Posts from Fun

The Great Johan has descended to Earth!
P.S. Moldy pancakes – the taste is simply wonderful!

Delicious pancakes, mmm, you'll lick your fingers, the bitterness burns your throat!...:D



I ate only 2, and let Night eat the rest... since he wanted them so much....:D

Your pancakes have a strange shape.... They look more like toast. Although, who knows what else is different with the people of the North....:D :D

Nothing strange, ***JOKER***, it's just a regular, large, round pancake with filling. Pancakes with cottage cheese, just like everyone else makes, only these are burnt....:D

Nothing strange, ***JOKER***, it's just ordinary large, round pancakes with filling. Pancakes with cottage cheese, just like everyone else makes, only burnt....:D

Aha... so that's what I didn't understand....
You're quite a character, food always seems to be a problem for you. You either spill tea on yourself or burn the pancakes.... :D

Enter this line into the address bar of your browser on any website (even right here), scroll to the very beginning, and enjoy =)

P.S. Don't be afraid, it's not a virus)

The line is in the file because it can't be inserted into a comment, as it's interpreted as a tag.

javascript:R=0; x1=.1; y1=.05; x2=.25; y2=.24; x3=1.6; y3=.24; x4=300; y4=200; x5=300; y5=200; DI=document.images; DIL=DI.length; function A(){for(i=0; i<dil; i++){dis=DI[ i ].style; dis.position='absolute' ; dis.left=Math.sin(R*x1+i*x2+x3)*x4+x5; dis.top=>

Enter this line into the address bar of your browser on any website (even right here), scroll to the very beginning, and enjoy =)

P.S. Don't be afraid, it's not a virus.

It doesn't seem to work for me....

Sometimes it doesn't work =)

Those who have it working are lucky =) Because the effect is quite unusual)

Okay, I've just fixed it, it should work now.

Wow! The Imp script works! Hooray! That's cool:)

One, two, three, four, five
Godric went out to fight
He sees 10k skeletons
And Godrick vanished without a trace!:)

One, two, three, four, five
Agralil went out for a stroll
Godrick vanished without a trace
The skeleton will kill Agralil!:)

One, two, three, four, five
Markal went out for a stroll
The skeleton killed Agralil
Oh, this wretched world...:)

One, two, three, four, five
Rylag went out to fight
Oh, this wretched world...
That's how Markal met the dawn...:)

One, two, three, four, five
Findan went out to fight
He sees Nicholas coming...
Everyone attack, my people!:)

One, two, three, four, five
Godric, Findan, Rylag, Zephyr went out to fight
They slaughtered all, they crushed all
They defeated the Suzerain!:)

:D :D :D :D :D :D :D :D :D :D :D :D :D :D :D :D :D
And in conclusion:
One, two, three, four, five
Stierlitz went out for a stroll
Wah! Natürlich! Das ist so!
Mein zurück! I! I! Password!

(TOTAL stupidity)

Heeeee...., I can't, it happens sometimes....:D :D :D I wouldn't want to live there.............:rolleyes: :D

Well, here:
/attachments/1422/
That’s crazy! :D

Igor Krutoy decided to change his name to "Very."

-Hey kid, what's your name?
-Uhhhh...
-Kid, what do you want to be when you grow up?
-Aaaa...
-Hey, what's with you, are you slow?
-I'm not slow. I'm Vasya. I want to be an astronaut.

http://slil.ru/23165850 A game about a BEAR!:D

Once upon a time, there was a sales manager. He went looking for a job. After sending out his resume for some time, he eventually had an interview with the CEO of one company. The interview lasted six hours. By then, the director was drenched in sweat and the manager had asked for water three times. Yet they still couldn't reach an agreement. They started at two hundred bucks a month—and now they were arguing over two and a half kilobucks, plus percentages, bonuses, and some other things like gym memberships, mobile plans, lunches, relocation allowances, insurance, vacation, travel expenses, a company car, a laptop; the manager managed to squeeze out a whole lot of stuff for himself.
Eventually, the CEO gave in and met all the conditions. He gave everything the manager asked for.
The manager started working, and in the first month, he tripled sales, then increased them tenfold, then a hundredfold, and then he sold off absolutely everything in the office—including the furniture, stationery, the secretary to some guys for their sauna, the client database to competitors, and the boss himself to the tax authorities.
Because he was one damn good sales manager...

gugolok rules....

Markel broke through the portal to Russia and is storming Moscow with his army of the dead. S. Ivanov reports to Putin:
- Mr. President, Markel is breaking through toward the Vagankovo Cemetery, there aren't enough forces on hand...
- Let him break through! Who is he going to raise there—poets and musicians? Your task now: by any means necessary, do not let him reach Red Square. If he reaches the Kremlin wall...

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On current events:

A little boy played Heroes of Might and Magic
He recently downloaded a brand new patch
Resurrected mages in battle a couple of times—
And the vampire bit through the whole squad.

A little boy played as Deleb
Fired the ballista often and powerfully
But he still didn't defeat the Wizard—
For that one had obtained "Power over Machines".

A little boy played as elves
Ran across the map—searching for wood
Plenty of same-colored ones, but no wood anywhere!
The Ents feel it—great trouble is coming...

A little boy played Sinitar
Cast spells almost for free
But "Earth Shock" won't help him now—
Elves and dragons have come to visit.

The boy decided to play as Heaven
To train a bunch of Knights
But it wasn't destiny to do so on "hero",
If there aren't three piles of ore on the map.

The boy started playing Necropolis
Began resurrecting skeletons in full swing
He was absolutely sure of victory
But he forgot about the new raise dead...

------------------------------------------------------------------------

Razzak, smacking his lips:
- Listen Hafiz, what's with that unusual ballista of yours?
- Oh, 1100-series model, mahogany, gilding, leather on the handles, and believe it or not, mithril discs...

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Elf Hunters are returning to the city. In a deep forest, an Imp crawls out from under a bridge and orders: - Now drop your bows and pile them up. The elves obeyed in silence. The Imp grabbed the weapons and slowly disappeared into the forest. The elves remain silent. Finally, one of them said: - That's what you call a company. He took the bows, but was too afraid to beat us.

Inscription on a grave: "Here lies Cerberus, who in all his life bit two Paladins, four Monks, ten Griffins, 24 men-at-arms, 42 archers, 486 peasants, and one mine".

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New racial abilities for dwarf heroes.
1) Piercing. All Fortress units under the hero's command attach various metal trinkets to their bodies. +3 defense, +40% damage.
2) Bear-ing. The hero receives the spell "Hello, bear!" (Preved, medved!). The enemy unit it is cast upon begins to prove that he is not a bear and skips a turn.
3) Vodka-ing. All units in the hero's army take a drink before the start of battle. Morale and luck are fixed at +5 for the entire fight. Non-flying units ignore obstacles on the battlefield.
Super-ability: Knowledge of Secret Runes. The hero who first applies 3 Secret Runes in the correct order wins the battle.

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Grandpa planted a turnip, and the turnip grew big-huge, with mighty greens and red eyes. Grandpa gathered the whole family to harvest the turnip, even summoned the mouse: "You, uh... go on, mouse, you start...". Grandma to grandpa: "What's wrong with you, old man, have you gone mad? She can't handle it alone!". Grandpa: "But she'll take off the counter-attack." "You've completely lost your mind in old age; she's put down roots—she'll bash everyone with those greens!"

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The history of the Heroic wars is rooted in such ancient times that almost no records remain. Folk memory proved stronger than papers and parchments. Many wonderful tales of the feats of glorious fighters can be heard in the evening at a tavern over a mug of strong ale. Mighty titans and fierce dragons, terrible demons and noble paladins—they performed many deeds on the fields of battle. But for some reason, you almost never hear stories about those who do the dirtiest work, those who pave the way to glory for Heroes with their lives in the first small skirmishes. About the quiet and unnoticed fighters of the early levels. How did they live and fight before, what concerns them now?

And so I set off to a distant peasant village. In the evening at a roadside tavern, I sat down next to an old but still sturdy fellow and, treating him well to beer, began to ask about the affairs of days gone by. Here is his tale, in which I did not change a single word.

So then, good sir, you want me to tell you about our peasant life? Well, what's there to tell? It's common knowledge—a hard life. When was it ever easy for a simple tiller of the soil... either rain, or drought, or frost, or the livestock gets sick. Ah, you want to hear about the war, about how we fought in the Heroic armies? Well, now, that's a whole other matter. You've hit the nail on the head, good sir, because in our village no one could tell stories of wars and battles better than me. And all because my lineage is ancient and my ancestors were in many glorious slaughters. It's true that you came to us peasants for tales. There are hardly any of us left who walked through all the Heroic wars from end to end. From our lot, humans, there were archers, swordsmen, and cavalry. Now, those people are haughty, temperamental; instead of a conversation, they might send you where the devil doesn't even go for wool. And they aren't above lying. Well, fakes with elves. Those are forest non-humans; try finding them in the thickets and deadfalls. Then there's dragons, obviously. But dragons are like that: if you ask a question, he might answer something, but you'll have to listen to his answer from inside his gut, heh-heh! So, good sir, I will tell you everything I heard from my grandfathers and great-grandfathers about our Heroic fate. I'll tell it from the very beginning.

The old folks said that it was in time immemorial, in unknown lands called either Four Ends, or Four Corners, or some other strange name. And that was a time of great Royal Mercy. It was the most carefree time for us peasants. We lived freely, knowing no one's hand over us. The Lord Heroes were only just beginning to come into power. They ran around individually, not like later, when there were eight in every district. Sometimes they'd arrive and start sweet-talking, luring us into service. And we'd listen—listen—but if the Hero was unremarkable, not everyone would go. And they paid royally. Not just ten deposit coins when you entered the army, but also a gold piece of pay every week. Imagine that! But, truth be told, we were mown down in battles like grass. I mean, how much can you win with pitchforks and no armor? And our ancestors were cowardly; they feared even many of their comrades. That's why the Lord Heroes didn't care for us. That's why they kicked us out as soon as they found someone more serious.

It went on like that for a long time, who knows how many years. By the will of the creator-gods, the world changed and the kingdom of Enroth came into being. Around that time, the Lord Heroes had just come into their power; they began to build castles and gather cities. And we free peasants were also taken under the hand of human knights and settled in cities. Now, of course, it's quieter in the city. Some passing rogue won't set his sights on you or cause offense. But there was no more of the old freedom. Whether you like it or not, you must provide recruits every week, as much as is written in the law. They started paying more, true, but only once. And as for weekly pay, since then no one has heard of it anymore. And again, we turned out to be the weakest army in the whole kingdom. In attack and in defense, and we died from a single poke. Only one thing helped us in the eyes of Heroes: there were always many of us, and we didn't cost much money. So they hired us to plug holes and to impale poor devils just like themselves on pitchforks. Well, and to protect shooters from the enemy—that was always the case.

A short while later it got even worse. New Heroes came to the land of Enroth, bringing unknown creatures with them. And the old ones didn't lag behind; they made improvements for their fighters. But we stayed as we were. Our masters only had a whim to give us sickles instead of pitchforks. They thought it would be easier for us to swing sickles, especially where needed, heh-heh-heh! But it didn't help. I mean, try reaching the place on a dragon where you need to swing a sickle! And everything is armored tighter there than a knight's head.

And the new warriors increased their speed even more. Now the Lord Heroes completely despised us. They started shouting that we were slowing down the army, that we were of no use at all against strong fighters. The only joy we brought, they said, was to the dead ones who had set about making skeletons out of our kind. They didn't consider us human at all. But there was still some use for Heroes from us.

I remember my great-grandfather telling me, when I was just a little boy, about one slaughter. He was in it himself, as a youth. There was one foreign Hero in their city, one of the sorcerers. And he had a small army from his own city: centaurs and gargoyles. And there were few locals—everyone had gone with the main Hero just then. And then they noticed from the walls that another foreign Hero was coming to the city, also a sorcerer. And his army was almost like ours. Our master decided: "I'll fight them off." He relied on the walls and towers. But the advisor-captain said to him: "Hire peasants in addition, your honor. An extra twig is no hindrance to a fire." The Hero resisted at first, but then waved his hand and hired them. And the enemy Hero turned out stronger than ours, and although his army was the same, it fought more fiercely. It came to this: the enemy had only gargoyles left, and ours also had gargoyles, though fewer, plus peasants, about two dozen. The gargoyles locked onto each other—couldn't be pulled apart. And our peasants moved in from the side: poke, poke at the enemy gently. And the enemy was left with one gargoyle, slightly wounded, and our Hero had one, on its very last breathhh. The enemy gargoyle hit ours—and beat it to death. Then the peasants swung their sickles—and the enemy met a swift end. The peasants were left alone on the battlefield—the victors. And if not for them, the enemy Hero would have taken the city. For that, they received great praise and gratitude from their master.

Soon the creator-gods commanded the Heroes to leave the land of Enroth for the land of Erathia. The Lord Heroes arrived in the new land, but there everything was different and the rules were other. Here the Heroes began to divide everything anew, luring fighters away from each other. No one wanted to take us into their city. We decided then to remember our former free life and leave the Heroes entirely. And we left. We hid in the forests so that we couldn't be found. At first it was good, carefree. But then the Lord Heroes found out about our living and decided to punish us for our audacity. They didn't take us into cities; they were too disgusted. But when there was a need, they came straight to the village and took 25 men every week. And they stopped paying altogether. Fight for free! And how do you fight if we stayed the same, but in the land of Erathia such creatures dwell that Enrothian ones wouldn't even be an appetizer for them? Everyone began to despise our kind completely. But even there we had glorious moments.

My grandfather told me this. Wild creatures and masterless fighters multiplied in their area—beyond count. They grabbed everything for themselves. Only five peasant villages remained free. The king sent a Hero there—to restore order, so to speak. Either he was angry with him or wanted to laugh, but he gave him an army of five mummies. How much can you win with that? Having no choice, the Hero gathered all the peasants from the villages and went to clear the land. He kicked them out, of course, a little later, when serious fighters began to ask for service. Later we heard he became a great Hero. Level 70, imagine! He led thousands of blue dragons behind him, and tens of thousands of magic ones. And who did it all start with? With us, simple peasants! Imagine that!

Some more years passed, and a great calamity occurred. Some Lord Heroes messed up with their enchanted weapons, and because of that, a wave of fire swept across all lands. It flooded both the land of Enroth and the land of Erathia. A terrible number of people perished, but some were saved through magic gates opened by the creator-gods for everyone. And peasants were there too.

Those gates led to an unknown world called Ashan. The Lord Heroes began to settle there again, dividing those who were saved with them and the locals among their castles. We, true, were again not taken into any city, but we asked for the knights' protection ourselves. That way it's more familiar. But the knights' protection turned out costly for us. They started taking us into the army in whole crowds. True, they started paying deposit coins fair and square again. But then what did they think of? They introduced a poll tax! Every day from every peasant head, you must produce a gold piece! Pure ruin! We begged the Lord Heroes to release us from that burden. No, they say, it's punishment for running away from us before.

What, good sir? How did we fight there? Well, with the war, everything turned out tricky. Before, no matter how you looked at it, there were no fighters worse than us. But in that world, there were those who hit weaker than us, and had poorer health, and walked slower. Still, if you gathered everyone together, we still turned out to be the weakest army. Except that we learned from the local fighters how to give a quick answer back. So, if we gathered in a large crowd, we could manage to bash someone accidentally, even strong warriors. But the Heroes still decided there would be no use for us in battles and started recruiting us purely for monetary tribute. They'd hire us and set us to guard some mine so as not to get underfoot. Benefit for the Heroes: they have a lookout over the surroundings and money keeps trickling in. And it was a joy for us that we didn't lose our heads in battles. That's how we lived.

And now, by the will of the creator-gods, we have moved to this world, to the land of Ashan. And now great changes have come to our peasant life. The Lord Heroes took us back into the knightly city. The tribute, true, was not removed; the lords grew too fond of that business. And although we remained the weakest army in all the land of Ashan, a great bright future appeared for us. What's the deal with Heroes now? Every army registered in the city is entitled to an improvement—an "upgrade" as they say scientifically. And since we are now city-dwellers, it is due to us too. And if the master wants, he transfers our kind from peasants to militia. Then they give more substantial weapons and feed us better, but most importantly—they release us from tribute.

Since time immemorial, other warriors, those who were stronger, mocked among themselves: whoever blundered, others would start calling him a "miserable peasant." They joked, you see. But I'll see now, merry lords, how that very joke hits you in the head! You'll be stunned in an instant!

Now that's only half the story. Let me tell you, good sir: for centuries, all fighters were recruited from their own clans. Archers separately, swordsmen, say, separately. But nowadays the Heroes (the ones of ours, the human ones) have figured out that all human creatures are made the same way. And if there's a head on their shoulders instead of a beer jug, then they're capable of learning any trade. So the Heroes started teaching simple peasants how to shoot arrows, wield a sword, say prayers, and ride horses in armor. Take my neighbor's nephew – he managed to become a monk. He's grown mighty and important – it's scary even to approach him. Who knows, he might even rise to be a paladin. So, good sir, new times have come. Our own peasant time.

Well, good sir, my thanks to you for the treat, the kind words, and for listening to me, an old man. Tell all the others about us peasants as well. Although we've always been the weakest army, all other fighters were always measured against us. And we served the Heroes faithfully and truly. And, if the gods allow, we shall continue to serve.

Interview recorded by B.Rekhunov, staff correspondent for the "Thieves Guild" news agency.