If you are Hungarian don't read on. Simply look at the picture and solve the easy puzzle.
If you don't speak Hungarian here is the story:
Somebody scratched off the first part of this street name so that it means: 'we' street. I guess he just wanted to emphasize that this was the place where they lived. Okay, okay, but it seemed a bit selfish. Somebody solved the problem with a good deal of creativity and easy-goingness. He replaced the original "hal" letters with a fish, because that's what it means in Hungarian. So the original "Halmi" street had been restored. Cool.
An AT AT imperial walker has been on your wishlist for ages and you think you'll never ever get it and it is time to grow up and now you'll give in and ask for a stupid laptop or something? Just watch this :D
When I was a kid, about 7 or 8 years old, I started to play the cello. My mum wanted me to learn music and the head of the music school, a well-known conductor and musician, suggested the cello. He said "the kid's ears look like cello-ears". Nobody had the faintest idea what the hell the guy meant but it would have been impolite to ask so we all accepted the fact that I was cut out to be a cellist. After all this my mum made me go to lessons and practise the instrument every single Saturday and Sunday morning for about an hour and a half, while the other kids were busy fishing or playing football outside. I clearly remember two incidents about my cello-learning years.
The first one happened at school. We were playing football in the afternoon and I had put the instrument under the teacher's desk, which seemed the only really safe place. However, somebody(everybody thought it was me, of course) must have still found a way to kick it good and hard, because later that evening when I unpacked it from its linen cover me and my cello teacher were astonished to see that its neck had been broken. I didn't have to practise for a couple of weeks but then the misery started anew.
The other one happened one morning when I couldn't get on the tram with the wretched beast and I made such a scene that my mum, with a sunken heart of someone who has just realised that her son would not be the next Perényi or Casals after all, decided to talk to the school to end my lessons.
It wasn't until much later, when I was starting to learn the guitar chords that I could feel grateful for those lessons and for my mum's endurance. My hands were more adapted to this kind of struggle than those of my peers so I learned the guitar chords much quicker than they.
So, each time I see this scene from the film 'Take the money and run', I feel a bit nostalgic(besides laughing myself to bits, of course:)
