Chekhovs Comedy
Sept 3, 2021 9:51:31 GMT -6
Punished Von Brandt, Ripped “Tide” Taylor, and 4 more like this
Post by magnus on Sept 3, 2021 9:51:31 GMT -6
Soviet voice over:
"in Soviet Russia, wall never came down. The David Hasslehoff did not deliver freedom. East and West Berlin were not united under capitalist propaganda. Only crushed under superior Soviet Reslove. I shot fourteen capitalists that day. Traitors to Mother Russia herself. They pulled themselves off the giving bosom and spat nourishment into her face.
The Beatles do not weep for you.
Paul is dead.
And with him any patriot dreams of the capitalist dogs."
Soviet_Flashback.Motherland.CCCP
~ East Berlin. 1989. Tower Marker 5. ~
PPS Sub machine gun whispered sweet reckoning in my ear as the muzzle flashed and flashed beautiful portraits of the motherland painted in screams and bloodshed. In soviet Russia, Motherland defects you. There were no songs to be sung. Just the weeping of mothers and groaning of men followed by the rattle of bullets. Lamentation is just Capitalism and capitalism is weakness leaving the body. I left many bodies. And business was good.
Soviet_flash->forward.Motherland.CCCP
A glint of brass shown through the shadowbox that was crudely nailed to the wall of my cabin. The motherlands kiss on my forehead for a job well done that day. Soon after I would be discharged from the embrace and honor of military service. My best friend, Peytor, he receive promotion and I receive exile for fear that I would take his job and fuck his wife. He was only part correct. At least one of his children are not his.
I have been in Siberia since year 125 BL. That is Birth of Lenin years. I am old now but strong.
Then came knock on my door. I open it to nothing. Just the Veter, the wind. Turning back I see man sitting on wooden couch softened by bear pelt holding a bottle of vodka.
"Magnus"
"Viktor"
He feign surprise like capitalists feign superiority.
"Is that a way to act to an old friends."
"we are not old friends, comrade."
"aye, but we are comrades, comrade and being comrades, I am inclined to inform you of your unwavering, unyielding , non-voluntary and irremovable participation."
"Participation in what?"
"why, the WAR, of course."
"I am retired. in Exile."
"well now, you are pro wrestler. Look, if motherland say you are retired, you are retired. If motherland say you are wrestler, you are wrestler. It is communism, pure and simple. Have you heard of Las Vegas? It is last bastion of capitalist greed and hedomism. The war, the war is not over, Magnus. The war is just beginning and the Siberian Lion is going to lead glorious mother Russia to bountiful Social-economic distress and proto-prosperity."
"What does it pay?"
"Three shots of vodka, one brass riffle cartridge from a Mosin-Nagant and a handful of coal ash."
"How do I know this isnt trick from Peytor?"
"Because there would only be two shots of vodka and you wouldn't know about the bullet but as I said, old friend, we ARE old friends, comrade. Unless you just the want the vodka, because - that - could -"
Viktor walks to the window and gives an outward look.
"Be arranged."
"No need. terms accepted."
Viktor motions to his neck at the window, as if to call off some cue. Only to cover it up by spitting into his palm and running it through his hair. He turns back to Magnus with same hand.
"So, deal?"
"Deal."
We shake. We drink.
And now a joke.
How do you start Russian comedy?
By giving Chekhov a gun.
"in Soviet Russia, wall never came down. The David Hasslehoff did not deliver freedom. East and West Berlin were not united under capitalist propaganda. Only crushed under superior Soviet Reslove. I shot fourteen capitalists that day. Traitors to Mother Russia herself. They pulled themselves off the giving bosom and spat nourishment into her face.
The Beatles do not weep for you.
Paul is dead.
And with him any patriot dreams of the capitalist dogs."
Soviet_Flashback.Motherland.CCCP
~ East Berlin. 1989. Tower Marker 5. ~
PPS Sub machine gun whispered sweet reckoning in my ear as the muzzle flashed and flashed beautiful portraits of the motherland painted in screams and bloodshed. In soviet Russia, Motherland defects you. There were no songs to be sung. Just the weeping of mothers and groaning of men followed by the rattle of bullets. Lamentation is just Capitalism and capitalism is weakness leaving the body. I left many bodies. And business was good.
Soviet_flash->forward.Motherland.CCCP
A glint of brass shown through the shadowbox that was crudely nailed to the wall of my cabin. The motherlands kiss on my forehead for a job well done that day. Soon after I would be discharged from the embrace and honor of military service. My best friend, Peytor, he receive promotion and I receive exile for fear that I would take his job and fuck his wife. He was only part correct. At least one of his children are not his.
I have been in Siberia since year 125 BL. That is Birth of Lenin years. I am old now but strong.
Then came knock on my door. I open it to nothing. Just the Veter, the wind. Turning back I see man sitting on wooden couch softened by bear pelt holding a bottle of vodka.
"Magnus"
"Viktor"
He feign surprise like capitalists feign superiority.
"Is that a way to act to an old friends."
"we are not old friends, comrade."
"aye, but we are comrades, comrade and being comrades, I am inclined to inform you of your unwavering, unyielding , non-voluntary and irremovable participation."
"Participation in what?"
"why, the WAR, of course."
"I am retired. in Exile."
"well now, you are pro wrestler. Look, if motherland say you are retired, you are retired. If motherland say you are wrestler, you are wrestler. It is communism, pure and simple. Have you heard of Las Vegas? It is last bastion of capitalist greed and hedomism. The war, the war is not over, Magnus. The war is just beginning and the Siberian Lion is going to lead glorious mother Russia to bountiful Social-economic distress and proto-prosperity."
"What does it pay?"
"Three shots of vodka, one brass riffle cartridge from a Mosin-Nagant and a handful of coal ash."
"How do I know this isnt trick from Peytor?"
"Because there would only be two shots of vodka and you wouldn't know about the bullet but as I said, old friend, we ARE old friends, comrade. Unless you just the want the vodka, because - that - could -"
Viktor walks to the window and gives an outward look.
"Be arranged."
"No need. terms accepted."
Viktor motions to his neck at the window, as if to call off some cue. Only to cover it up by spitting into his palm and running it through his hair. He turns back to Magnus with same hand.
"So, deal?"
"Deal."
We shake. We drink.
And now a joke.
How do you start Russian comedy?
By giving Chekhov a gun.