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I Don’t Know What To Say Anymore

I Don’t Know What To Say Anymore


The commies have officially broken me. I don’t know how I’m going to live with myself after this. There’s too much going on for me to even describe how I feel. It’s like the Hindenburg all over again. Oh, the humanity! Saying this is the worst thing I’ve ever witnessed is an understatement. I’d avert my eyes, but the images have been burned into my retinas. I don’t know what’s happening, I don’t want to know, and I hope no one will ever tell me.

If the video wasn’t recorded using a potato running at one frame per hour, then I might have had a shot at actually figuring out what’s going on. Even then I don’t think I’d have any real chance. Too much has gone wrong in the world. We’ve gone past the point of no return. It’s only downhill from here. My confusion is palpable. Why is that man being run over by a half track? Why does he have a torch? Why did he set that half track on fire? Why did that flaming man decide to take a nap? Please send help, I need an adult.

Jackass: Pripyat Edition

Jackass: Pripyat Edition


Remember kids, don’t try this at home — or do. If you have a bulletproof helmet that needs testing, then go for it. I won’t stop you. I’m not your real dad.

This ain’t Sesame Street; we’re adults here. If you want to shoot your friend in the head, that’s your business. Just make sure that your friend doesn’t mind being shot in the face and you should be fine. It’s especially helpful if he doesn’t die immediately after being shot in the head, because that would make it slightly illegal in some places. I don’t know what the laws are like in Russia, so he might get a pass, but if you’re in the US of A be very careful when shooting your friends in the face.

I won’t tell you what to do, but I do advise taking some cautionary measures. Make sure that the bulletproof helmet is actually bulletproof before testing it on yourself. While that might take some of the fun out of the testing process, it will significantly improve your chance of living long enough to see your helmet go into production. Also, make sure that your friend knows what he’s shooting at. If you’re testing a helmet one day and body armor the next, make sure you get everything straightened out beforehand. Nothing ruins a bulletproof helmet test like being shot in the stomach.

You Mix A Hell Of A Caucasian, Джеки

You Mix A Hell Of A Caucasian, Джеки


I don’t drink. It’s not because I don’t want to; I’m not allowed to. I’ll get around to it eventually. However, If I did drink, I have a feeling I’d have a Танк Бар every night to take the edge off. I’d have one with dinner and I’d have one before bed. When I went out to eat I’d ask the waiter to bring me a helmet, a shovel, a keg, and a fire extinguisher so I could have a Танк Бар with my meal. At family gatherings I’d have my grandmother smash colorful drinks over my head while shouting at me in Russian, so I could have the proper Танк Бар experience. The Танк Бар will be my drink of choice even though that’s probably not what it’s called.

I can’t think of a better way to drink. Now you don’t have to drunkenly fight the surly looking fellow at the end of the bar to get a concussion. Just ask the bartender and he’ll do it for you. It’s important to remember that the blows to the head enrich the drinking experience, and bring out hidden flavors in the alcohol. Now you can really taste the vodka.

The Car Built For Номёя

The Car Built For Номёя

I’m not ashamed to admit that the car in the video goes faster than mine. I’m pretty sure that it gets better gas mileage too, but I can’t tell. They’re using some kind of off-brand metric system to measure everything. Our  cars get three trench-lengths to the soul of one capitalist lackey!  Our tractor can plow four central oblast latrine chutes per pound of suet!

Then again, the used car I’m supposed to be driving got decommissioned like a rusty destroyer in 1946 during the Cash for Clunkers Five-Year Plan extravaganza we had a few years back. All I’ve got it is a rusty bicycle with two under-inflated tires, so it’s not too difficult to go faster than I do, and my gas mileage isn’t really an issue. Mom fills me up with Walmart hot dogs and grilled cheese sandwiches, and I pedal as fast as I can. The EPA,  NHTSA,  and the DOT don’t have a measurement for it yet. They’re still working on polar bears to the ice floe ratios, and cow farts per troposphere tangent. They’ll get around to Schwinn cranks to the pothole eventually, I hope.

All in all, that is one spiffy looking vehicle. It’s definitely got a dash of Soviet Bloc of cheese in the design, and it has angles sharp enough to cut that cheese, too. No matter; it’s something I’d drive if I was given the chance. As long as it can go 300 hectares on a hogshead of kerosene I’d say that it’s one of the best cars to come out of the collapsing Soviet Union. At least he can take solace in the killer sound system and listen to the Leningrad Cowboys on the way to his job at the concrete baby shoe factory.