Three friends are in a hotel room in Soviet Russia. The first two men open a bottle of vodka, while the third is tired and goes straight to bed. He is unable to sleep however, as his increasingly drunk friends tell political jokes loudly.
After a while, the tired man gets frustrated and walks downstairs for a smoke. He stops in the lounge and asks the receptionist to bring tea to their room in five minutes.
The man walks back into the room, joins the table, leans towards a power outlet and speaks into it:
“Comrade major, we want some tea to room 62 please.”
His friends laugh on the joke, until there is a knock on the door. The receptionist brings a teapot. His friends fall silent and pale, horrified of what they just witnessed. The party is dead, and the man goes to sleep.
After a good night’s rest, the man wakes up, and notices his friends are gone. Surprised, he walks downstairs and asks the receptionist where they went.
The nervous receptionist whispers that KGB came and took them before dawn.
The man is horrified. He wonders why he was spared.
The receptionist responds:
“Well, comrade major did quite like your tea joke.”
Don’t Touch My Truck-By: Breland and Sam Hunt
You can drink my liquor You can call my lady You can take my money You can smoke my blunt Scuff these Jordans You can say you hate me You can call me crazy, but Don’t touch my truck (skrrt, skrrt) Skrrt (yeah, yeah) Skrrt Don’t touch my truck (brrp, yeah) Skrrt (woo-oh) Skrrt Don’t touch my V8 engine
with the windows tinted Boy, we came from the bottom, got it out the mud Whole block jumpin’ ‘cause the subs stay hittin’ If they roll up on me, know I keep one tucked (ooh, yeah) Woo Tell them boys come and get me I be ridin’ through the city Young, rich and I’m pretty Homie, don’t get it twisted Keep a semi in the hemi (oh) red cup full of Henny My hitters come in plenties, for real You can drink my liquor You can call my lady You can take my money You can smoke my blunt Scuff these Jordans You can say you hate me You can call me crazy, but Don’t touch my truck (skrrt, skrrt) Skrrt (yeah, yeah) Skrrt Don’t touch my truck (brrp, yeah) Skrrt (woo-oh) Skrrt Don’t touch my Wood grain dash with the matte black finish And it match my shawty with the big ol’ butt Know them boys soft ‘cause they got hard feelings You can try me if you wanna go and test your luck (woo) Tell them boys come and get me (get me) I be ridin’ through the city Young, rich and I’m pretty (yeah) Homie, don’t get it twisted (yeah) Keep a semi in the hemi (in the hemi) red cup full of Henny (yeah, we drinking) My hitters come in plenties, for real You can drink my liquor You can call my lady You can take my money You can smoke my blunt Scuff these Jordans You can say you hate me You can call me crazy, but Don’t touch my truck Skrrt Skrrt Don’t touch my truck Skrrt Skrrt Don’t touch my Woo,
ooh, woo, ooh, woo, ooh Don’t touch my truck (woo, ooh) Don’t touch my truck