It must be marvelous to live in the wreckage of the Soviet Union. It used to be a buttoned-down icebox of Stalinist rules. Now no one cares what the hell you’re up to. If anyone asks, just say, “Because Russia.”

This little maneuver might seem a tad, well, ill-advised to an outsider. But it’s a country where playing bumper cars with econoboxes is the de facto national sport. “Tonight on Dashcam Derby, Ivor is going to get two wheels up on the guardrail and pass a helicopter that’s flying down the hammer lane for some reason, and a giant truck loaded with Chernobyl salvage lumbering down the breakdown lane on four flat tires, and on the right-hand side, too. He’s drunk of course. He’s awake! Duh. Go Ivor! Oh, dear, that ended badly. Next! Because Russia!”

Sure, pitch yourself off a building after lighting your MC Hammer pants afire and land in a disreputable looking pile of snow. Why not? Because Russia! It’s probably safer than staying on the building, which looks like it was built by pigs expecting a wolf. In Russia they dish out polonium enemas to guys that wouldn’t get a sternly worded letter in America. Why wait for something bad to happen to you? Make something bad happen to you! Just make sure someone’s filming it, and you’re instantly the David O Farkin Selznick of YouTube. Why? Because Russia!

(thanks to Gerard at American Digest for sending that one along. Because Borderline!)