Rubin TV sets… But I just need to get some sleep before the long journey. On the plane, these 10 hours, only dozed. I can't sleep sitting up. I took a bunk in a triple room. 700 rubles. Unpretentious. If you go on extreme expeditions, do not think about comfort. It will be. Then. Yes, and there is no such money, pay for a" less populated " number 2-3 times more.
I used to stand outside the Magadan airport in a tent. When there was no room in the hotel. There is an island of forest right in front of his building. Under its canopy and put up a tent. For one evening and one night. And he wasn't even noticed by anyone!

The room is empty. They will "move in" later. I put my things aside and go to the village of Sokol adjacent to the airport. Buy groceries on the road. Alcohol. A very important forwarding product.
Sokol is like a city. Multi-storey buildings, asphalt, lots of shops. Products of all kinds. Excellent Yakut alcohol. I've never liked alcohol because of its star-busting sharpness and medicinal smell, but Yakut is a special topic. Last time I was in a hotel, they gave me a drink for getting to know each other. I thought it was vodka. I drank it. It stung… Not much. Even nice. I look at the bottle. Alcohol! Yakut production. Special cleaning. 95 degrees. From one "half-liter" is obtained when diluted with more than a liter of vodka. It is very profitable to take with you on an expedition. You don't" carry " water.
You can not take it at all, of course. But it is very cold in the Yakut mountains. Not for long and freeze. Or die of boredom.



When I wake up in the morning, I go with a net to the surrounding forest. Bus at lunchtime. A walk... dense larch trees, here and there frail poplars and willows. White butterflies fly along the roads. Swing of the net… Rotten naina. I run after some gray-green ... yellow tyche. But the black one… I missed it. I'm trying to catch up. I catch a few of them in the clearing. Chernushka embla.
And, as always. Well, as without it! I have never had a single expedition to the Kolyma and Yakutia without traces of a bear. A huge paw, two of my hands in the dried mud of the road. Passed about two days ago. And ahead, at the mini-dump, I turned condensed milk cans with my teeth into "compost". I pull my hairspray out of my backpack…
Firecrackers and flares are not allowed on the plane. Hairspray can be purchased "on the spot". In any village. You set the jet on fire, and you get a "flamethrower". Bears are only afraid of fire. The flare also burns out quickly, and the bear, sometimes, moves away and waits curiously… He runs away from the firecracker, but it doesn't explode right away. Here is a powerful flame. In a split second. For a long time. Just don't forget to tie a lighter to the canister…

Bus to Susuman. The old " LAZ " from my childhood. Other buses do not seem to be able to overcome this harsh road. Where asphalt is only for the first hundred kilometers. I
decided to start my journey by bus, because the price is tolerable-2000 rubles. for a ticket, and "stop" in the airport area is not so easy. Truckers are reluctant to stop here. And they often go to other villages. "Okazii" on Susuman can wait half a day...
The bus is full of passengers. Tanned Kolyma residents are returning from the resorts. We used to go to the Black Sea, but now we go more to Hurghada and Thailand. Go and "beginners" to earn money.
Like my seatmate. We talked on the road. He goes on a shift in a gold mining artel. The nephew who works in it has attached it. I'm from the Ivanovo region myself. There is no work in the town. "On watch." 70,000 rubles per month. You can't earn that kind of money in six months…

Outside the window are beautiful undulating mountains. Forests of rare larch trees. White spots of yagel. Blue rivers. And the dumps of the" golden " industry along them. In some places, these are whole garbage cans. The landscape has been disfigured by man for centuries. Who needs a" measure " of currencies ...
rare settlements. Sometimes the bus stops at a roadside cafe. You can have a snack. Food like in the "Soviet" canteens-cabbage soup, goulash with pasta, pilaf. But local people are also unpretentious. Everyone here makes money. Peddlers will be "in the west".
It's starting to rain outside. Cold. The beginning of June is here, like the middle of April in the Moscow region. The leaves of poplars and willows are blooming, the first dandelions are blooming… No mosquitoes at all.
We are moving across the new bridge to the broad, brown-water Kolyma River.

Late in the evening we arrive in Susuman. Again I go to the hotel. It would be possible, of course, to "start the raid" by standing in a tent outside the city, but it's too cold.
The rooms are slightly better than at the airport, they cost the same amount, but they are single rooms. I just need a warm bed. Last time. Facing a very long road.
In the morning I finish my "road" sausage with bread, drink tea and go with a backpack to the highway outside the city. "Stop" on Ust-Nehru.
Hitchhiking is not an easy task, by the way. I read a book about him by Anton Krotov. I also developed my own rules. The main thing: a neat appearance. "Homeless people" always arouse suspicion and rejection. What kind of fruit? "Escaped from where"? Here, even a backpack "placed on the side" will not always save you. Few people will want to take a dirty tourist in a clean car. I always change my clothes for hitchhiking. I put on jeans and a light T-shirt. Smiling... shaving. Krotov here goes with a full black beard. He may have the best karma.



Many people "stop", but they all go nearby, to nearby villages and local mines. And I still have 420 km...
- Where-where? To Ust-Nehru? Eh, brother, you'll be standing for a long time.
Every other driver tells me. They recommend ordering a taxi. Which costs like a plane ticket to Irkutsk ...
well, it doesn't seem to be my day. Sunday. Few long-distance drivers. No business travelers, signalmen, or merchants… You can only catch a "guest" who has visited relatives in the city.
Such a driver is caught!
- I'm going to Artyk, I'm going home...

This is two-thirds of the way to Ust-Nera.
"Sit down."
They don't usually ask for money in these parts. Here it is still customary to give a ride for free.

My driver's name is Zhenya. I was staying with my relatives in Susuman. I'm from Western Ukraine myself. On earnings.
"You're all going to Europe for work..." I tease him.
– Yes, I was in that Europe. He worked as a gardener in Hungary. So what? You don't know the language, salary… I earn so much here in a month, so much there in two.
Tells about life in Western Ukraine. Not sugar. High unemployment. This makes the people angry. Looking for enemies. Muscovites are to blame for everything...
- Do you want to go fishing on the way? I haven't caught grayling for a long time...
Only for! I'll start the season. I catch butterflies on the beach.
We leave the highway about a hundred kilometers from Susuman. An unknown river. There may be interesting views!..

The river is small. Crystal-clear, with the sound of bells on the stones. It flows in a valley among gentle mountains. On the banks of a squat shrub. Lawns. On which "my objects" flutter...
I run to catch them. However, the views are still the same, "airport". One of the new ones is chernushka discoidalis. Ash-gray underclothes. Also common, but today-mining!
Bear tracks again… Along the riverbank and in the swamp. It's best not to go too far. Don't run fast. I go back to the car.
"Misha?" It sucks. I've already killed one fisherman here about two years ago...
I am always "amused" by this local designation for bear cannibalism. Misha sharchil ... Affectionately so, in a kind way. Like, with whom it does not happen. Residents of Kolyma treat everything with life-affirming," strong " humor.
Even if it's not humor at all.



Zhenya cooks grayling soup on the fire. Treats me.
Let's move on.
Our highway is called the Kolyma Tract. It was built in the 30s of the last century by Gulag prisoners. On wheelbarrows, shovels. Only in difficult areas were used rare tractors at that time. There is no asphalt, the ground rolled up by wheels, interspersed with gravel. The road is "dusty", and oncoming cars often completely "remove" the view. On the highway, despite the weak traffic, accidents are frequent.
-I was flying here, too, once, – says Zhenya, - I started to overtake a trucker, but because of the dust I didn't see the excavation on the side of the road, and at full speed...
"Went" into a ditch from the highway. Miraculously, I didn't crash the car.
So now we are "flying". It is not customary to drive slowly here. The distances are huge, I want to overcome them faster.
All rush, overtake, "smoke" ... The artery of life.

We arrived in Artyk. A dilapidated village of one-and two-story houses dating back to the Gulag. Previously, it had up to 10,000 inhabitants. Now 200. And so it is all over Kolyma: villages are "blown away", dying, and being closed…
It's getting late. Zhenya offers me to stay in a chauffeur's hotel, and tomorrow I will continue on my way. I refuse. I'll vote until nightfall.
I give him a bag of lemongrass berries, one of the ones I took with me as gifts for good drivers. So that they add it to tea and don't fall asleep while driving. And use it yourself, for cheerfulness.
I am on duty at an empty traffic police post at the entrance to the village. Once everyone was stopped here, there was something like the "Yakut customs". We looked at our passports. We could have checked the backpack. Is there no gold? Show me the diamonds! The post is currently reserved. And correctly. It is easily bypassed by the taiga, just a few meters away. It was necessary to make towers. Barbed wire per 100 km…

The site says that the message is too long... I'll finish in another school.

This post was edited by Wild Yuri - 12/11/2012 00: 23

Ending.

Still no cars. It's after midnight. Very cold. The forest approaches the post. Maybe a hotel? But it was too much fun last time. They put everyone in one big room. Rusty beds, mattresses. All the guests drink godlessly until morning. At that time there were three signalmen from Ust-Nera. Intelligent people. How many talked just "for life"! But in the morning I couldn't take my head off the pillow...
And therefore, tired of the "guard", I go into the forest and put up a tent in a clearing with a view of the highway. Sleep until morning. With hairspray "in an embrace".
I fell asleep quickly. Tired.
Through my sleep, I suddenly hear the hum of a car. I jump out of the tent. Managed. I'm braking a big truck. To Ust-Nehru!
The driver doesn't introduce himself. Some kind of "in itself". I drag a backpack and "bundle" a tent with foam and a sleeping bag. We throw everything inside the truck. The driver turns on music. We drive in silence.

We drive for an hour, then another. Early morning. Suddenly, the car slows down smoothly. A white bird fluttered through the window.
"Who was that?" the driver asks me.
- A bird.
"That's right, bird.
A strange smile spread across his lips. He reached behind the seat and pulled out a carbine.
"Good bird. If you see another one like this, tell me...
Now I'm constantly looking out the window. The driver glances at his car.
Now he's slowing down again. He stares into the forest for a long time. He rolls down the window and cocks the gun... bang!
By.



"Very nice bird. It's called the polar partridge...
Gives me a big apple. We continue to move. A few minutes later, he spots another bird. Then I. And there he is again.
But all the shots missed the target.
I forgot to shoot my gun."
Immediately after the bridge over the large Nehru River, he takes out a spinning rod and tries to catch grayling "from the railing" for 10 minutes.
"The rains have passed, however. The water is muddy...
Clearly not his day.

And here we are on the outskirts of Ust-Nera. The driver goes to the village. I'm staying on track. Now catch a car on Handyga. I enter the forest. I cook lunch from buckwheat with stew, on a portable gas stove. I drink tea.
I return "to the post".
There are a lot of cars, but they stop less often than in Susuman. And everyone is driving around the neighborhood. I've been standing there for two hours. All in the dust from the "smoking" primer. I'll be homeless in another hour. They may not take it...
they took it! A cheerful Yakut on a Uaz truck, with a large "eggplant" of beer under his elbow and two passengers of similar appearance in the back.
They're going to Tomtor. They can drop you off in Kyubyum. And that's three-quarters of the way… I agree.

The driver has a nice name: Matvey. I always thought it was common in Israel. But there are even more Matveyevs in Sakha. The Yakuts also use the names Spiridon, Korney, and Athanasius…
Matvey asks me who I am and where I'm going. Yakuts are very curious people. I tell everyone as it is. Entomologist. I collect butterflies... At the same time, I also lose weight. No kidding. In the spring it was 95 kg, now – 88.
- Then why do you need a car? I'd walk. In a week it will be 78...
Yakuts are great comedians. I have never met any sullen Yakuts.
We cross the Elga River on the bridge. From the lakes created during the construction of the protective dam, ducks fly up every now and then.



"But tell me," asks the sly Matvey, " is it true that we have a butterfly in Sakha that costs forty thousand pupaars?"
My God, as many as you can. Every Yakut, having learned about the nature of my occupation, will certainly ask this question. And is it true that the butterfly is jet-black, the size of a crow... or is it red and burning in the night...
drinking blood? Knows karate techniques. I sometimes add this from myself...
I say that only cranks need butterflies. And they cost pennies.
"Well, well," Matvey smiles.
He nods his head at all my words, but his face is so snide… Yakuts are a very distrustful nation.

He takes another sip of beer and turns on the music. Yakut disco. I didn't know it existed. And the sound scale is not worse than "Enigma"! Well done, Yakuts. They are developing, there are already 25 theaters in Yakutsk ...
– Tourist Adventurer… Do you have a gun?" Well, or there, a false light.
- There is something cooler...
He glances at my hand, which is crawling into my pocket. I pull out my hairspray.
Makeup for teddy bear!
I amused him greatly. I learn from Matvey that in the taiga you should not be afraid of a bear, but ... even. There was once an order from Stalin to shoot to kill in the taiga at all "passers-by". So the Evens are still doing it!
Good Yakut jokes.

Here is Kyubume. Yakuts need to go further, through the river of the same name. On your own car. In it ,the "Urals" drown in high water. We decided to have lunch at a local cafe before the swim. I'm going with them. Kyubume is a few trailers at a gas station. The cafe is one of them. It has three tables and a simple chauffeur's meal.
However, borscht with sour cream after road "snacks" was very useful. Yakuts brought salted malma from the car. They gave me a drink. Oh, delicious fish! Tender, melting in the mouth ... a miracle! I swore that next time I would come to Yakutia for fishing.
I gave Matvey a bag of lemongrass as a present. The Yakuts left for the river, and I approached the only employee of the gas station, Dima. Arrange an overnight stay, on the advice of Yakuts. After all, I can't wait for a car here until the evening... Dima is a strong, well-groomed man of 45 years old. I said right away: we'll arrange an overnight stay. Lives right there. I can't see my wife. Maybe the cook was his wife.



But he left before nightfall, standing by the road for only half an hour. Mikrik again. A lone driver is driving.
"No, I don't drive for free. Well, at least give me a piece!
Rare commercialism in these parts. I'll give you a thousand-ruble note to get to the starting point today.
"Vasily is my name. I'm from Moldova. Nickname "Moldavan". Why go to those parts?
I talk about butterflies and weight loss.
"Oh, well. You're going to be a predator.
I tensed up. Predation, in the local jargon – is illegal to wash gold in streams.
- Butterfly beetles… Don't worry, I'll do it myself. Is this your first time?
I pronounce various entomological terms and Latin, but still convince him that I am an entomologist.
— yeah. It's clear. Flying pupaars. How much are your butterflies worth? Come on, come on…

Not just a mercantile person, but "built"on coupons. Everything, according to his worldview, is done only for the sake of money and for money.
"Let me catch you some butterflies." Gold soap. I was preparing caviar. I've worked anywhere and everywhere. Five bucks for a butterfly?
Oh, come on, what bucks... and I don't need trappers. Not worth the butterflies...
the" Crunch " of the windshield. It turns from my side into a mirror "web". Caught a rock from an oncoming car. The glass is broken. You're about to fall out...
" What should I do?
Vassily frowns as he smokes on the street.
I advise you to seal it with tape. Which it doesn't have. I pull out my own. We seal the glass.
Let's move on.

"Don't be afraid of predators," he tells me in a friendly tone. – You're going to their neighborhood. They can kill you for a can of stew...
He says that gold is mostly washed by former convicts. With trunks all. They can take you for a colleague and kill you to rob you. If you are full.
I've heard similar stories before. Used to. But I didn't know that Suntar Hayata was "their district"...
"There's gold in every stream," Vasily continued. "Don't be lazy, my friend.
And he offered me "after the boogers" to go with him on a free trade! To these or other local mountains. Together is more of an "exit". One washes the rock in the tray, the other looks for grains. And vice versa.
Then one of them hits the other on the head with a rock… We know these stories. We don't need "predatory" gold. I politely decline.



Hooray. Arrived. Starting point of the walking route. 70 kilometers from Kyubume. Night. Silence. Vasily smokes for five minutes at the highway. He shakes my hand. Gives me a phone number if I suddenly accept his offer… He's leaving.
Now I'm one on one with the wild. For every 20 square kilometers – a bear. Every 10 – a wolf. Every five – an armed even… Matvey, of course, joked that they were shooting tourists. But they drink, according to the stories, godlessly. And like any drunk person, they can… There are many Even camps in this valley.
I leave the road to the larch mar of the river valley. There are low mountains on both sides, but they will "grow" further. Then the scree will begin. Where are the butterflies I'm interested in…

I walk, drowning in the" cotton wool " of the yagel along the larch woodlands, in absolute silence, where even my own footsteps are not heard. After half a kilometer – a bonfire place. There are hewn trunks, large sooty stones… And two cardboard boxes of empty vodka bottles.
The Evens?
Sleeps uneasily. Always, when you sleep alone in Yakutia in a tent, it seems that someone is walking around. I go outside and look at the gloomy forest and the zigzags of snowfields. White night, visible for kilometers. No bird, no mosquito, just a faint river in the distance.
It's frozen. I light a fire. I'm warming up. Making "midnight" tea…
I take a little alcohol diluted with water. A valuable product on an expedition, and no matter how heavy the backpack is, I always take at least 200 grams with me. It will warm you up and raise your mood. News from the holiday world that I will someday return to…

And in the morning, after breakfast, I walk on. Fragile, after freezing, fields of yagel. Still the same sparse woodland, here and there with piles of stones.
Mountain slopes. Dry and not quite swamps. River valleys. Kurumniki.
After a few hours, I make a big stop. I'm making lunch. I catch butterflies "briefly".
Beautiful mountains spread out before me.
The world belongs to me.
I will be here for 21 days.
Then I'll be back on the track.

Then we'll be on our way home.



This post was edited by Wild Yuri - 08.12.2012 23: 01

Wild Yuri, very good story, I liked it!

I looked at this area in Google-erze-a continuous alternation of hills, mountains and valleys. A huge space that sleeps almost all year round. The rhythm of life here is on the one hand slow, on the other frenzied - in the warm season of animals and plants, you need to have time to do everything in a couple of months.
Oh, I would like to push this territory yes to 45 degrees to the equator!!! How changes would have occurred there, and probably in a short time, it would have been an explosion of life

By the way, how real are my stories? This should have been mentioned a long time ago. Among them there are absolutely real, to the nuances, and bikes. Real ones: the story "White Moth", yesterday's essay "Kolyma Hitchhiker's Guide" and most other works. "Polygon and Apollo" can be attributed to bikes. The plot is "assembled" from two trips to the place. The plane was probably not a SU-28,but a different model. I wasn't whispering: "Let there be war zones..." But this section is also called "Tales". Don't blame me. In the story about catching butterflies in the cemetery (see above on other pages), people did not run away. After the assistant shouted "I caught a bear!", they only turned their heads in surprise in his direction. In another episode, my grandmother did not say to me: "Blasphemer!" when I ran among the graves with a net. She just scowled at me. I do often catch butterflies in Kolyma and Yakutia cemeteries. There are a lot of them. And it is convenient to catch on the tracks. But some details, I confess, have been changed. Returning to the essay "Kolyma hitchhiking", I want to note that sometimes there are very vivid and "plot" expeditions. Literally a movie. Just like the story described. Other times, everything is " calm and boring." I don't describe such trips. And I get the impression that everything is all "rave and blockbuster". Only a third of the expeditions give a chance for some kind of artistic descriptions. Which I also don't always use. This is the afterword. I hope to write something more in the near future. Thanks!

Wild Yuri, your story "Kolyma hitchhiking" - in my personal opinion, much better than all the bikes! In my opinion, the bikes are not very good for you)

In 2011, Medynsky district, Kaluga region, July, during the ban on visiting the forest.They put up a screen near the road, at the exit, because everything was wet after the rain.We catch, I, my spouse and child.There are chairs, lamps are lit-in general-krasotishschcha, UAZ-loaf drives up, 2 huntsmen fall out, not at all sober,looked at the design and asked-what are you doing here?"do you fish?"??I, like a normal person, not drunk exactly, could not immediately answer their question,after some time they looked around and began to ask other, simpler questions, my wife almost died laughing, watching this circus from the side!

Today. I decided to spread the South American nutcrackers. Big ones like that, noble ones. Soaked in advance. Everything is perfect, the dies are ready, the glue and tools are looking forward to getting started. Great mood, everything contributes to a good result. I think it will take at least an hour to complete. I'm going for a smoke." Half a day did not go with this repair. I have a small child. Very active. I decided to put the beetles away somewhere. You never know, well, throw a ball or something... We need to figure out where to put it. My wife is in the kitchen (I immediately dismissed this option). One room is renovated, the rest of the rooms and the corridor are dominated by small ones. There is nothing left, either a toilet or a bathroom. The latter option seemed more reliable to me. Well, what can happen there in 5 minutes? Solved, the beetles are neatly laid out on the washing machine. I happily went to smoke.
I was gone for a maximum of 10 minutes. While going back and forth, I took another sip of tea. I go into the bathroom. There are no beetles! You should have seen my face. I ask my wife:
"Were you in the bathroom?" Where are the beetles, .. me?
Almost had a fight. I'm furious... I find out that no one went there in my absence. What the fuck? I've turned everything upside down. No more of my nutcrackers!
Two hours passed. The child was put to bed, we sit sulky with my wife in the kitchen, talking about barabashki and other evil spirits. Somewhere in the hallway, a cat is vomiting. His coat is long, it happens periodically, we are used to it. It's my turn to clean up after him. And what do I see? The remains of my precious ones are crawling out of the poor guy. What a parasite! I ate six nutcrackers! I should have kicked his ass for that, but I felt sorry for him. Well, it's got him! I've never shown any interest in beetles. We don't seem to be feeding him badly, and he never opened the door himself. They surrendered to him...
So, don't believe in barabashek, don't fight with your wives, love your pets and quit smoking. Let there be more joyful moments in our lives, so that our collections are replenished and remain safe and sound!

I'm so sorry for your loss. I remembered on this occasion one unpleasant moment from my practice....

All summer I spent with my grandmother in the village, behind the house there was a meadow and a ravine that turned into a magnificent oak forest in the south of the Tambov region. Half an hour through the forest and in front of you a crystal full of fish river Crow. Everything attracted and beckoned, but...my grandmother would not let us (my cousin and I) go far from the yard and watched our movements with fanaticism.
True freedom began in August, when my father came on vacation and we spent all day on the river, fishing and swimming.
N. N. Plavilshchikov's book "Entertaining Entomology" was thoroughly read and memorized. Most of all, I was confused by the fact that among the ribbons the most common one is red. By that time I had blue and yellow ("rarer"), but I had never seen red - "the most common"!
One morning my father and I were late for the morning dawn and on the way to the river it was already quite light. All of a sudden..a large butterfly flew down from a tree near the path! There was no doubt about it-it was HER!!! "RED RIBBON GIRL!!!! I don't have a net with me! What to do!? I took off my T-shirt, Dad's cap, and it started.... For about an hour we chased the poor butterfly from tree to tree and finally caught it!!! Here it is! The butterfly of my dreams! I made an envelope. I put it down.
Let's go on a fishing trip. Oddly enough, but despite the fact that we arrived quite late, the bite was excellent. At lunch, with the catch, we went home.
The day was very hot and the butterfly managed to dry out in the envelope, but it doesn't matter, because I know how to soak it. I took a bowl, poured wet sand, covered it with glass-we are waiting for a day...
I forgot to tell you....The worst thing about our summer vacation was when our mothers came to visit my grandmother! The celebration of life and permissiveness ended abruptly and was replaced by total diligence and cleanliness. Here you can't run into a house knee-deep in black soil from the nearest puddle waving a super-floater, and I don't say anything about copra at all
So it happened this summer. My mom scrubbed the house down to a sterile operating room.
Without breaking the new order, I took a bowl, poured wet sand, covered it with glass, put the butterfly in it and put it away from the "all-seeing and all-cleaning eye".
.. that's why it's all-seeing
when I caught myself...there was no bowl or butterfly, the whole structure was sent to a garbage pit, as a potential source of pollution, and this is in a village hut where a newborn calf is kept in winter, sheep are kept in the hall in the cold, and I just don't say anything about firewood...
Well, I will not swear at my mother, especially since I know that my father will explain the value and inviolability of my treasures.
I just went to the forest for two days
I was 9 years old, but I still remember my first Catocala nupta

See what people do ...

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In 1985, in the Pamirs (Jilandy district), I caught P. charltonius vaporosus en masse in this area. Here I saw these structures made of stones, but still did not know their purpose. The first impression was that they marked the area where Charltons flew en masse - there were no butterflies outside of them or they flew only occasionally.

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In 1985, in the Pamirs (Jilandy district), I caught P. charltonius vaporosus en masse in this area. Here I saw these structures made of stones, but still did not know their purpose. The first impression was that they marked the area where Charltons flew en masse - there were no butterflies outside of them or they flew only occasionally.

I've seen a lot of such things in the mountains, including in the Pamirs, apparently the locals just have fun like mountain climbers hang out the flag.