– Well, how to say it. After a few mugs of "fire dragon" (a local cocktail made from a hellish mixture of everything that burns) My jokes have become even more…
experimental. So experimental that the audience fell silent, and then tomatoes flew at me. Real, juicy
tomatoes, or so it seemed to me. At least, I hope so.
I rubbed my face. – And to top it all off, I decided that the stage is a great place to showcase my parkour skills. You know, jumping over tables, doing somersaults.…
Ignat burst out laughing. – Is parkour in your performance? It must have been epic and, as always, unpredictable.
– Epic failure! I broke my finger when I got caught on a microphone stand, and ended the evening at the nearest
trauma center, where I tried to convince the doctor that I was a superhero and broke my finger saving the world.
"And the doctor believed you?" Ignat asked.
"He prescribed me a sedative and told me not to drink fire dragon anymore," I replied. – The funny thing is that the
next day I woke up, and my story had already gone viral on TikTok. Now I am known as a "Yoga Parkour Comedian", and I was offered to star in a social advertisement against alcohol.
I sighed, finishing my coffee. – That's it, Ignat. I'm trying to live a normal life, but apparently fate has prepared me for the role of a city lunatic.
Ignat smiled. – Well, what can I say? You make my life more interesting. But next time, maybe we can just try to sit at home and play chess?
I looked at him suspiciously. – Well, if it's ordinary chess, which will have real pieces, and not B-52?
Ignat shrugged his shoulders and said with a grin, "I promise nothing." 13.
March 12, 2024.
– Ignat, my friend, hold on tight. This story claims to be the craziest of all," I began, sipping orange juice in
the hope that vitamin C would restore my brain activity at least a little. —Yes, it has something to do with my birthday, and yes, there are goblins involved. From the sewer. Don't ask me how it happened.
Ignat, as always, settled into an armchair with interest. – Every time I think about whether you can surprise me. Tell me."
– Anyway, in honor of my birthday, my friends decided to have a "Back to the 90s" themed party. Imagine acid
colors, rave music, and a bunch of food that I'm sure was
discontinued long ago. Naturally, alcohol was necessary. And yes, I went a little overboard with the Turbo Hedgehog cocktail, a nuclear blend of energy drinks and Blue Curaçao liqueur.
Ignat grimaced. – It sounds in your repertoire.
14.
– Dangerous is an understatement. By midnight, I was sure that I was a live disco myself. I danced breakdancing on the table, rapped about tamagotchi and tried to convince
everyone that pagers were back in fashion. At some point, it seemed to me that the party lacked a real underground. And then I came up with a brilliant idea.
I paused to gather my courage. – I suggested that everyone move… to the sewers.
Ignat coughed. "Into the sewer?" Are you taking the pills that your doctor prescribed for you?
– Absolutely. Intoxicated, it seemed to me that this was the perfect place for a rave. Damp, dark, dirty – real
hardcore! To my surprise, some of my friends supported
me. Apparently, the Turbo Hedgehog didn't just affect me.
I sighed. – We found the nearest manhole and went downstairs to the general shouts of "Yes, bitches!" Of course, after arming yourself with flashlights and a portable speaker with techno music.
