Kptr | 37.30.14.* | 14 Sierpnia, 2024 15:43

Zmien nr tel, a znajomym powiedz ze pod zadnym pozorem nie maja podawac Twoim rodzicom Twojego nowego nr tel, albo zwyczajnie zablokuj nr rodzicow. Popieprzylo ich, to ich problem. I powiedz znajomym, zeby tez zablokowali nr Twoich rodzicow.

FML | 188.31.172.* | 14 Sierpnia, 2024 16:03

Dobra rada, aczkolwiek nie ten portal i nie ten język.
Tu możesz co najwyżej wstawić uwagi dotyczące tłumaczenia.

Picasso face | 104.232.37.* | 14 Sierpnia, 2024 16:18

They come to visit:
“Where did you get a rug like this?” my father asks, making a face. “Did you get this thing in a junk shop or did somebody give it to you?
“I like this rug.”

“What are you talking,” my father says, “it’s a worn-out rug.”

Light-hearted. “It’s worn, but not out. Okay? Enough?”

“Alex, please,” my mother says, “it is a very worn rug.”

“You’ll trip on that thing,” my father says, “and throw your knee out of whack, and then you’ll really be in trouble.”

“And with your knee,” says my mother meaningfully, “that wouldn’t be a picnic.”

At this rate they are going to roll the thing up any minute now, the two of them, and push it out the window. And then take me home!

“The rug is fine. My knee is fine.”

“It wasn’t so fine,” my mother is quick to remind me, “when you had the cast on, darling, up to your hip. How he shlepped that thing around! How miserable he was!”

“I was fourteen years old then, Mother.”

“Yeah, and you came out of that thing,” my father says, “you couldn’t bend your leg, I thought you were going to be a cripple for the rest of your life. I told him, ‘Bend it! Bend it!’ I practically begged him morning, noon, and night, ‘Do you want to be a cripple forever? Bend that leg!’ ”

“You scared the daylights out of us with that knee.”

“But that was in nineteen hundred and forty-seven. And this is nineteen sixty-six. The cast has been off nearly twenty years!”


My mother’s cogent reply? “You’ll see, someday you’ll be a parent, and you’ll know what it’s like. And then maybe you won’t sneer at your family any more.”

The legend engraved on the face of the Jewish nickel—on the body of every Jewish child!—not IN GOD WE TRUST, but SOMEDAY YOU’LL BE A PARENT AND YOU’LL KNOW WHAT IT’S LIKE.

“You think,” my father the ironist asks, “it’ll be in our lifetime, Alex? You think it’ll happen before I go down into the grave? No—he’d rather take chances with a worn-out rug!” The ironist—and logician! “—And crack his head open! And let me ask you something else, my independent son—who would even know you were here if you were lying bleeding to death on the floor? Half the time you don’t answer the phone, I see you lying here with God only knows what’s wrong—and who is there to take care of you? Who is there even to bring you a bowl of soup, if God forbid something terrible should happen?”

(...)

Portnoy's Complaint - Philip Roth
dafei.pub/read

Picasso face | 103.111.32.* | 14 Sierpnia, 2024 17:00

Only let me finish. So they get into the taxi. “Kiss him,” my mother whispers, “you’re going all the way to Europe.”

Of course my father overhears—that’s why she lowers her voice, so we’ll all listen—and panic sweeps over him. Every year, from September on, he is perpetually asking me what my plans are for the following August—now he realizes that he has been outfoxed: bad enough I am leaving on a midnight plane for another continent, but worse, he hasn’t the slightest idea of my itinerary. I did it! I made it!

“—But where in Europe? Europe is half the whole globe—” he cries, as I begin to close the taxi door from the outside.

“I told you, I don’t know.”

“What do you mean? You gotta know! How will you get there yourself, if you ‘don’t know’—”

“Sorry, sorry—”

Desperately now his body comes lurching across my mother’s—just as I slam shut the door—oy, not on his fingers, please! Jesus, this father!
(...)


j.w.

Dawca | 83.30.173.* | 15 Sierpnia, 2024 12:33

Daj ojcu paczkę viagry i powiedz żeby pożądnie matkę wyrvchał jak się tak nudzą. Gwarantuje ci że skończą się twoje problemy.