VVP: Oh, heck, if you are really that wise …
Obama(jumping about a hall and clapping in palms in joy) : We smart, wise ! We Yankees ! Like monkeys ! Monkeys wise, humans from monkeys, we from monkeys too !
VVP: As far as I know, there is just a telecast “In fauna” in the next room of the studio …
Obama: We strong ! We come, killed all natives, lotta blood ! We learned ! Doesn’t matter who, we still kill ! Arabs, Russians, Latins, all same ! Lotta blood ! We mighty ! (grins in a television camera)
VVP: And so now you are face-deep in a shit …
Obama: No ! We OK, all OK ! Still eat, still sleep, still exist – all normal !
VVP: Well, and does torments of conscience not haunt you? Say, faces of killed Iraq children, occurring in your mirrors in the mornings ?
Obama: Soul ? What soul ? We need no soul, we save no soul ! No SOS, no … asses ! We save ass, that’s all ! Fat ass, we take care (poses his *ss before the nearest television camera, which has approached just in time). Pretty simple, eh?
VVP: As they say, it looks like you have just dotted one's "i's" and cross one's "t's" without even noticing.
Obama: What ? Me not understand ! Me’s yankee, dunno forget that !
VVP: OK! (aside, in a whisper) Oh hell, how I do agree with you now, my black-assed colleague !
Obama(having calmed down and again having taken seat for a table) : More talk, no? Me good talker ! Me talks, talks, talks … no deeds, just talks ! Lotta fun !
VVP: Yeah, it’s really difficult to neglect your oratory skill.
Obama: Yep ! Democracy style ! Talk, talk, talk. Do different, keep talking ! Blah-blah-blah … great disguise !
VVP: But, apparently, the world starts to see through this illusion, for long time obvious to some...
Obama(looking around in fear) : They see? Who see ? We not care ! Lotta money, mouth shut ! We talk, no they ! Silence, no mass media – we are media ! All equal, some equal more ! Democracy!
VVP: Now, apparently, I am starting to understand, why such a popular and defiled word starts exactly with the “D” letter …
Obama(in confusion) ? D…dunno ? No ? De…despots ? We kill despots for oil ! D…dinners ? We good dinners, fat asses ! D … devil ? We fight devil, we Empire of Goodness ! Gut bless us !
VVP: Excuse me, I take it that what you really wanted to say is “God bless us” ?
Obama: God ? No, we know no God ! We forget. We just kill. Just eat, sleep, drink. Again, again. Endless circle, no end. We Gut Nation! Damnation!
VVP: So, does this really mean that you do not consider yourselves as chosen nation, destined to make happy millions of unknown people by democratizing them … to the death ?
Obama: We are ! Are we !? Chosen ! Like Jews, like Britain ! Holy three ! Arabs no chosen, Latins no chosen, we chosen ! Niggas no chosen… shitty niggas! (catches on tongue the drop of excrements of voters, which has flown down from hair, and spits it out with passion in the face of the V.V.P.). You not chosen, too !
VVP: Enough ! Such behavior passes all moral boundaries, even though I am not sure you have any of those remained !
Obama: Got it ?! Retribution ! You refuse, you get retribution ! Democracy, fuck you !
VVP: Enough, the interview ends now. Security, please take care of our deranged visitor ! Try not to cause him too much harm, scientists of the future will surely need this brain for studying the reasons of similar is intellectual-national illnesses.
Two bashers who have entered the television studio inconsiderately take Obama in hands and try to force him out. Obama shouts and spits, threatening with all torments of a Hell, beginning from sale in sexual slavery to the Blacks and finishing with the promise to arrange the next grey-buro-crimson-in-speck revolution. At last, having gotten a blow in the chest from one of the guards, he calms down. And only his gleaming black eyes still shows the degree of his aversion of similar aversion of Their Way. Finally, all three silhouettes disappear from a the vision of video cameras.
VVP(wiping his face with a hand) : So, my dear watch-ers, see-ers and stare-ers … he is such a man, this mister Community Organizer Barrack Hussein Obama ! But let us not judge harshly, it’s simply not their day today. And the tomorrow too … and the day after the tomorrow. For our ancestors did spoke right : “If you spit in the world – the world will clear itself, and if the world spits on you – you shall surely sink”. And as they say, may the Gut give them good health … and may the God have mercy on their souls !
This was Vladimir Vladimirovich Pupkin, permanent, yet not immortal television figure of the “Russia News” TV show. And as our American friends would surely speak – “Have a good day ! OK ?”.
27.09.2010
And all diseases will be gone …
I stopped. I stopped when have noticed a picture, totally breaking all conceivable and inconceivable laws of human logic. It wasn’t simply strange … it was … somewhat ridiculous … amazing.
For a couple of years already I have been a regular visitor of this establishment, was there on a two-three month basis, I got used to behold yellow walls with shelled and falling off plaster, constantly sad faces of its people … used to see queues of older persons all with lowered heads and sad expressions on them, used to observe how some of them not without the help from other colleagues have been forced to wait in longest many-hours queues in order to receive a priceless ticket, granting one the right to learn one’s fate - for even they, these people, tried to appear here as seldom as ever possible, tried not to be at all.
I had to come here time and again - my current condition didn’t allow to me to do anything different. I had to stand in queues among same brothers-by-misfortune, to listen to silently-cold voices of doctors, ascertaining deterioration of your disease and constantly diligently drawing something on your out-patient card, without troubling themselves with any comments on that subject, though.
I got accustomed to this place, despite all its absurd. I could do no other. I cared no longer of what my doctors would tell me - my own sentence I have known for quite a while already and for a long time have reconciled to it. Different thoughts occupied my mind - I thirsted to know why these men so diligently avoided to look you in the face while reading your diagnosis, leaving you no options of survival - not in this life at least, not during ten incoming years. I was truly curios why they, snow-white like a funeral shroud in this house of grief, only multiplied this grief with their indifferent faces, cold voices …
Was a monthly ascertaining of the absence of any positive changes in my illness really desired by me? Whether I really needed those endless inspections, required by no one, even myself? No. Not for this I thirsted. I thirsted for words - a kind word of participation and understanding. I desired to hear words of support from them - just to know that some other can share your pain … simply to be aware of that. I wanted to behold a shine of joy - a joy of life - even in someone’s eyes, once in many months … But, obviously, I desired too much … too much in this life - and hopes of mine could never come true.