Joasia, the good-doer

When he came to work for her, she couldn't believe it. After all, she'd worked at the best wellness center in the area, or even the country, and suddenly here he was. She'd known him for a long time, even worked for him once. He was the perfect boss. He organized everything perfectly, cared for his people, and never allowed himself to judge a situation unfairly. But now. Now he was a completely different person. He had no money, he was probably homeless, he must have lost everything already, she thought. He led such a carefree life, cared nothing about money, nothing. It had to end sometime.

She remembered the last time she'd met him. It had been only a few days ago. She was passing by another window displaying sexy clothes she loved, which miraculously accentuated her unique beauty. Suddenly, she heard,

"Hey, Joanna!"

She recognized his voice immediately; they'd been friends for so long, even though they'd barely seen each other. She knew it was him – Jan O. She turned around and was stunned. It was indeed Jan O., but she thought it was some kind of joke, it couldn't be true.

He looked terrible. He was shoeless, sitting against the wall in tattered clothes, probably expecting donations, some small change, help, anything. His emaciated posture seemed to indicate a long absence of regular meals. His tired eyes hinted at profound helplessness, sadness, and shame. However, his voice clearly contradicted everything they saw. Jan, with incredible joy and enthusiasm, asked Joasia about her life, both professional and personal. He praised her successes. He was clearly very happy to have met her.

However, he didn't reveal anything about his situation, didn't mention a word about why he was sitting there shoeless, in such a dire state. Joasia didn't have the courage to ask about his situation either. She didn't want to spoil this pleasant (at least for him) moment.

But now, she did. She remembered. She told him where she worked. And he arrived. He looked exactly the same, except for the shoes he was wearing and the briefcase slung over his shoulder.

He noticed her immediately. He approached boldly and, without betraying any recognition, requested a full set of therapeutic services. To forget the shock she had just experienced, Joasia began her duties. She showed him the changing room where he could change into a robe and the locker where he could store his belongings (he insisted, however, that she keep an eye on his briefcase at all times – she agreed). She indicated the sequence of relaxation treatments and left him alone. During the treatments, she slipped into his changing room several times to leave him juices, sandwiches, and sweets. In between treatments, everything disappeared. Jan must have been terribly hungry.

When the treatments were over, Jan, visibly rested and charged with positive vibrations, seemed rejuvenated. Joasia, however, wasn't fooled by these illusions. She had seen such transformations countless times before. She approached him and discreetly handed him two apples. Jan smiled in response, a sad look in his eyes, and pocketed the apples.

Talking about old times, they approached the reception desk. Joasia handed him her briefcase and began filling out the bill. Jan, with a look of profound gratitude etched on his face, thanked her for such a wonderful time, for putting him in such a wonderful mood, for everything she had done for him today, and left without waiting for the bill.

Washing

I was awakened by a terrible noise, recurring rhythmically, preventing me from sleeping a wink. I was nervous, as last night had been a rather heavy one, though I initially thought it was just a hallucination, perhaps the gallons of alcohol I'd consumed the night before still making their presence felt. But the sound persisted. It even seemed to my tired senses to grow louder and pulsate rhythmically in my head. The sound was regular and utterly torturous. I thought to myself that roadworks had probably been going on since early morning, somewhere near my window. But no. It wasn't like a jackhammer. It sounded more like a wooden peg striking a metal surface. And worse still, the source of the sound wasn't in my head, but somewhere in the house, somewhere on the floor below.

Outraged, I went downstairs. There, my roommate, Patryk, was calmly putting another section of the couch into the dryer. I was speechless for a long moment. I didn't know if I was dreaming or hallucinating; I couldn't believe what I was seeing. Patryk, meanwhile, after stuffing the remaining (now smallest) pieces of the sofa into the dryer, grabbed the armchair, and in the blink of an eye, disassembled it so I could easily fit them into the washing machine. That's when I lost it. A bad night's sleep, a hangover, and amazement made me feel a sudden, irresistible urge to talk Patryk out of his ideas, no matter what. Over dead bodies, I thought. I won't let anyone wake me up in my own home because they want to wash the furniture. This was clearly too much.

Patryk! I called out. "Patryk, what are you doing? Don't you know you don't wash furniture? Don't you know you don't dry furniture in a dryer?" My words, however, elicited no reaction from Patryk. So I walked over to him, grabbed his shoulders, and shook him gently, repeating my questions. What are you doing, Patryk? What are you doing best? And I was even more terrified, because Patryk's eyes seemed vacant. His state resembled some kind of hypnotic trance. I quickly moved away, because you never know what a possessed person might think when disturbed. Patryk, however, was not impressed in the slightest. He simply calmly went about the coffee table, the radiators, the VHS movies, and the DVDs. Then he calmly disconnected the cables and threw the VCR and DVD players, along with the remotes, into the washing machine. His blank gaze then turned to the television. I couldn't take it anymore and ran out of the house screaming.

I called my friends and met them at a nearby pub. I told them what was happening at home, and they laughed at my story. They told me I should stop smoking whatever I was smoking. I was outraged. Even my closest friends didn't believe me. My heart filled with helplessness. I asked for another beer and within a short while, I forgot about the situation at home.

After a few hours, I decided it was time to go home. I accepted my friends' views and even decided, even though I had already had a few drinks, that I must have imagined it all, or more likely, simply dreamed it. So I went home.

Without hesitation, I inserted the key in the lock and opened the door. What I saw, however, shattered my worldview. Patryk appeared before my eyes. I wanted to tell him about my morning visions, but I immediately decided against it. My eyes opened as wide as they could. I panicked. But I couldn't move. My muscles gave out. My life flashed before my eyes. I started praying.

Patryk calmly loaded the television into the dryer, saying,

"It was very dirty. It could use another round. And why are you standing there? Get ready. You'll be washed right after him."

How Jurek O. stopped the final count, or d

God was outraged. How could this be? What was happening there? This can't continue! Appropriate preventative measures must be taken. Appropriate decisions must be made and the statistics must be changed. In recent centuries, things had somehow worked out so strangely that Hell was gaining a larger percentage of souls than Heaven. This was a disturbing phenomenon for certain circles of Heaven, so the Council of Heaven implemented the motion of a certain Peter "the Rock" Saint, to change the conditions of stay in Heaven. This motion contained only one postulate. Namely, it introduced the principle "Do what you will." Saint Peter got the idea for this postulate during his last visit to Earth, in the first months of the last year before the end of the world. This was a crucial time for the Council of Heaven, as the time for counting the souls in the competing organizations was approaching. For Saint Peter, this was all the more important because he, along with his colleague from Hell, Lucifer the Mischievous, were tasked with organizing the Final Count, commonly known by people as the Last Judgment.

Both parties still had a lot of time, but the nervousness was already visible on the faces of everyone involved, sparked by the announcement of a certain small, stuttering man in red glasses and a yellow shirt, who claimed he didn't care about any of this, and that nothing interested him, because his Orchestra would play until the end of the world and one day longer.

God was close to rage. What do you mean, one day longer? What the hell is this guy up to? We promised him the position of leading angel, and he's still picky?

It's worth mentioning that leading angel was an exceptionally lucrative position, awarded honorarily. The role came with no responsibilities, except for the ceremonial ones, but the benefits were enormous. The leading angel could do literally anything without worrying about God's permission. He also had priority in repopulating Earth, which would be renewed after the Final Reckoning.

In any case, the little, stuttering man with the red glasses and yellow shirt was clearly not entirely happy with Heaven's offer and wanted to have a day longer than the others, which didn't sit well with the Reckoning Assembly. But the title of leading angel had been bestowed upon him before his death, so they didn't have much say in the matter. They could only silently criticize, which was met with an immediate reaction from God, who penetrated their minds and punished them for their disobedience. However, it's true that even God was disgusted by the actions of the little, stuttering man with the red glasses and yellow shirt, but he couldn't revoke the title and punish the offender. This would mean he had made a mistake in giving him that title, and that would result in a loss of authority in the eyes of the Council, which was unthinkable, especially on the eve of the Final Count!

So the "Do whatever you want" principle was implemented, and it proved to work brilliantly. Souls arrived by the millions, received immediate absolution, and experienced the beauty of Heaven in all its glory. There were even two instances when high-ranking representatives of Hell requested absolution and asylum in Heaven. Clearly, Heaven offered a better prospect for eternity than Hell, which was paved solely with good intentions. The rest of Hell's landscape consisted of bottles without holes (the first Pole to find a way to open them, however, found a way to do so millions of years ago). Heaven, on the other hand, looked like the most beautiful oasis for all seeking peace. However, just a few days after the "Do whatever you want" principle was implemented, incredible parties had been taking place here and there on the shores of the white ocean, where angels and the newcomers were intensely bonding. Everyone was happy.

Despite this, the faces of the dignitaries of Heaven and Hell were incredibly tense. However, it wasn't so much caused by the Final Counting as by the announcements of the little, stuttering man in red glasses and a yellow shirt that he wouldn't stop. And then they would have to wait another 29 billion centuries for the Final Counting. The closer it got to December 31, 2043, the more nervous everyone became.

Finally, the day longed for by both Parties arrived. In a secret agreement, they agreed to send Death to fetch the little, stuttering man in red glasses and a yellow shirt. However, even Death couldn't get him to speak and returned in despair.

Everyone was gripped by a palpable sense of dread. Would we have to wait so many centuries again? Was there nothing to be done? How could he be convinced? What should be done? What should be done?

God and Satan finally reached an agreement and together they went to the little, stuttering man in red glasses and a yellow shirt to convince him to leave the world.

When they met the little stuttering man in red glasses and a yellow shirt, he was preparing the program for another punk rock concert, which both newcomers loved. The little stuttering man in red glasses and a yellow shirt told the newcomers, whom he had known for a while, about the bands that were scheduled to perform, which they really enjoyed. He showed them statistical charts reflecting the demand for his Orchestra and revealed that this year the entire event would be hosted by Mariusz Mix Kolanko. That was enough. God and Satan were in a frenzy of joy. Such a great party! Incredible! This guy has a knack for organizing! You can't miss this! They took one look at each other and knew that the Final Counting would be a bust. They both remembered their college days, when they'd partied together at parties that lasted forever. They also knew well that the little stuttering man in red glasses and a yellow shirt's parties were always incredibly successful. They decided: We'll postpone the Final Count until another date. They agreed on a common version of events, which they had to present to their Party Councils, hugged the little stuttering man in red glasses and a yellow shirt, and went back to their place.

The little stuttering man in red glasses and a yellow shirt, not hiding his satisfaction, simply stammered: "Hey there!"

Ochlajewo

How did this happen? How did such a dereliction of duty occur? How could such a terrible situation be allowed to happen? Who is responsible? Who should be punished?

No one in the 20,000-strong community of Okhlajewo survived. But let's start from the beginning.

Okhlajewo is located in a complete wilderness. The nearest town in each direction is reached by a roughly 126-kilometer stretch of road, which is still impassable in many places. Apparently, all the notables from the capital forgot about rebuilding Okhlajewo. Or perhaps they simply had more important matters on their minds than dealing with a town known for nothing, where nothing happens. The truth is, however, that all the notables from the capital prayed for the total destruction and razing of Okhlajewo, which for them was merely an unnecessary hole in their budget. Besides, the war had only just ended, and there were many other places that needed investment. Okhlajewo was left alone.

Ironically, however, it turned out that the war didn't cause much damage in Ochlajewo. Apparently, the invaders saw nothing there that might interest them. Even the nearby lands were of no value to the invaders, so they left this black hole alone. For a long time during the occupation, the residents of Ochlajewo had no idea that the war was raging and that their country was in danger. That is, until a tank unexpectedly appeared nearby.

The residents weren't particularly concerned, in fact, they didn't notice anything. After all, a large part of the town was a post-war scrapyard, and one tank had escaped everyone's notice. However, there was someone who treated the scrapyard as a passion and soon discovered the arrival of a new tank. It was six-year-old Witek. Long deprived of his parents, he wandered the scrapyard, counting tanks. That's how he spent the last year of his life: counting tanks. So, he noticed the arrival of the new acquisition immediately. He was extremely interested, as it was a new-generation tank equipped with long-range warheads, four 13mm cannons, and a full complement of 35mm Fox cannon rounds. The only strange aspect of the tank's arrival was the complete lack of any information about it, let alone its crew. Never before had the armed forces dropped off equipment here without warning, and they always expected a receipt. But here, nothing of the sort happened.

Witek immediately rushed to inform the Okhlayevo authorities of this strange fact. However, of course, no one took him seriously. They threw him out of the city council building and banned him from returning. However, Witek said he would prove it to them, and if they didn't believe him, he would. He returned to the scrapyard and climbed into the tank.

He was immediately seized by straps that closed around his chest, waist, and legs. A helmet was mechanically lowered over his head, broadcasting a strange message to the wearer: "Kill, destroy, crush everything." After a few minutes, Witek stopped struggling. He straightened up, checked all the data, and moved like a seasoned tank operator.

Leaving the scrapyard, he encountered a group of vagrants who seemed to be experiencing a collective hallucination in a drunken stupor. None of them fled. With a deft move, Witek turned the tank's tracks toward them, and within moments, only broken bottles remained. Driving on, Witek leveled each house he encountered with well-aimed shots. Bursts from 13mm cannons caught up with all the fleeing men, incredibly accurate bursts. No one could escape little Witek's devastating work. He saved the city council building for last. He knew that the residents of Okhlajewo would seek help there. With short, accurate bursts, he eliminated every councilor, employee, citizen—in short, everyone in the vicinity and the city council building. When the heat sensors indicated on the monitors that only one remained, the fattest citizen of Okhlajewo, in the city council building, who also served as the city's mayor, Witek perfectly aimed at his rear end and fired a long-range nuclear warhead with a camera mounted directly at the mayor.

Many hours later, he still savored the sight of flesh being torn apart, the hectoliters of blood, the sheer scale of destruction. He also resolved to strike every town in the area, and perhaps, if he didn't tire of it, he would even conquer the entire world. But then something terrible happened.

The tank was rapidly losing power. The harness loosened, and the voice from the helmet suddenly disappeared. Instead, another voice appeared, this time more familiar, not as mechanical as the voice from the helmet. The voice repeated strange words, considering the situation our Witek had just created. The nervousness was clearly audible in the voice, so Witek listened more closely. The voice perfectly imitated his mother's.

The voice repeated: Witek, how many times do I have to tell you not to play in the tank? Go home. Dinner's ready!

A flirt

When I entered the bar, I knew what to expect. After all, it was the best place in town. A place you go in alone, but never leave without the company of the uglier or more beautiful sex (depending on your preferences).

I also knew that the fact that M. had invited me for a beer had a lot to do with the atmosphere in the bar. It wasn't that M. wanted to lure me into bed, but he clearly wanted someone to encourage him. His situation was quite difficult.

M. simply didn't know how to talk to women; he was actually afraid of them. This was very strange, because in all kinds of online chats, he was the life of the party and always won praise from his fellow chatters when another girl couldn't live without him.

In so-called real life, however, it was different. M. wasn't a particularly ugly guy, although he wasn't exactly handsome. He was an ordinary guy, nothing special. Only when he tried to meet a nice woman did his personality change drastically.

And then I saw him. He was standing in the corner by the bar. Everyone gave him a wide berth. If anyone approached, they were so drunk they ignored my friend M. standing there. He, on the other hand, looked terrible. His face, in particular, seemed to indicate a far-reaching search for reason, unsuccessful of course. His lust-filled eyes stared at every short skirt that tried to get away from him as quickly as possible with an expression of utter disgust and discouragement. My friend M. was already on his third beer, and because of this, his perception skills were very low.

I knew then that it was going to be a difficult evening. I knew this was just the beginning. It always ended with me drinking vodka until dawn and listening to my friend M.'s problems. But I couldn't do anything. He was a good friend.

I approached him.

"Witka M. What's up?

" "Two hours and already four girls want me. It'll be fine.

" "But what?"

- Well, nothing. Order another drink. We'll finish it and go home.

Курица в кунжуте

Ингредиенты

Соус соевый 5 ст.л

Масло кунжутное 2 ч.л

Мед 5 ч.л

Курица (грудка) 750 г

Масло оливковое 2 ст.л

Лук зеленый 2 шт

Имбирь 1 ст.л

Чеснок 3 зубчика

Бульон куриный 1,5 стакана

Крахмал 4 ст.л

Уксус рисовый 1 ст.л

Соус чили 1 ч.л

Брокколи 1 головка

В миске смешайте соевый соус (3 ст. ложки), кунжутное масло, мед (3 ч. ложки). Нарежьте грудку на небольшие кусочки и выложите в маринад. Оставьте на 20-30 минут. Достаньте курицу и оставьте только ложку маринада.

Обжарьте куриные кусочки на оливковом масле до золотисто-коричневой корочки. Выложите в тарелку.

Выложите на разогретую на оливковом масле сковороду нарезанный зеленый лук, имбирь и чеснок. В отдельной миске смешайте бульон, остальной соус, мед, крахмал, уксус и чили.

Выложите соус на сковороду, перемешайте и готовьте до загустения около 2-3 минут. Отварите брокколи. Залейте курицу соусом и вокруг выложите соцветия брокколи. Присыпьте кунжутом.

Приятного аппетита!

Филе индейки в специях

Ингредиенты

Индейка (филе) 1000 г

Чеснок 6-7 зубчиков

Масло оливковое 1-2 ч.л

Базилик

Кориандр

Чабер

Соль

Карри

Перец

Филе нарезать на порционные куски.

Приготовить соляной раствор. В кастрюлю налить воду, добавить соль и перец по вкусу, перемешать до растворения соли. Выложить в раствор индейку и поставить мариноваться в холодное место на 2 часа. По истечении времени мясо вынуть и обсушить.

Чеснок очистить и нарезать пластинками. В каждом куске мяса сделать глубокие надрезы и положить туда по пластинке чеснока. 

Отдельно смешать все специи, добавить оливковое масло и перемешать до однородности.

Щедро натереть полученной смесью мясо со всех сторон и завернуть в пищевую фольгу. Запекать при температуре 250°C градусов 20-30 минут.

Приятного аппетита!