Russian Stove Puns

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ggcnJ2vnvR8

нужна помощь на русском языке, ссылка .. является неэлектрической пеллетной печью российского строительства? как его найти?

I recently heard a clip of what i think may be the same band's music being used as background music in on Carson Daly's Last Call show when he was interviewing the creator of the movie "Exporting Raymond."

I found no reference on the Last Call website to the short snippet of music used.

Random images from several Finnish sources. Originals can be found via Google reverse image search.

Several sauna build posts on reddit have been saying that their sauna is a dry sauna so they don't need a drain. Why do you have ventilation, vapor barrier and hot rocks then?

There is no \"wet sauna\". The so called wet sauna refers to Turkish steam rooms where there is no stove or heater, but water is boiled in a steamer and the steam is directed into the room. Infrared is not sauna at all, it's an oven.

This is why there are heated rocks in a sauna in the first place. They serve no other purpose. Rocks absorb heat, they're not very good at radiating it. Throwing water on them releases the heat as steam.

Typically a full 10 litre (2.5 gallons) bucket of water lasts for about 30 to 60 minutes of sauna time.

Common etiquette is that the person doing the throwing should not exit before the steam settles or everyone else has left. Don't throw more than you can handle yourself.

Many english texts use the phrase \"water is poured\" or \"added\". In Finnish it is thrown. A spoonful (2-3dl, 6-10oz) or a couple is thrown every minute or every few minutes or so. It goes in waves: more steam, let it settle, more steam, let it settle. Often you need to duck down or lean forward because your ears are burning, this is why some people use sauna hats.

[The Finnish word for the increase of humidity caused by throwing water on the rocks is \"löyly\". It seems impossible for non-natives to pronounce. Yes, there is a word for it and it has no ot

I don't want to step on anybody's toes here, but the amount of non-dad jokes here in this subreddit really annoys me. First of all, dad jokes CAN be NSFW, it clearly says so in the sub rules. Secondly, it doesn't automatically make it a dad joke if it's from a conversation between you and your child. Most importantly, the jokes that your CHILDREN tell YOU are not dad jokes. The point of a dad joke is that it's so cheesy only a dad who's trying to be funny would make such a joke. That's it. They are stupid plays on words, lame puns and so on. There has to be a clever pun or wordplay for it to be considered a dad joke.

Again, to all the fellow dads, I apologise if I'm sounding too harsh. But I just needed to get it off my chest.

A face contorted by rage.

A lead fist hit him in the chest.

Screams Everywhere.

Burning, Wet Pain.

Cold.

So Cold.

Darkness.

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Aleksandr Fyodorovich woke up in a cold sweat.
His eyes were wide open and his heart was hammering wildly in his chest.
As it had done a thousand times before.
Aleksandr was alone in his dark bedroom. His torment had returned once more, as it always did, and always would. Tears were forming in his eyes as he sobbed quietly in his loneliness. He would never escape his fate. His horror would never end.

He dared not move his gaze from the ceiling in fear of the horrors he might see in the black corners of the room. He clutched his blanket close to his body, but it seemed completely useless in making him stop shivering. As his tears were making the pillowcase wet Aleksandr closed his eyes and wished with all his heart this perpetual nightmare could end, that he could fall back asleep and wake up someplace else, someplace warm, anywhere but here. Outside, the dark winter night lay heavy on the land.

Aleksandr Fyodorovich didn’t know how long he lay in his bed like this. It could have been fifteen minutes, it could have been an hour, it could have been more. But after his heart had stopped racing he could no longer bear the cold that was seeping through his blanket and night garments.

Aleksandr pulled off his blanket and sat up on the edge of the bed. The chilling winter air that filled the room made his teeth chatter. Despite this, he still needed some time before he could summon up the will to rise. His legs were beginning to feel the ache that inevitably comes with age, even though Alexander Fyodorovich was only in his mid-fifties. Walking over to the other side of his bedroom he retrieved and put on his thick, fur housecoat.

The halls of the house were empty and would have been silent as the grave if not for Aleksandr Fyodorovich restlessly wandering in his gloom. The only light illuminating his steps being the starlight coming in through the windows.

In past nights like this, Aleksandr had thought much about what he possibly could have done to deserve this cruel fate. He had searched through his long life and lengthy career, his many accomplishments and his more than a few crimes.

Aleksandr Fyodorovich had never been a particularly pious man, but in many of his desperate nights he had turn

Do your worst!

I'm surprised it hasn't decade.

For context I'm a Refuse Driver (Garbage man) & today I was on food waste. After I'd tipped I was checking the wagon for any defects when I spotted a lone pea balanced on the lifts.

I said "hey look, an escaPEA"

No one near me but it didn't half make me laugh for a good hour or so!

Edit: I can't believe how much this has blown up. Thank you everyone I've had a blast reading through the replies 😂

It really does, I swear!

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"When I just turned eleven, I wanted to go learn to pilot Exos," Ashira finally began her tale. For what had seemed to be the past eternity, she had been able to do nothing but remain in Max's warm embrace, tears silently rolling down her cheeks and onto his right shoulder. Though there were approximately a million things she wanted to vent about, she couldn't collect her thoughts enough to focus on any one of them.

"My mom stepped in," Ashira continued with a sigh. "She wanted me to be the commander of the 5th Rocket Artillery. A ceremonial unit."

Seeing a blank stare on Max's face, she was quick to clarify. "Ceremonial units are, well, for ceremonies. They are part of the reserve forces, and are, effectively, family-owned and operated. They are mostly for parades and for keeping niche weapons systems and combat styles alive."

"So, like the unit Russia used to have, who drove T-34s for Victory Day parades?" Max asked, his love of military trivia trumping his desire to let Ashira speak uninterrupted.

"I- uh… what is a T-34?", she asked, her head tilting up and to the left in confusion; a distinctly main-world noble mannerism.

"Oh, right, I forgot you are a literal alien," the man laughed. "So, way back in the day, there was a big war, between a Central European country called Germany, and basically the rest of the world. Russia, the country we are in right now, was one of the main powers that defeated them. The main-line Russian tank was the T-34. It was not the best, or the most reliable, but it was mass-produced to the point that it became the symbol of the winning side."

"Kind of like the Ishtarti, then," Ashira responded, a spark of joy shining through the glumness of her voice as she sat up a little. "Rocket carrier. They were being phased out about half a century ago, but then they became sort of iconic for their role in the Liberation of Kruti-08. Still, they were terrible, so they were relegated to the 5th Rocket Artillery, which was already a ceremonial unit, and had been for centuries."

"Which brings me to my main point: I never wanted to command a stupid ceremonial unit in the first place. My mom, well, she sort of forced me to

They’re on standbi

Because she wanted to see the task manager.

Pilot on me!!

This is a Galician traditional kitchen, called a lareira. The cauldron is a pote or caldeiro. The chain and hook to which it is attached is a gramalleira/camalleira, gamalleira/preganza, depending on dialect.

Apparently when giving birth some people used to do it squatting, holding onto this chain, but I think most people gave birth in the bed. The rotating post to which the chain is attached, unless it is hanging directly from the ceiling, is called the guindastre. That's so you can easily take the pot out of the flame.

Next to the lareira is a place where the wood to be burned is stored, called a fornalha/requeixo/ anllar/unllar/ullar/inllar (this last one ultimately from Latin angulum, meaning corner) depending on the dialect. The wood that you throw into the fire has different names depending on dialect and size. Estelas, achas and rachas are smaller pieces, rachóns are large pieces.

The cauldrons or pots can also be put into the fire over a tripod, called a trespés/trepia/tripio/estrépia depending on dialect.

Over the lareira you can find the canizo/caínzo/cambeiro/fumizo which is a roof made out of sticks where you put chestnuts or meats so that they are dried via the smoke. See this picture. It's the roof that's made out of sticks, you'd put the chestnuts there.

In some parts of Galicia, they build a dedicated building for this role, called a sequeiro and the chestnuts are dried over a latticework of sticks called caniceiras. It takes between 8-15 days, and you have to watch over it day and night to take the dry ones out and put new ones in (these chestnuts are later eaten, after removing their shells, with milk or in a soup or with meat).

The stone roof of the lareira, if there is one, is called the cambota and you can also use it to smoke meats. In this picture you can see a lareira, underneath the cambota.

The back part of the lareira where the completely burnt ash is left and accumulated is called the parrumeira (also, curiously enough, a term for the female genitalia) or the borralheira (also, curiously enough, a term for the rain in some dialects).

The floor used to be compacted earth but could also be made out of smooth pebbles and stones (from rivers for example), called caios.

Some of these lareiras in modern times have been converted into mere fireplaces, some have been restored and are in full function, but in the last few decades (since the

Nothing, he was gladiator.

Dad jokes are supposed to be jokes you can tell a kid and they will understand it and find it funny.

This sub is mostly just NSFW puns now.

If it needs a NSFW tag it's not a dad joke. There should just be a NSFW puns subreddit for that.

Edit* I'm not replying any longer and turning off notifications but to all those that say "no one cares", there sure are a lot of you arguing about it. Maybe I'm wrong but you people don't need to be rude about it. If you really don't care, don't comment.

On January 13, 2015, after many days of fighting and as a result of constant shelling, the air traffic control tower of the Donetsk airport collapsed. This day can be considered the beginning of the end of the heroic defense of the DAP, which lasted 244 days.

The airport is as flat as a table, there is nowhere to hide, except for buildings. Ukrainian troops never had large forces here, rarely when there were more than 100 people in the DAP. The main striking power of the defenders was artillery. At the end of the defense, its reaction time was 14 seconds from the moment the target was identified to the moment the first shot was fired.

The air traffic control tower dominating the surroundings was an excellent observation post, where artillery spotters were on duty around the clock. Despite the icy wind, which intensified the already rather strong frost (down to -29°C), they did their job as best they could.

The enemy understood the importance of the "eyes" on the tower, he felt it. Losses from Ukrainian artillery fire were serious, sometimes enemy units that tried to break through to the terminal were destroyed on the way. In the thermal imager, it was clear how slowly but surely the wind was blowing the remnants of vital heat from the dead bodies. And then the corpses were dragged away by wild, repeatedly shell-shocked and therefore completely fearless dogs.

The diameter of the tower is 25 meters, the height is 50. A concrete monolith, like a refrigerator, there can be no talk of any comfort. There was even a potbelly stove at this observation post, but it was of no use. The water froze, and it was possible to “drink” only ice. The observers on the tower had a hard time.

Probably, here, as never before, everything rested on interaction and well-coordinated work. If the observer misses something here, or the gunners linger, the enemy will come closer. Choose the distance between "see" and "shoot". And then there are two options: either the guys in the terminal will, clinging to heaps of garbage, fight back on their own, which is that “Russian roulette”, or they will simply call for danger close fire on themselves ...

In fact, the tower was hit very often. Someone was nervous about the Ukrainian flag at the top, someone was trying to remove the spotter. For visiting tourists from Russia, who came periodically for “safaris", this concrete tower was just a conspicuous target. A giant in the middle of an icy wasteland.

Somewhere in the m