Спасатели Малибу

Спасатели Малибу

Way out East there were these fellas — fellas I wanna tell ya about. Fellas by the name of Bogaturs. At least that was the handle heir loving parents gave them, but they never had much use for them. Bogaturs, they called themselves Bogaturs. Now, Bogaturs — they didn’t make a whole lot of sense. And a lot about where they lived, likewise.

But then again, maybe that’s why I found the place so darned interestin’. They call Russia cyrillically challanged. I didn’t find it to be that, exactly. But I’ll allow there are some strange folks there. ‘Course I can’t say I’ve seen London, and I ain’t never been to France. And I ain’t never seen no queen in her damned undies, so the feller says. But I’ll tell you what — after seeing the Russia, and this here story I’m about to unfold, well, I guess I seen somethin’ every bit as stupefyin’ as you’d see in any of them other places. And mostly in English, too. So I can die with a smile on my face, without feelin’ like the good Lord gypped me.

Sometimes there’s some men — I won’t say heroes, ’cause, what’s a hero? But sometimes, there’s some men. And I’m talkin’ about the Bogaturs here. Sometimes, there’s some men, well, they’re the men for their time and place. They fit right in there. And that’s the Bogaturs, in Russia. And even if they live in a hellhole — and the Bogaturs most certainly do. Quite possibly the most hellish landscape in Eastern Europe, which would place it high in the runnin’ for being most hellish worldwide. But sometimes there’s some men, sometimes, there’s some men. Aw. I lost my train of thought here. But — aw, hell; I’ve done introduced them enough.

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