Holder Volcano

Member of the Uzbek Union of Writers

The execution in the electric chair

(The story)

Saidvakkas is about twenty-five years old, of medium height, with large cow eyes, a hunched nose, and black eyebrows and hair like oil. He works as an electrician in the local power grid and is madly in love with his profession. He's over there every day - then he fixes it by climbing high poles on his electrician's claws. He works in an orange protective helmet, leaning slightly away, holding the chain around the post in a stretch, and humming a cheerful song to himself. Over the post where Saidvakkas works,  huge clouds float like giant airships, and nearby on the spring slender poplars, chickadee sing, singing a trill, like: -Chicka- dee-dee-dee-dee-dee-dee! The best and most interesting  thing  for Saidvakkas is that he can see everything from a height, as in the palm of his hand, houses, courtyards, trees, streets of an urban-type settlement, distant country roads, pathways, meadows and cows, cotton fields and behind the fields high mountain slopes and snow peaks. Usually people hardly pay attention to it. But when the electric wires are cut off in a winter snowstorm or a Blizzard and the lights are turned off, Saidvakkas instantly becomes the most important, dear and close to the heart of the towns people, as an irreplaceable eternal President of the country, as a heroic person. Oh, how happy the residents of the urban-type settlement will be when Saidvakkas fixes and fixes the problem! Old and young, even children at the top of their voices, will shout in chorus: - Hurraaay!. Hearing this for the first time, a person may even think, that angry people finally rose up against a vile tyrant and a bloody dictator to make a revolution. After the light turns on, everyone will immediately forget about Saidvakkas, and he in turn, treating this with understanding,  not offended by them. Often, the electricity is cut off, the lights are turned off and the urban-type settlement is plunged into pitch darkness. Especially in winter, when old electric kiosks explode, people live without electricity for weeks, sometimes even months, drowning their shacks and huts with dung in an antediluvian way, eating and reading in the light of kerosene lamps,  in frosty silence. On days like this, when children are doing their homework by candlelight, the angry people will sing a chorus of curses at the electricians and all civil servants who are thus oppressing  their own people who voted for them in the election, trusting them with their fate, when they promised that there would be no problems with electricity and gas if the people voted for them.

Such thoughts Sadvakkas worked on the pole, and then rang his mobile phone.

Saidvakkas pulled out his cell phone, turned it on.

-Hello! Go ahead speak, I hear you! - said Saidvakkas .

Then the man began to speak in a rustling voice: - Hello! Is this electrician Saidvakkas?! Well Hello there, man. In short I know you but you don't know me. Well, Listen to me carefully and do not interrupt, do not ask who I am, where I come from, if of course you value your life!.. Your life hangs on a tightrope over a bottomless pit and you have very little time. They want to arrest you today.The authorities have put you on an international wanted list. So run and don't look back. That's it, I can't talk anymore. It's dangerous for me. The situation is extremely serious. After our conversation, you must break your mobile phone with a rock and try not to talk to anyone on the phone. sincerely, your secret friend -said an anonymous.

The person who called was silent.

- Hello!Who are you? Why are you silent? Speak up, I'm listening carefully! Hello!.. - said surprised Saidvakkas.

- What are you talking about, I was just joking that the company had fun and talked about some of our officials in the highest Government of the authorities, who steal people's money and send them to foreign banks through zones, in the form of gold and diamonds in place in order to improve gas supply in the country and to upgrade the ageing transmission system. I did not say a word about the authorities that sell natural gas, oil and other minerals almost for free to other countries. And our poor people are drowning their huts, shacks and concrete apartments the antediluvian way in the harsh winter.That is, coal, wood or dung. Especially in winter, in the absence of electricity and gas, the population of our country suffers from the cold. Especially children. They do their homework at the light of a kerosene lamp in cold a house in the siege of Leningrad in the forties of the 20th century. When for the money stolen by some state officials of our independent country, you can easily build powerful ultra-modern power plants, hundreds of giant plants and factories, where our patrons are suffering from total unemployment even though they could work. They wouldn't travel the world looking for work and becoming slaves. If they had a normal job at home, our young fellow citizens would not have turned into marauders, in the hot spots of the planet, where they blow up and destroy beautiful cities, turning them into ruins, killing each other and innocent people, especially the homeless children....


-Hello! Hello, can you hear me?! - said Saidvakkas . But he heard short beeps from the phone , similar to the beeps of the ventilator of the lungs of a patient, who died. That is, the connection was broken.


Saidvakkas frightend, looked around and quickly went downstairs and went to the side of the block where he lives with his mother. On the way, all the people began to look for undercover policemen in civilian clothing. Before he went to his apartment, he again looked around and going inside, closed the door of his apartment. Seeing his pale face and anxious eyes, his mother became concerned.


-What's wrong, son? - she asked.


- It's okay.Only, you know... there is such a thing... well, how do you explain it? More shortly... he said barely hearing the thud of boots outside the door, the fear stopped. Then, approaching the door on tiptoe, he looked through the peephole and saw the people standing there. Saidvakkas immediately recognized one of them . It was the local policeman Lieutenant Carbabaev, who began to knock at the door.


-Who's there? Open the door - said Saidvakkas's mom.


Saidvakkas putting his index finger on his mouth and said in a whisper: - Shh, Mom, there is the Lieutenant Carbabaev with his squad. They want to arrest me. Don't worry, mom, it's gonna be okay. I'm going out the window right now and tell them you didn't see me. Take care of yourself, mom. I love you - said Saidvakkas, hugging his mom and saying goodbye to her. From these words Saidvakkas's mother almost fainted.


Saidvakkas opening the window, jumped on the booming tin of the roof of a nearby house and ran as a stuntman who performs dangerous and difficult stunts, replacing the actor on the set. After him, said the local policeman Lieutenant Carbabaev, people engaged in catching stray dogs. Downstairs they gathered the people and began to observe what is happening, they sheilded their eyes from the Sun rays . They thought that in their hometown was a shoot action-Packed exciting feature film. Saidvakkas recklessly ran across the tin roofs. He ran and thought that in this world he ran everything as a hampster in a cage which is turning a wheel. People run because they are chased by the merciless grim Reaper. And people twist their wheels, big and small, gold, iron, wood and clay, quietly turning gray and aging at the same time. Who's got the legs for untold wealth. Even those who have paralyzed legs, too, running for their pension, that move with the help of crutches, who is in a wheelchair with the wheels of a bike. And the Earth, Is spinning like a mysterious wheel of the universe so great that no one can stop it. And the blue sky was too similar to an hourglass, where seconds, minutes, hours, days, weeks, months, years, and centuries are flowing from above like the Sands of the torn bag like heaven in the hourglass of eternity... Such thoughts Saidvakkas ran on, leaping from roof to roof, like a flying squirrel in the forest as suspense in a jungle.


- Saidvakkas ! Wait! Stop! Otherwise I will be forced to open fire with my service weapon! - shouted the Lieutenant Carbabaev.


Saidvakkas did not obey him. On the contrary he started to run even faster. He jumped from roof to roof like a monkey in the jungle, like a flying squirrel from tree to tree and ran recklessly. Lieutenant Carbabaev and the hunters of street dogs ran with nets in their hand, deftly leaping from rooftop to rooftop, never losing sight of Carbabaev. At the bottom of all this with admiration he watched the crowd of onlookers, as tourists at the Canadian Niagara falls . Then disaster struck and Saidvakkas fell into a old deep ventilation shaft . As he fell crashing down, he heard shouting in the dark. Someone coughed and sneezed in the soot and dust. On the roof all the people still stomping their boots .

-Oh, my! He's gone! As if the landing failed! Oh Satan!, where has he gone?! I really missed the bastard. - said the Lieutenant Carbabaev and said: Well, we'll do a stakeout on his apartment and he won't escape us! After these words, stamping the echoing roof detachment Lieutenant Carbabaev began to leave. When they left, in a dark ventilation shaft, someone lit a match and Saidvakkas saw a man of about thirty-five or forty. He lit a candle. Saidvakkas immediately asked for forgiveness from the owner for jumping into the housing.


- Dont worry about it, its okay- said man and continued.


- I am a lone writer and poet my name is Dahabebaho - he explained.


- I'm glad to meet you Mr. poet Dahobebaho. Call me Saidvakkas. I have a special secondary education. Before that, I worked as a electrician.

- Well, then we're almost colleagues. As you electricians are covering people's houses and roads and we poets illuminated the human soul like a weary street lights in the quiet dawn - said the poet Dahobebaho . Then he read his new poem.

Listening to the verses of Dahobebaho, Saidvakkas took a deep breath.


- Oh, such a great poet lives in an unlit ventilation shaft! What an injustice, my Lord! How do you even live in a hole like this covered in cobwebs? Such poets as you have to live in mansions, where the moon peaks through the window . Where, outside the window are rings of white-trunked poplars in the wind, and the fall of the maples drop their leaves in silence as tears. In the winter twilight poets have to sit silently next to a large window, especially turning off the lights and gaze for hours on snowy snowstorm, listening to the howling of wolves - he said.


-No, Mr. Saidvakkas , on the contrary I am glad that I live in the ventilation shaft. It's much better than living in luxurious mansions. Here reigns peace and quiet. No one's bothering me here. I'm not running, I'm not in a hurry, I'm not late. Im doing what I like - said the great poet Dahobebaho.


Saidvakkas paused for a moment, looking at the hands of the poet covered with tattoos. Then asked:


- I apologize, Mr. poet, it is clear that you have been in prison for many years. What for?


-No, Mr. Saidvakkas , I wasn't in prison -said the poet Dahobebaho.


- Then why are your hands covered with tattoos? - said Saidvakkas .


-Aaa - said Dahobebaho. Then went on to explain:


-I have not only my hands, almost all my body is covered with tattoos, where the text of my poems is written in small print, which can be read only with a magnifying glass. I wrote them on my body with ink and a needle so my poems wouldn't get lost. In short, I live the manuscript of poems. That's the way I will save money to buy new shoes, but I still can not. I walk, as you can see, in these old footsteps, wrapped in my footcloths. It's like gold for the rich to me. I rarely would like to share with paper he said - then he continued,


-Mr. Saidvakkas , I'm glad you came. Although you came into my miserable home without warning, but God sent you to me as a guest, you should be able to treat the poet more than that - said Dahobebaho.


- Well, I'm ready to take treats, Mr. poet. I know you want to punch me in the face for the fact that I bothered you with my stupid visit - smiled Saidvakkas .


- No, really I dont want to punch you in the face, you truly are an expensive guest. I do have some treats for you. There's got to be a piece of dried bread around here somewhere .I didn't eat it, even when I was facing starvation. I saved it for random guests. Where is it?.. With these words, the poet Dahabebaho began frantically fumbling in his old and tattered bag, made of fox leather.


- Don't worry, Mr. poet I'm full- said Saidvakkas .


-Yeah? - said Dahobebaho, and made a sad sigh. Then he got very excited, feeling his torn jacket and pulling out the inner pocket of the pouch.


- Here, I have an excellent shag, made by me from the fallen crimson leaves of autumn maple, which sadly drops in deserted autumn parks and alleys in the misty silence. That is, I will treat you with sacred smoke -he said, hastily unleashing a ribbon from his pouch with his hands shaking with excitement.


-Mr. poet Dahobebaho, don't. I'm not Smoking or drinking.That is, I lead a healthy lifestyle. with sports - said Saidvakkas .


-Don't be afraid, Mr. Saidvakkas. The tobacco heals - explained the poet Dahobebaho , stuffing his pipe with tobacco,on the thin mouthpiece, specially made of reeds. Then, lighting his pipe, took a few puffs and handed it to Saidvakkas.


Saidvakkas picked up the pipe and also made a puff. Then the toxic smoke entered his lungs and he began coughing heavily, sticking out his tongue like a sick old sheep, gasping for breath. Dahabebaho began to laugh. He barely was able to breathe due to him constantly laughing and said: -You cough as quail, who sings in the predawn darkness of the clover field. The quail was also coughing, the quail's throat was frozen when it drank the cold dew.


- Hmmm,the tabacco that you made with fallen maple leaves which you picked up from the foggy autumn park - said Saidvakkas smiling - just recovering.


Dahabebaho asked him about why Lieutenant Carbabaev and his team following him.


Saidvakkas told in detail the reason for the prosecution to Dahabebaho. Then, lighting a pipe he stuffed it with healing tabacco, made of fallen crimson leaves of the autumn maple, he began to speak.


-Yes, Mr Saidvakkas like you - a rarity not only in our society but on the planet.Not everyone is given the courage to tell the truth about the hard life of people, risking their own lives. I envy you in white in this regard, honestly.And I live here, hiding from the stupid crowd like an eagle nesting on a high rock. Since this property has no Windows, every day I go up to the roof through a compact folding staircase to meet the dawn and sunset, sitting on a tin roof and write new poems. At night I admire the starry sky and the shining moon in silence. I especially love to look at the dawn from the roof down, watching the movement of the crowd, hurrying to work or somewhere else.The flow of crowds moving along the sidewalk as the caravan of ants and headed toward the subway. Hurrying the people obedient to remind me of grains of sand, which the winds easily control and direct them wherever it wants...


Then suddenly someone began to shout at the top:


-Oh, crap, he is here, in the ventilation pipe. Talking to his accomplice!Hurry up, comrade Carbabaev! - he shouted.


And again there came the sound of tarpaulin boots echoing on the tin roof. Saidvakkas and the poet Dahabebaho with horror, stared upward, as prisoners in the deepest dungeon of the ancient Bukhara.


They are terribly scared seeing the angry policeman Lieutenant Carbabaev, which looked at the ventilation shaft, as in the well with a service weapon in hand.


-Come on, hands up, bastards! No one can escape from us! Now Saidvakkas, and your accomplice too!.. Hey, you bring the rope quickly. Let them rise voluntarily, unless of course they still want to live in this world! -he shouted, raising his cap slightly with the barrel of a silenced pistol.


Hearing this Carbabaev's heart sank. He and the poet Dahabebaho stood with their hands raised as a warrior captured in war.


-Wait, Lieutenant Carbabaev! I've got tranquilizer Darts! He just ran to the dog hunter, who is engaged in catching of stray dogs, and pulling a brass tube from his pocket began to throw his Darts at Saidvakkas and his friend.But he couldn't get in.Then the Lieutenant Carbabaev lost patience and abruptly pushed him away.


-Oh, you poor dog hunter! Who shoots like that! Move, stupid! I'll do without your poor services, without the rope! I've got a smoke bomb that'll make them go upstairs! - he said, lighting a smoke bomb, and threw it into the windpipe, which resembled an old dried-up well.


At this time, the Lieutenant Carbabaev pushed the dog hunter who rolled on the tin roof and barely stopped at the edge.


-Don't be afraid, Mr. Saidvakkas , without panic. There is a back door in the air duct - the poet Dahobebaho said in a whisper coughing the smoke. After that, pulling out the old mattress, they opened the doorway and dived there.


Saidvakkas with the poet Dahabebaho out of the doorway and ran, not looking back on the sidewalk, knocking passers-by, in order to get away. Lieutenant Carbabaev and his partner the dog hunter. They were still above the ventilation pipe, hoping to catch the two fugitives, that is from the pit of the ventilation pipe, filled with a caustic smoke. And runaways-adherents ran on the sidewalk with all their might, overtaking each other as participants of the Olympic games on a treadmill. When they started to cross the street, as if changing direction on the run, Saidvakkas almost got hit by a truck.The driver of the truck, sharply twisted the steering wheel to the right and in a panic pressed the brakes. As a result the truck sharply left on a roadside and with a roar crashed into a column. From a powerful blow a wooden pole broke like a mast of an ancient pirate ship in the stormy sea.There were heart-rending cries of women, like whistling, swearing and screaming, like an alarm. Fortunately, there were no casualties. The friends fled until, they began to suffocate. Saidvakkas suddenly got a unique idea and he forced one man's bike with biker handlebars.


-Mr. poet Dahabebaho! Jump quickly to the back of the 2 wheeled wagon of Satan! - he shouted.


The poet Dahabebaho jumped on the back of a stolen bike .He deftly sat on Satan's wagon, go prompt the Indians on the horse and together they raced down the sidewalk, screaming: -everyone this satans's wagon does not have working brakes!

Passers-by leaned against the walls of houses and showcases of restaurants and cafes, freeing them from the sidewalk.There was trouble. That is Carbabaev's pant leg caught in the chain and the fugitives, losing balance fell to the pavement. To get rid of the two-wheeled trap, from satan's wagon, Saidvakkas had to say goodbye to the Trouser leg of his trousers. After that, they started running on the crowded sidewalk again.


There were screams.:


-Lieutenant Carbabaev! Here they are! Shoot! We'll miss them again! - the driver of a pickup truck shouted, densely approaching the populous sidewalk.


- No, it's crowded here! I'm going to miss and shoot innocent passers-by! You are a dog hunter, go ahead and shoot poisonous darts for fugitives from this stupid brass tube! -shouted the Lieutenant Carbabaev.


-Well, comrade Carbabaev! - said the dog hunter, and he grabbed the brass tube from his pocket, began to shoot Darts, taking aim at the neck of the fugitives. But he missed and immediately a couple innocent citizens fell, clutching their neck.


- Fool! Be careful, stinky dog hunter! - Lieutenant Carbabaev reproached the hunter of stray dogs , slightly raising the visor of his cap with the barrel of a service weapon.By this time the fugitives sharply changing their directions, dived into a narrow alley, where the car would not fit.


After this detachment of Lieutenant Carbabaev began to pursue the fugitives on foot. The persecuted ran towards the railway station. Saidvakkas started howled like a werewolf under the full moon from the unbearable pain, he started limping, clutching his leg. It turns out he stepped on a rusty nail that pierced through his leg.He could no longer walk, and fell to the ground like a bag of soil.

The great poet Dahabebaho had to go back to help his faithful friend in the difficult moments.


- What's wrong? - he asked, running and breathing heavily.


- Aaaahh!..A nail pierced through my leg! - said Saidvakkas .

His face twisted into a grimace of pain.


-Be patient, mister electrician Saidvakkas .Get up.

Let me help you with that. It's dangerous for both of us to stay here. After the squad Lieutenant Carbabaev, you understand? - said the great poet Dahabebaho, trying to help lift up his fugitive friend.


- No, don't help me. I like something better of myself... You run, I got your back.While I'll hold them off, you will have time to escape, blending into the crowd in the station of the flea market. I'm sure. Goodbye, my friend Dahabebaho! You have no right not to be saved, run for God's sake, for the sake of our long-suffering literature, for the sake of our oppressed people! said Saidvakkas , groaning from the unbearable pain.

After that Dahabebaho there was nothing for it but to run on.

-Goodbye, Mr. Saidvakkas ! Thank you for helping me, staying in trouble and sacrificing yourself for our friendship! - cried the poet Dahabebaho. His eyes glistened with tears. Saying goodbye to his friend he ran on.When he disappeared from sight, there was a detachment of Lieutenant Carbabaev and caught the fugitive electrician. Lieutenant Carbabaev sitting on the back of Saidvakkas, put lowcost handcuffs on his hands.


- Well, got the stinky electrician, evil enemy of our suffering people?! We will catch your crazy rich friend poet living in a luxury ventilation pipe!


- Ah stop... come on, chief, that hurts! Don't put pressure on my leg, which was pierced through by a rusty nail! - said Saidvakkas , lounging on the ground.


After that, he was taken to the basement of the detention center for questioning.


The investigation lasted long. The criminal case consisted of several volumes. Finally, the trial took place and the jury handed down an indictment. After all this, the Prosecutor asked the court to sentence Saidvakkas to death.


- The court having consulted on a place, decided! Since our convict Saidvakkas worked at the will of the electrician, he will be executed in the electric chair! - the judge said.

Then ordered:


- Rise, condemned!

Saidvakkas stood up.

- Do you understand me?! - the judge asked.


Saidvakkas replied: -Yes, your honor.


-Sit down! - ordered the judge.

Saidvakkas sat down on the defendant bench.


- At this court session is declared closed! - the judge said, tapping with a wooden hammer.


Saidvakkas never thought that he would ever commit such a heinous crime and will be executed in the electric chair. Oh, how his mother in court, was crying! The worst thing happened before the execution. When he heard the barking of angry dogs and keys rattled the iron door, Saidvakkas thought with horror that the executioners coming from the dark corridor to take him to the room for the execution. But it was not .The lawyer came with the muslim priest. Beardless young priest with a black velvet skullcap on his head with a sacred book in his hands.


-Electrician Saidvakkas , so you are going to the afterlife, I came to read your memorial by Sharia law - said the beardless priest with a velvet black skullcap.

Saidvakkas was silent, looking at the priest indifferent gaze as a crazy person.


-I also came to say goodbye to you, my dear client Saidvakkas. I apologize that I couldn't protect you from a death sentence-the lawyer told and bitterly began to cry.


After this they brought Saidvakkas his last meal.


- This is your last meal. Excellent plov, cooked with very delicious sheep kabbob. Eat. If you want to drink vodka or wine lastly, tell me do not be shy-said one of them and uncorked a bottle of wine, gently pulling the tube with the help of a corkscrew.


-No, thank you. I don't want to eat or drink, how could I have anything at such a time, what's wrong with you? - said Saidvakkas .


-Well, well.If you don't want to drink, we will toast to you, that is, the sight of your soul -the other said and they drank in silence, clinking glasses, and ate.Then they took Saidvakkas , dragging him along a narrow, poorly, conferences hall. Before putting him on the electric chair, the Barber shaved his hair with a razor in the top of his head, wet his head with a wet rag so that his skull effectively passed the high voltage electric current. Then put him in the electric chair, the executioners tied the hands and feet with belts, blindfolded his eyes, with a dark blindfold, so his eyes don't pop out during the execution.


After the judge read the verdict , Saidvakkas with a rag in his mouth thinking about that here is the main executioner nodding to his assistant and he pulls the switch and scary sitebest electrical discharges like lightning in the black sky, throwing sparks and he's done.


Finally it was the time of the execution and the assistant chief executioner solemnly pulled lever. Those present in the hall covered their face with their hands, with magazines, who else than that, not to see the terrible event. But just at this time the power went out throughout the district, thereby saving Saidvakkas from apparent death.

Saidvakkas woke up in a cold sweat and saw his mother, who stood with a candle in her hand.


- Oh, mom, why are you holding a burning candle? - he asked with fright, thinking that he really died after the execution and is already in the dark world.


-What is it, my lamb, I think you are sick? What to do if power each day turns the light off, under the pretext economic electricity? Turned on the TV to watch movies and again turned off the light - electrician Saidvakkas's mom said .


- Oh, thank God, mother, thank God, that all this was not in reality! - said Saidvakkas hugging his mother.

-What happend to you, my son, did you have a nightmare? - asked the Saidvakkas's mother.

-Yes, mother, in the dream I was executed in the electric chair! Good thing the lights went out during the execution! Oh, how good it is to live without electricity!Look, mom, how the moon looks in our open window!As the distant twinkle of countless stars! Do you hear the frog choir whispering?How they croak! croak!croak!croak!! And how selflessly crickets sing! - said Saidvakkas , looking in through the open window, which gently fluttered the net curtains.


- Yes, son. Frogs are humpbacked, bug-eyed, ugly, in a word. And how they sing under the bright shining moon, in silence! - said the delighted mother of Saidvakkas.


Mother and son wondered, silently glaring through open window on moon and on distant the blue stars.





9:46 in the morning.

Canada, Ontario.


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132221451_gorod_Brempton (202x216, 31Kb)

Holder Volcano

Member of the Uzbek Union of Writers

The eighteenth letter of Mizhappar



(In loving memory of the great humorist of Uzbekistan Hadjibay Tadjibayev)


Let this letter, which I am writing on a stray dog skin which we slaughtered with a knife and ate with vodka, fly on the autumn wind, fly strictly to the West, where Mr. Sitmrat lives , there, where he often sits drinking whisky or tequila with some ice looking through the window, at the late tired midnight buses, with only a few people still waiting in the bus stops.
Hello, Mr. Sitmrat!
Yesterday Qurumboy called an extraordinary Congress of our party, climbed onto the roof of the pigsty. I ran to where the Convention was supposed to be. When I arrived, Qurumboy rejoiced and uttered this speech:
- Well, the member of the collective farm Mr. Mizhappar is here too. Now we have a quorum, and we can start congress, according to the point of the Charter of our party about holding congresses! So, comrades, if we really want to come to power, we must strengthen political propaganda among the population as never before! On this I declare Congress closed! Members of our party, members and guests of the Congress of our party immediately Yoldashvoy harnessed to a cart! Then he added - do you Hear the trumpet calling?
- Yes! - we answered.
- Then let's go! - shouted  Qurumboy.
We put the clamp on Yoldashvoy, and Qurumboy sat on the cart. We sat down too. We drove on the street, admiring the scenery and sometimes greeting passers-by. The soul sings. I love the road by nature. All around, the trees drop their yellow and crimson leaves. Behind the bare branches of the trees you can see the huts of farmers, with crooked chimneys. Qurumboy humed a melody, good mood from him. Mamadiyar sang some old song.

The cart rattled along, and suddenly it got stuck. Yoldashvoy tensed, trying to pull it out of the mud, but couldn't. Then Qurumboy went to help him, that is, began to beat him over the head with a long whip. Which tore Yoldashvoy's hat, made of dog skin. His pea-jacket was torn, too. Qurumboy mercilessly beat him constantly shouting:
- Get up, don't pretend, you sly quitter! Damned parasite!
Yoldashvoy struggled trying to pull the cart, but it didn't work. The poor man pulled the cart, wrapping the bridle around himself like a fly caught in a spider's web, injuring his shoulders, cutting his neck with swollen arteries. Then from fatigue and impotence he lay down in the mud. His face and clothes were filthy. We had to get off the cart to help Yoldashvoy. Mamadiyar and I pushed the cart from behind, leaning on it with our shoulders. Finally we pulled it out of the mud, and Yoldashvoy ran, dragging the cart along a paved road. We caught up with him and got back on the cart. We went, we waved our hands to children and old men who stood on a roadside watching us with a surprised look. We drove at high speed until our vehicle hit a man. This man was a drunk named Khurram, who was lying on the road tipsy. When we hit it, our cart went up and down again. Well, that local drunk Khurram not died. He got up from his seat and, throwing clods of dirt at us, began to scold us with all his might. Yoldashvoy added speed, but since we did not have a speedometer, we didn't know what speed he was driving at the moment. There were no drunks on the horizon but us. We ride on a high-speed creaking cart, plowing the air. The speed was too great, and suddenly there was an emergency. Our high-speed cart suddenly and unsightly tilted to one side, and one of its wheels fell off. Now the cart stopped listening to Qurumboy, and our uncontrolled carriage went off the road. Dragging Yoldashvoy, it rolled towards a small poultry farm of a local farmer. We rode it and screamed in panic, uttering only one sound:
-A - a - a - a - a -a!  - we shouted.
When we tore down the net, the chickens, geese, ducks, turkeys, too, were frightened, flying noisily away like frightened birds in the night. I don't remember how our cart fell. When I came to my self, I was lying like a boxer in the ring who had been knocked out. My friends too. Qurumboy lying in a pool among the ducks and geese. Mamadiyar was found in a chicken coop, where a thin, tall farmer was standing.
- They're all here, I guess. Now the farmer in despair will take his double-barreled gun and, having loaded it, will shoot us like partridges without trial - I thought.
No, he did not take up the gun, on the contrary, began to help us, at the same time photographing us from all sides for memory. We thought at first that when the poor farmer has calculated the material and moral damage, he went to the roof. Because instead of crying, he was happy as a child and even expressed gratitude to us .
- What are you happy about, bourgeois?! -  asked by Qurumboy, stuffing in his pipe and lighting chicken manure.
- How not to rejoice, Mr. proletarian, after destroying part of my farm you helped me.
-You what, are you crazy? We've done you enormous damage, like hurricane Catherine on the Atlantic coast, you fool! Or do you want to put us on trial? Mind you, my bodyguard Mizhappar abroad there are friends of human rights defenders. They'll raise an international political scandal if you sue. They are even ready to make a revolution for us! - Qurumboy sternly warned the poultry farmer .
- Yes, mister Qurumboy! Why would I sue you when there's another way to get rich? Now, thanks to you, I can write off thousands of chickens, geese, ducks and turkeys, which were taken away by the tax authorities, the Bank employees who gave us a loan, the district Shgabuddinov, then other small officials! - the farmer said.
Then he invited us to a free Banquet to wash up the natural disaster on his farm. While we were drinking tea and eating delicious scrambled eggs, the farmer's wife made rotisserie from the chickens. The farmer ran to the store and we started drinking vodka. After the tenth bottle, Yuldashvoy turned crosseyed, finding it difficult to pronounce the consonant letters. He just smiled and said the vowel sounds. The farmer's wife was a talented woman. She gave an Amateur performance and sang a song about chickens, dancing.    
After the twelfth bottle, the farmer, too, became intoxicated and suddenly turned to God, lazily licking his lips and looking at the ceiling with squinting eyes:
- God, why are you torturing only me?! Is there no one else in the world but me?! Why don't you torture the tax men who skin the poor farmers?! Why do you not punish unjust prosecutors, parasite lawyers, policemen, scaring the people, put innocent, law-abiding citizens behind bars, take away the last penny from people?! Do you not see the pupils and students who, instead of studying, gather cotton on the cold plantations, when the governors beat the teachers and make the prosecutors and police officers kiss the shoes for failing to meet the norm of cotton collection?! Why do you not destroy the unjust leaders who illegally master the people's good, sucking the blood of the people from their arteries and veins like leeches! Now these slaves of yours, instead of asking for forgiveness, are threatened by human rights activists who live a luxurious life abroad, when here the people are starving to eat straw! Is that fair, Lord? Though I don't see your image, I still love you, Lord! Please, God, what have I done to you?! Tell me! Why are you silent?! After all, I participated in the liquidation of the Chernobyl Nuclear Power plant accident. I was hauling radioactive waste out of the sarcophagus in a wheelbarrow, God! - The farmer could not finish his plea, as at that moment the earthquake began. The farmer's hut began to rock and shake. The farmer's wife was the first to evacuate, screaming in fear. Then the farmer shot out into the yard. I don't even remember how or when I ran out of the cabin. I see my party friends standing next to me, pale as the moon, trembling with fear like the skeletons of a hanged man in the wind who has been gnawed by crows. Yoldashvoy too sober, as a good person. Then the ground rumbled under our feet, and we felt as if we were on a Volcano about to explode. Then there was another jolt, and the roof of the farmer's hut went down. It collapsed with a roar, kicking up dust, like a bomb test on the Atoll Moruroa. Hear Qurumboy calling me:
-Comrade Mizhappar, the revolution is in danger! I command you to help me move. You know, Mr. Sitmrat, I was doing Kung Fu, and the commander's order is law to me. I thought Qurumboy was wounded. No, it turns out he's pissed his pants. I'm sorry, but I just have to write about it for the story. Qurumboy had so much shit in pants looking like 1937 military "golife" pants that could not even move independently. Had to pull the dagger out of Qurumboy from the tops of his boots without soles and stick in the pants, which are full of (excuse me again) shit. Qurumboy's Pants  exploded and everything around was yellow. So much for political propaganda among the population! Thank God everyone was alive.

To the following letters, Mr. Sitmrat!
The soldier and member of collective farm, Mr. Mizhappar.


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Holder Volcano

Member of the Uzbek Union of Writers

Letters of Mizhappar

(The short novel)




(In loving memory of the great humorist of Uzbekistan Hadjibay Tadjibayev)



The first letter of Mizhappar



Let this letter that I write now, rushing like a storm, storming like a Typhoon, reach the hands of dear Mr. Sitmrat, whom lives in those countries where democracy flourishes like the Japanese Sakura in the spring. Let this letter be clear to him as the full moon in the deserted silence of the snow-covered field of the collective farm, where we plant cotton in the spring. Hello, Mr. Sitmrat, my name is Mizhappar. I'm a member of the collective farm. My fellow farmers work from early spring until late autumn, cooperating with the government to reach their goal, to exceed the annual plans for the collection of cotton, bravely defeating all the vagaries of harsh nature. Thank you very much, our wise President and the government, for making bread cheap. A man will not die if he does not eat meat. That is, anyone will do without meat. For us as long as bread is cheap along with water. Now, think for yourself, Mr. Sitmrat, if your clothing or boots tear, you can patch them up. But the stomach? What do you think, is it possible to sew up the stomach at least for a day and live without eating anything? It is not so. Here is recently, we were in search of bread with bags in armpits. And now, we thank again our wisest President and the government that there is bread, water and air.This is the most important thing. I am writing this historic letter and I think about those days when the first mandatory goods disappeared from the shop counters and I remember one funny story. The story is very funny and when I think about this case, I burst into laughter and can't stop. I can't stop even when I stare at my fingernails to stifle my laughter. Even now as I write this letter and cracked hand from my hands are shaking due to laughter. In short, in those grim days of my age, me and relative Qurumboy from the village "Lattakishlak" went to town in search of cotton oil. He was walking among the shops of the Bazaar when he saw a young man selling cotton oil. Qurumboy asked the price from this seller. The seller named the price. The price was reasonable and Qurumboy decided to buy, thinking "the Price is reasonable. I'll buy more. I will resell the excess to the neighbors in tridorogo ". While he thought, the seller asked him a delicate question, he said: - How many liters will you have, sir?
- Two... no, three pints please, ' said Qurumboy, pulling money out from his tarpaulin boots without soles. -Well, Mister - he said, and took one three-liter glass jar with a sealed lid. Then wiping it with a towel, gave it to Qurumboy. He paid and carefully placed the three-liter glass jar in the bag. When Qurumboy arrived home safe and sound, on a bus branded "Pazik" with a loaf of yellow bread, his mother was very happy. And, of course will be delighted. After all, they have not eaten hot food for 3 months in a row, and now this! The mother of Qurumboy even cried of joy. They then cleared the cabbage, corn, turnips, potatoes with surgical care put them into a kettle of vegetable oil, brought by Qurumboy. The well-oiled, clear oil lay in the bottom of the blackened kettle. Qurumboy began spreading the fire by adding dry dung. The fire burned quite a long time but, for some reason the oil was not warmed up. there was no smoke rising from it. Suddenly the heated oil began to boil. Seeing this, Qurumboy and his mother became surprised. It turns out that the seller was a liar, and he sold Qurumboy not cotton oil, but cold tea, which looked similar to oil.Then Qurumboy spent one week using the money on transportation, he went into town looking for the seller, a scoundrel on the market, but could not find him. Now, cotton oil, thanks to the government and our generous president, appeared on the shelves. Although, more expensive, but there it was. I don't understand people. Some complain all the time, because of the light turning, then about the shortage of gas for their furnace, then about drinking water. If it was my choice, I would have destroyed all those power lines, poles, in general electronics. It turns out this electric current is the most dangerous and harmful substance for human life. How many people died from the electric current in our village, when they picked an eletric breaker with a screwdriver in their hands, hoping to twist the meter, as to avoid paying for electricity. As the fire breaks out, with a green-red spark, the meter explodes in place with the host like a time bomb. Some of their houses were burned to the ground by a flash from power lines on their roofs into the attic, where dry hay that they were gathering for the cattle is ignited. It turns out, too, it's as flammable as gunpowder in a keg. It's better to live without electricity. In our village named after Chapaev every day, from evening  to morning  we should turn off the electricity. Naturally, I rejoice in this. My parents, my stepfather and stepmother are also happy. My stepfather to say, when the electricity is off I will not be watching TV and i'll fall asleep early. Yesterday I, was cleaning cows butts, suddenly, a chorus of villagers yelled  and I slightly had a heart attack. They loudly shouted: Uraaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!. I think, Mr. Sitmrat came on an armored personnel carrier with the oppisition starting the revolution. I went out Jogging on the street and see the villagers fleeing their homes, rustling their heavy coats and stomping with their tarpaulin boots without the soles.
- What are you saying, fellow villagers?! - I asked them.
- The lights on! - Thank you, our wise President and government! - they answered with a shout of joy. Through later hours, as they finished their food, they were waiting to watch television, the electricity had turned off.
Some citizens complain about the lack of gas. Well, what can you do, if these fools do not even know how dangerous this gas is. Last year in the winter the gas is nearly burned our house. In our village, people in order to take more gas, installed motors mounted into the furnace. And with the help of this mechanism, they extract the gas from the pipe, leaving small amounts of fuel to their neighbors. After consulting with my stepfather and stepmother, I also bought a motor of this kind and mounted it in the pipe of our furnace. As the motor began to work, immediately began to create blue flames in the furnace and it terribly buzzed like a ship sailing in the icy expanses of the Arctic ocean. The flame in the furnace fluttered like a flag on a flagpole and in a short time we became warm.  My stepfather and stepmother rejoice, praising me. When it became stuffy, I had to take off my coat and hat with earflaps and sit in my undershirt. Our home became like a Finnish sauna and I had sweat all over me. Even breathing became difficult from the unbearable heat. Suddenly, the motor mounted into the pipe of the furnace, giving the sound of bats, flying in different directions, then the motor exploded. It turns out the pressure on the gas pipeline rose sharply. I saw the flames have risen to a meter and a half, if not more, and our shack has turned into a stone cave of a fiery hell. My stepmother in hysterics shouted in a shrill voice like a whistle of an ancient factory, calling for the help of people. I'm shocked. I stand still. I see my stepfather is also snarling like a wild man at a waterfall.
-  Mizhappar! Look, my adopted son, the sheepskin is burning with the mattress by the furnace!Put it out, for God's sake! Oh, Lord! - he growled.
- I see, I see, stepfather! I will put the fire out!  I growled in reply, and began feverishly to trample on the flame, which was raging terribly near our furnace. I trampled the fire with my flat-footed feet, like the fins of scuba divers, and finally, I managed to successfully contain the fire. But, during the struggle with the fire, my pants burned up to my knees and they turned into shorts. I've been afraid of gas ever since. Our poverty saved us from destruction. Because we except the clay floor, clay walls and ceilingmade out of almost nothing. If we had wooden floors and ceilings, luxurious furniture, it would definitely burn down. From there, and the popular saying complained that not beauty, but the poor will save the world. Here you are a great scientist in the field of profanity, think for yourself, if the people of the whole planet were poor, they would not be able to invent atomic and nuclear bombs, right, Mr. Sitmrat? Would a poor, hungry man think about inventions? they would only think about filling their stomach. They, too, would hope to find dry bread, and would work on the cotton plantations, from morning to evening, picking cotton, not ceasing even in the cold days of December in a place with their children. I firmly believe that wealth and luxury are the number one enemy of all mankind. After the fire that broke out in our house, it looked like a closet, I dismantled the pipes from the gas pipeline and we began to heat our shack with dung, that is, cow dung. Although dung in a furnace burns slowly and smells bad, at least it is safe for human life. Extracted dung is also not difficult. Sit on a donkey and go to the lawn where the juniper trees grow, where there is a lot of dung, which cows produced. Collect them, put them in your bag and the police will not even arrest you for it. Sometimes the mown rye field will also turn into a quarry fuel of energy resources for us, that is, for the poor. We need to live in harmony with nature, not destroy it.
With great respect, the member of collective farm, Mizhappar.

January 21, 2008. 19 hours 15 minutes.
Collective Farm "Chapaev".




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Holder Volcano

Member of the Uzbek Union of Writers



The landscape poems

Translated by the author




Religious Man

He believed in God, but God did not believe him.

8:09 in the morning.
Canada, Ontario.

Longing for spring

Spring as love works wonders,
Waking nature from a sweet dream.
Soon, deafening cries heaven,
The birds return, when the grass is green .

Coming from the pathways is spring,
A slim, naive, youthful lady.
And on the poplar the bird will sing:
-Chicka - di-di-di-di-di-di-di!

Hearing this for a while in silence,
People will stop digging gardens.
Will enjoy the singing birds,
Leaning against the shovel shanks.

4:53 of day.
Canada, Ontario.

The poor trees

Rivers and ponds covered with ice,
Outside the window, the blizzard howled.
Oh trees, I would let you into the house,
And you would warm yourself by the fire,

But you're motionless along the road,
In parks, gardens and beside the gates.
Like families in the bitter cold,
The same as people without fuel.

Scurrying, shivering on the frozen river,
And you have no shelter over your head.
But trees, do you really not have a furnace,
and even a little wood?..

2:08 of the day.
the city of Brampton, Canada.

Winter dandelions

The late dandelions appearing beautiful
They look like fluffy, snow-white balls.
Their hair turns grey, since they are fearful
Fearing that winter is just after fall.

Their winds blew like children in the fields,
It's fluff whirled and flew weightless.
The trees were playing an accordion well,
Like a musician in a cluster of snowflakes.

The blizzards have changed into dandelions,
And the fluff from them is blown away!
These snow-covered streets lights,
The flying dandelions it looks like!

12:00 noon.
Canada. Ontario.


The water droplets fall at the midnight silence.
No, it's not the thawing snow outside the window crying
and not the footsteps of time, which
walks, hobbling on one leg on the dial of the wall clock.
It's the echo of your tears dripping by the window,
in the moonlight and desolate silence, there
across the oceans, in my distant homeland.

10:22 of the day.
Canada, Ontario.

Time clicks its tongue rhythmically

I'm not a king or a caretaker of dogs,
but a distant echo of the sad cries of cranes.
I'm the somber sky and the rainfall pecking
the bunches of the Rowan trees
outside your window, which you will look
through at the distant landscape during winter,
where snow covered forests, fields and
the empty winter snow-covered roads,
the rickety huts of the village.
I'm not a king or a caretaker of dogs,
I'm just a slave to my desires.
A slave of air, water and food.
At night I look at the moon, like a fish
looking through an ice hole, in a frozen river,
listening to the sounds of the wagons of the trains
knocking against the steel spines of the Railways.
A knock that sounds like a heartbeat,
knocking of a clock sounds like hiccups
after eating the time from our lives.
I'm not a king or a caretaker of dogs,
I'm just loneliness and peace.
I am the silence and the orphan hood of old graves.
I'm a lonely passer-by, drunk in the snow blizzard
who forgot the path home.
The twilight is lit by the moon like empty white paper,
like snow-covered winter roads,
similar to our September cotton fields.
I go and lengthen my silent shadow.
Balding trees in parks, as if in a dream,
and the leaves are gently flying to the pavement.
The fallen leaves are so soft,
I want to lie on them and sleep...
Let eternity pass on it's tiptoe,
you can sleep, locking the door.
And let time click it's tongue rhythmically,
swinging the pendulum of the grandfather clock.

10:18 of the day.
Canada, Ontario.


In your bath, snow-white lilies bloom
and real green reeds rustle, where frogs
sing in chorus, blowing bubbles behind their ears.
The water in it is so clear that you can even see
the sand and colourful pebbles and small fish,
which rush around in a shoal at the bottom,
not being afraid of anyone,and you,
without paying attention to them, bathe,
take a bath alone, O naked moon!

3: 28 pm.
Canada, Ontario.


I saw with my own eyes how poplars and willows
ran across the plains and slopes on one leg.
There were posts, road signs, houses, roads,
stone bridges, misty meadows, horses and cows,
field camps, mulberry trees, cotton fields.
They ran after the train on which I was travelling into the distance,
having to leave my homeland.

1: 00 pm.
Canada, Ontario.

Cuckoo's nest

The man waited long and patiently
looking at the grey cuckoo's nest,
with a long pole in his hands.
He waited for and waited and finally the cuckoo,
poking it's head out of the nest, it sang:
Koo-koo! Koo-koo! Koo-koo! Kook...
The man hit the cuckoo with the pole
and it fell down to the carpet.

10:07 in the morning.
Canada, Ontario.

No one is visible on the Milky way

The stars are cramped in the vast sky.
They hit each other with their elbows.
For this reason, one of them,
like a startled bird flew away.
No one is visible on the Milky way,
where they don't even ride a moped.
Maybe they're afraid to puncture
their old vintage vehicle's wheels
over the rusty nails of stars.

10:57 of the day.
Canada, Ontario.


I was sitting on the shore alone, fishing
and suddenly I saw another fisherman,
also with a fishing rod in his hands, who
was looking at me from the depths.

10:00 PM.
Canada, Ontario.


Oh, Niagara, with your grey beard!
I hear the clacking of the seagull's scissors
to trim your beard.
I wish you could hear, you're deaf,
from your own noise!..
Don't touch him, seagulls, don't touch him,
he's not homeless or a religious fan!
He is a simple poet, a free artist!
Let his beard grow, grow
all the way to the Atlantic Ocean!

11; 35 days.
Canada, Ontario.


Evening silently breaks eggs,
On the edge of the hot sky.

9:24 am.
Canada, Ontario.


O time, that walks with a limp on one leg
in the dial of the old clock,
tell me, do you hate each other, like people do
on our planet and often tied between you
brawl, with knifes, and axes and even
bloody hundred years of war where soldiers kills
millions of peaceful, innocent people and even children,
turning beautiful cities into ruins?
What bloody war did you fight, if it's not a secret ,
in what field hospital of which you had one leg
amputated by military surgeons, by removing
a piece of shell from it to prevent gangrene?
O one-legged time, walking, limping on a prosthetic leg,
in the dial of the old clock!
I'm hearing the sound of your footsteps
in the midnight silence, or is it sounds of bitter tears
that drip rhythmically onto the floor
from your gray eyelashes?

4:44 of the night.
Canada, Ontario.

Sad holiday

I'll go out on a autumn field as if on a holiday,
like going to the train station, and standing
on a high slope,like if on a platform,
say goodbye to the migratory birds,
that fly south, flapping their wings.
I wave to them, my weathered skullcap
until they disappear over the horizon
and their sad voices in the distance
do not cease.
Until my soul is emptied, like an empty nest,
which blacken from the distant
in the grove, on the branches of birch trees.

10:07 in the morning.
Canada, Ontario.


The distant bird noises

At sunset in a poplar grove by the river,
where there are abandoned ruins of the pigsty,
high poplars deafening noisy birds.
The chirping of hundreds of sparrows, the distant noise
still ringing in my ears,
like the sound of waves in a seashell.

11:38 of the day.
Canada, Ontario.

By the autumn fire

You're busy alone in a quiet autumn garden,
sweeping the fallen leaves with a broom.
Thoughtfully and silently collect firewood,
thinking about our meetings and making a fire,
similar to fuming volcanoes, which smoke
the bitter cigar in the Kuril Islands.
Sitting by the fire, looking into the smoke,
so that people think you're not crying,
it's just your reddened eyes with
tears, because of the bitter smoke.

12:26 of the day.
Canada, Ontario.





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Holder Volcano

Member of the Uzbek Union of Writers



(The story)

Holder Volcano

(The story)

When the letter from the commander-in-Chief of The Air And Land forces, General Thomas Yakkabaloon, and his Deputy, Colonel Pascal Salvatore Alfonso de Valdemar, reached the presidential office, the Press Secretary of the President, Mr. Appalon Gabriel Toledo Puerto Carlos Dominic, thought deeply, staring at the envelope, not knowing what to do.
Then came the terrible command of the guards:
Attention, all members of the presidential staff! Close the door of their offices on the bolt and clear the corridor! Mr. President is coming! -the guards shouted through a tin horn. The President's press Secretary stood at attention as if in a photograph. Finally, the President appeared in the corridor, surrounded by heavy security. After a while, the President of the country, Mr. Appalon Gabriel Toledo Puerto Carlos Dominic, came and stood for a moment at the entrance of his chic favorite spherical office. Before entering his office, he glanced briefly at the Press Secretary's Desk, where a pile of letters lay.
Well, what news? What are they? Again from the citizens, or what? I am so tired of these stupid letters. Like I don't have anything else to do but read those stupid letters where they only write about their own problems. There is not among them at least one person who could write about the global economic problems, at least about those which concern problems of our state. Give me that big red envelope." Here I see something extraordinary. This letter is either from the leaders of other Countries, or from the diplomatic corps of the Commonwealth countries -said, as if guessing, the President of the country, Mr. Appalon Gabriel Toledo Puerto Carlos Dominic, taking and examining the envelope with interest. Then he smiled broadly at the address of the letter.
Oh a letter from a mental hospital? - looking at the letter, and he started laughing, shaking his whole body. - Huwah-hah-hah-hah-haaaah! Iehh-hah-hah-hah-haaaaa! Ahahahahahahaaaa! See, the letter from the mental hospital?! no way... This is the first time I've received this kind of letter in my 45-year presidency, honestly! I wonder what they wrote about. It's supposed to be funny... the President of the country, Mr. Appalon Gabriel Toledo Puerto Carlos Dominic, said, wiping tears from his eyes with his huge checkered handkerchief.
Entering his spherical office, he opened the envelope and began to read the letter of the patients of the mental hospital with interest , the commander-in-Chief Of the Air And Land forces, General Thomas Yakkabaloon and his Deputy Colonel Pascal Salvatore Alfons de Valdemar.
To the President of our beloved country, Mr. Appalon Gabriel Toledo Puerto Carlos Dominic.

Mr. President!

Although healthy people consider us fools, crazy, but we, patients of the Central mental hospital of the capital of our independent country, paradoxically, are the most intelligent, the most brilliant people on the planet. We have famous poets, thinkers, philosophers of all stripes, there are psychics, clairvoyants, soothsayers, great scientists, astronauts, valiant invincible generals, telepaths, reading other people's thoughts, who declared themselves prophets and even gods, nomads of time, masters of the universe, defenders of humanoids in solar systems and in the nebulae of the universe, great Opera singers with soprano voices, baritone, tenor. There are also disgraced leaders of opposition parties, human rights activists pyan yes ragged, that could not become your "colleagues". This raises the question: why can't our state use the free services of these capable, talented patients in solving the problems that have arisen in the political arena of the world? To solve questions our forces, patients of our mental hospital in area defense. We often hear that hundreds, sometimes thousands, of innocent, mentally healthy young soldiers of our country are dying in the hot spots of our planet. And what if we, psychopaths, paranoids and schizophrenics, were drafted into the army in the place of healthy children, in the spiritual sense of the word? First, we are strong, healthy, brave, courageous people. Second, we have nothing to fear and nothing to lose. Thirdly, we will not sit here idly on subsidies, as they say, on the neck of our poor independent state when our innocent young compatriots die in hot spots. We are not interested in money, position, awards, titles, orders and medals. We also do not need any apartments, no family and no other completely unnecessary things. We, that are valiant, brave, and mentally ill of our homeland, can protect our territories from any invaders, including aliens! And we think we'll have a lot more fun at the front than we have here in a boring treatment center, believe me, Mr. President. I never tire of repeating that we are very capable people and, once we are taught how to use firearms, how to operate an anti-Aircraft Missile System, bombers and fighters and how to hijack them, how to fly military helicopters such as "shark", "Apache", use nuclear submarines with cruise Intercontinental ballistic missiles and so on, then I assure You and guarantee that our brothers in healthy talented cadets. They will fly freely on modern supersonic aircraft bombers like hawks and bomb city points in hot spots of the planet, comparing with the earth beautiful cities, Orthodox and Catholic churches, mosques, synagogues, residential neighborhoods, factories , schools, hospitals, pharmacies, kindergartens exactly, without leaving there a single living soul. Be sure that the army of schizophrenics and paranoids, using anti-Aircraft Missile Systems, will shoot down thousands of civilian Airliners with hundreds of passengers on Board, getting missiles in the top ten, then in this monstrous crime blame the air force and air defense of the enemy!
With great respect, Commander-in-chief, Air Force and Land Forces General Thomas Yakkabaloon. Deputy General Thomas Yakkabaloon , Colonel Pascal Salvatore Alfons de Valdemar ."
After reading the letter several times, up and down, the President of the country, Mr. Appalon Gabriel Toledo Puerto Carlos Dominic thought, looking bleary-eyed through the armored bulletproof window of his office, like a Hitler bunker.
Yeaaaah, here is this letter! Unlike healthy people in the spiritual sense of the word, they did not write about their problems, on the contrary, they wrote about the urgent problems of our society and about strengthening the defense capacity of our long-suffering country. Although this letter is from a mental hospital, it is still worth thinking about their initiatives. Moreover, they promise to protect the Fatherland for free. If we realize their dreams, then immediately decrease the financial costs for defense, for the army, for weapons, for provisions, for clothing and for canvas boots without soles millions and millions of pairs for our soldiers and officers. We are spending enormous amounts of money, which we annually allocate from the state budget.
And these schizophrenics of ours are ready to fight anywhere in the world, protecting the interests of our country, without military uniforms, barefoot.They don't have to pay a monthly salary. They promise to perform any task of the party, at any time of the day, even in the forty-five-degree frost in winter and fifty-five-degree heat in the desert. Oh all the money we can save with this idea! Why didn't we think about this project before? These living robots have nothing to lose. After all, they are kamikaze-suicide and are not afraid of death. And these our so-called soldiers and officers, at the first danger run away, or, lying in the trenches, shoot themselves in the leg and return home a hero, ringing clusters of orders and medals on their chest. To be honest, I have not received such an offer even from my military specialists, from experts who receive a huge monthly salary in dollars. Parasites! They're no good! I must confess that I used to laugh till I cried when I heard anecdotes about the insane. I guess I shouldn't have laughed then. On the contrary, it was necessary to cry and sob in a huge and leaky plaid handkerchief. That's how they reason! It is necessary, such ingenious people languish in mental hospitals of our immense country! And we ostensibly treat these brilliant people ! It seems to me that people who consider themselves healthy should go to psychiatrists and be treated properly before their mental illness worsens. Yes, these people with unstable mentality, people prone to violence are dangerous for society. But if you think about it wisely, I am one hundred percent sure that we can solve a lot of problems. We will put all the responsibility to their doctors, nurses and caregivers, calling them together with their patients in the army, and sending them to the hotspots of the planet. Today in the world establishes total control not only over the people and over the Media, over the opposition, but even over tsunamis, typhoons, earthquakes, volcanic eruptions, and so on. Are we worse than them? We, too, are able to establish control over patients, through their doctors in white coats, who have ultra- modern equipment, stun guns, sedative tranquilizers and durable straitjackets with long sleeves. Most importantly, we will automatically get rid of unnecessary pickets and rallies that are organized by human rights screamers, grant-eaters who protect the rights of the mothers of millions of dead soldiers who return home in sealed zinc coffins from the battlefield, where they heroically die defending the economic and geopolitical interests of our state. And death mentally ill on the field battlefield, not only causes pity, on the contrary, causes people to uncontrollably laugh at, seeing on tv or having heard about their ridiculous death in bloody battles. In short, this bill I must immediately submit to the Parliament of the country.Let our so-called illiterate MPs-parasites of both chambers and senators- sycophants, discuss and approve this strategic issue in closed sessions of Parliament without free journalists, unanimously in the first reading of the draft. It is clear that these so-called deputies and senators with slave psychology will never vote against what I offer them. I shouldn't worry too much about that, thought the President of the country, Mr. Appalon Gabriel Toledo Puerto Carlos Dominic, lighting a gold pipe with diamond ornaments, stuffed with expensive flavored tobacco.
The President of the country, Mr. Appalon Gabriel Toledo Puerto Carlos Dominic, before submitting the project to the Parliament, decided to first secretly meet with the authors of the secret letter and instructed his security forces to organize a secret negotiation with the authors of the unique project from the psychiatric hospital. Security forces accurately executed the order of the President, and brought two geniuses in a straitjacket barefoot and without a headdress and, having dressed them in suits of officials and in white shirts with starched collars and with tight ties on necks. They worked so well that even the aides of the President of the country, Mr. Appalon Gabriel Toledo Puerto Carlos Dominic, seeing those two patients in civilian clothes, took them for high-ranking guests from abroad and hastily saluted, pausing like sticks. During the conversation, it turned out that these two are not only able to solve problems related to the strengthening of the country's defense, but also to create absolutely unthinkable fantastic things, to come up with unique, unheard-of ideas and hypotheses.
President Mr. Appalon Gabriel Toledo Puerto Carlos Dominic hugged them both and wept.
Excuse me, gentlemen, and don't be surprised. These are tears of happiness in my eyes sparkle and tremble like distant stars in the December cold sky of our independent country, when our people drown their bourgeois stinking dung, barely recognizing each other through a veil of acrid smoke, coughing like frowning wipers in the thick fog of an autumn Park. I want to ask your forgiveness, gentlemen, for our psychiatrists, who incorrectly diagnosed, locked you up in psychiatric hospitals of our country, forcing you to drink disgusting liquids and pills. Care-givers beat you like punching bags suspended in sports underground training halls. I also apologize for our compatriots who laughed until they fell and still laugh at you, telling each other funny anecdotes about you. I saw with my own eyes today that you, the so-called patients with mental illness, are a thousand or even millions of times smarter than our deputies and bribe-taking officials! It turns out that we mistakenly locked you brilliant people in mental hospitals not only in our country, but also the planet! I will issue a decree tomorrow to release all your brothers in sickness from the mental hospitals of our independent country, and to lock up the physicians, psychiators, and care-givers themselves in their stead. I will order that all my assistants - sycophants, poets and writers, officials and deputies-bribe takers and Ministers-parasites are immediately arrested. They do nothing, but receive large salaries in American dollars, and the citizens of our country because of total unemployment go to other countries, hoping to find at least some work there. They agree even on dirty work, sake of moreover, to find a slice of bread and feed their family. They work as janitors and watchmen, work in garbage dumps, almost for free. That's all, I will carry out a reshuffle in all spheres of our society, that is, I will appoint you both as my main assistants, and I will also order that only those people who were previously treated in the mental hospitals of our long-suffering and vast state are appointed as deputies of the Parliament of both houses and senators of Congress.
Governors of regions and districts, including chairmen of collective farms and committees, will also be appointed from brilliant people, that is, from your sick brothers. All governors and chairmen of the current system will now be treated for life and involuntarily in psychiatric hospitals until they fully recover. You can both accept the post of any Minister at once, and I congratulate you in advance, gentlemen! - said the President, concluding his speech.
General Thomas Yakkabaloon and Pascal Salvatore Alfons de Valdemar, in return, expressed their gratitude to the President Appalon Gabriel Toledo Puerto Carlos Dominic for the warm welcome, mutual understanding and high trust. Before leaving, Colonel Pascal Salvatore Alfons de Valdemar appealed to the President Appalon Gabriel Toledo Puerto Carlos Dominic:
I have a little surprise for you, Mr. President, close your eyes, - he said. The President closed his eyes with a Hollywood smile on his lips.
Now open your eyes, Mr. President! - Colonel Pascal Salvatore Alfons de Valdemar - said, smiling toothlessly.
President Appalon Gabriel Toledo Puerto Carlos Dominic opened his eyes and saw the key that Colonel Pascal Salvatore Alfons de Valdemar handed him.
The President's heart skipped a beat at the sight of the key, and his eyes widened.
Well, thank you, Colonel Pascal Salvatore Alfons de Valdemar ! What an honest man you are!
Where did you find it? - It was in my pocket!..
With that, President Appalon Gabriel Toledo Puerto Carlos Dominic quickly checked his pants pockets and blushed with shame when he found a hole in his pocket where a key might have fallen on the carpet.
I found this key here, under this chair where I was sitting. Let me, I think, I will pick it up and give it to Mr. President of our country Appalon Gabriel Toledo Puerto Carlos Dominic, maybe I think Mr.
President accidentally lost the key to his modest one-room apartment, located on the outskirts of the capital of the country, where he lives with his large family plus with his hungry fat grouchy mother in law
explained Colonel Pascal Salvatore Alfons de Valdemar.
-Oh, no, no, Colonel Pascal Salvatore Alfons de Valdemar ! This key is not for a one-room apartment, but instead for the nuclear football! You have no idea what heroism You have committed before my eyes in the face of our long-suffering people! You saved the nation! It is a good thing that this key did not fall into the hands of my crazy Ministers, whom I have long distrusted. After all, these corrupt parasites could easily sell villains religion fanatic terrorists this priceless key for a wad of dollars! And there would have been a third world atomic war! Nope, in my opinion You saved not only the nation, but also saved humanity and the entire Universe from apparent destruction, from thermonuclear war! I award you the order of the Hero of the Fatherland of the first degree! You are now the national hero of our country! From now on, your military rank is not Colonel, but Marshal! Thank you on behalf of our long-suffering oppressed independent and hardworking people and on behalf of all mankind, Mr.
Marshal Pascal Salvatore Alfons de Valdemar! - the President said enthusiastically.
Serving the Fatherland!" Pascal Salvatore Alfons de Valdemar shouted, saluting President Appalon Gabriel Toledo Puerto Carlos Dominic. When the two high-ranking officers left the Palace of Mr.
President Appalon Gabriel Toledo Puerto Carlos Dominic, General Thomas Yakkabaloon congratulated his colleague and brother on his high military rank.
I congratulate you, Marshal, On your high rank." "Oh, no!" - he said, turning blue and green with black envy.
At ease, General, at ease!" Thank you for your congratulations, - said Marshal Pascal Salvatore Alphonse de Valdemar, clapping General Thomas Yakkabaloon on the shoulder and head.
General Thomas Yakkabaloon continued:
Excuse Me, Monsieur Le Marechal, but on the one hand, it is good to achieve such success. But on the other hand, I'm afraid we've missed a historic opportunity. By seizing the key to the nuclear briefcase, we could force the President to dissolve the Government and Parliament and resign as President. After all This, you would sleep well tonight, and Wake up in the morning the President of the country! Oh, what a missed chance, my God! - said General Thomas Yakkabaloon .
Yeah, don't you worry, General Lattapagon (Rag shoulder straps), I'm not such a fool as you think!
When I went to the bathroom, I secretly and carefully removed the mold from the key of the nuclear suitcase, pressing it on this piece of soap. Now we can make a duplicate of the key of the nuclear suitcase from this cast. As they say, it is not yet evening. There is still time for me to become President of the country, and you - the Minister of Defense! The weight of the world is in our hands! - said Marshal Pascal Salvatore Alphonse de Valdemar, with a sly smile.

3:40 of the day.
Canada.the city of Brampton.


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