Today I decided to ride a bicycle in my native city. Fuck, nothing's changing here. Here everything is the same as a year ago. Like ten years ago. Like twenty years ago. The same faces, the same types, the same clothes. The same dust, pus, rot and stench. The grass is burning again. Thirty kilometers is not a single normal person. Gopnik in abybas, fat cheaters in orange T-shirts, wrinkled grandmas in kerchiefs, chocks, gypsies. From the rusty zhiguli he blames the whole district. From mobile phones lezginka. Here, the schoolchildren come with cigarettes: "and he's shorter than a fuck and he fucking fucking gygygygygyg." Nauseating babischi with swollen ebalnikami in black bolonievyh jackets wheeling wheelchairs on the pale sidewalks. Around the bottle, box, cleaning, ssanin, slop, dog shit. Every industrial plant has a flock of bald, rabid beasts on duty. They pop up, bark, grab your legs, because this is their territory. Here everywhere their territory: animals, livestock, animals. Go fucking fagot the liquid kreakl while pussy did not get. Give me a ride! Give me a ride! Bitch, like twenty years ago. Someone will shout: Dude, give a ride! What a dude I am, you fucking fucking Sikaraha, for you I'm Uncle Seryozha. Everywhere there are chocks. Chickens walk the streets in pairs, in crowds and one at a time. Chocks are sitting on playgrounds, swinging on a swing, thumping and yelling at the entire district. Fuck, how many chicken! A handful of buxom gazelle came to the ninth on the "pond" in the center of the city. In the pond, mud, shit, bottles, gondons and rainbow foam from gasoline. They, therefore, bathe. All have crosses on smelly puff belly, on the antenna a Colorado ribbon. Mothers, litter, next to the kids. A fat sow with a drunk fucking in a dress with flowers screaming at the child: "Well, stop this fucking thing! Throw a fucking thing, what are you saying? I'll give those bitch now."
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Anonymous2018-05-09 4:50
finish game when?
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Anonymous2018-05-09 5:27
"What's it going to be then, eh?"
There was me, that is Alex, and my three droogs, that is Pete, Georgie, and Dim. Dim being really dim, and we sat in the Korova Milkbar making up our rassoodocks what to do with the evening, a flip dark chill winter bastard though dry. The Ko Part 1 rova Milkbar was a milk-plus mesto, and you may, O my brothers, have forgotten what these mestos were like, things changing so skorry these days and everybody very quick to forget, newspapers not being read much neither. Well, what they sold there was milk plus something else. They had no license for selling liquor, but there was no law yet against prodding some of the new veshches which they used to put into the old moloko, so you could peet it with vel-locet or synthemesc or drencrom or one or two other vesh-ches which would give you a nice quiet horrorshow fifteen minutes admiring Bog And All His Holy Angels and Saints in your left shoe with lights bursting all over your mozg. Or you could peet milk with knives in it, as we used to say, and this would sharpen you up and make you ready for a bit of dirty twenty-to-one, and that was what we were peeting this evening I'm starting off the story with.
Our pockets were full of deng, so there was no real need from the point of view of crasting any more pretty polly to tolchock some old veck in an alley and viddy him swim in his blood while we counted the takings and divided by four, nor to do the ultra-violent on some shivering starry grey-haired ptitsa in a shop and go smecking off with the till's guts. But, as they say, money isn't everything. The four of us were dressed in the height of fashion, which in those days was a pair of black very tight tights with the old jelly mould, as we called it, fitting on the crotch underneath the tights, this being to protect and also a sort of a design you could viddy clear enough in a certain light, so that I had one in the shape of a spider, Pete had a rooker (a hand, that is), Georgie had a very fancy one of a flower, and poor old Dim had a very hound-and-horny one of a clown's litso (face, that is). Dim not ever having much of an idea of things and being, beyond all shadow of a doubting thomas, the dimmest of we four. Then we wore waisty jackets without lapels but with these very big built-up shoulders ('pletchoes' we called them) which were a kind of a mockery of having real shoulders like that. Then, my brothers, we had these off-white cravats which looked like whipped-up kartoffel or spud with a sort of a design made on it with a fork. We wore our hair not
too long and we had flip horrorshow boots for kicking. "What's it going to be then, eh?" There were three devotchkas sitting at the counter all together, but there were four of us malchicks and it was usually like one for all and all for one. These sharps were dressed in the heighth of fashion too, with purple and green and orange wigs on their gullivers, each one not costing less than three or four weeks of those sharps' wages, I should reckon, and make-up to match (rainbows round the glazzies, that is, and the rot painted very wide). Then they had long black very straight dresses, and on the groody part of them they had little badges of like silver with different malchicks' names on them – Joe and Mike and suchlike. These were supposed to be the names of the different malchicks they'd spatted with before they were fourteen. They kept looking our way and I nearly felt like saying the three of us (out of the corner of my rot, that is) should go off for a bit of pol and leave poor old Dim behind, because it would be just a matter of kupetting Dim a demi-litre of white but this time with a dollop of synthemesc in it, but that wouldn't really have been playing like the game. Dim was very very ugly and like his name, but he was a horrorshow filthy fighter and very handy with the boot.
"What's it going to be then, eh?"
The chelloveck sitting next to me, there being this long big plushy seat that ran round three walls, was well away with his glazzies glazed and sort of burbling slovos like "Aristotle wishy washy works outing cyclamen get forficulate smartish". He was in the land all right, well away, in orbit, and I knew what it was like, having tried it like everybody else had done, but at this time I'd got to thinking it was a cowardly sort of a veshch, O my brothers. You'd lay there after you'd drunk the old moloko and then you got the messel that everything all round you was sort of in the past. You could viddy it all right, all of it, very clear – tables, the stereo, the lights, the sharps and the malchicks – but it was like some veshch that used to be there but was not there not no more. And you were sort of hypnotized by your boot or shoe or a finger-nail as it might be, and at the same time you were sort of picked up by the old scruff and shook like you might be a cat. You got shook and shook till there was nothing left. You lost your name and your body and your self and you just didn't care, and you waited until your boot or finger-nail got yellow, then yellower and yellower all the time. Then the lights started cracking like atomics and the boot or finger-nail or, as it might be, a bit of dirt on your trouser-bottom turned into a big big big mesto, bigger than the whole world, and you were just going to get introduced to old Bog or God when it was all over. You came back to here and now whimpering sort of, with your rot all squaring up for a boohoohoo. Now that's very nice but very cowardly. You were not put on this earth just to get in touch with God. That sort of thing could sap all the strength and the goodness out of a chelloveck. "What's it going to be then, eh?"
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Anonymous2018-05-10 2:18
People are the same all over. There isn't much to gain by leaving your hometown unless being bothered by unfamiliar faces is so much better than being annoyed by the same people, day in and day out.
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Anonymous2018-05-10 10:03
>>4 >People are the same all over. Why aren't you living in Africa, where its much cheaper? Since people are the same, it makes sense to save costs of living.
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Anonymous2018-05-10 10:54
>>5 Because people are the same all over, in cheap Africa the locals are also unwelcoming of foreigners and don't treat them well.
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Anonymous2018-05-10 11:12
>>6 You mean they don't welcome them with open arms and chant "Refugees Welcome" while giving them social housing and monthly benefits? Doesn't sound that they are the same. Perhaps there are some differences?
Trapping them into hopeless dependence on the state and an empty consumerist life is treating foreigners well now? I suppose you think the people holding up "refugee welcome" signs in these countries actually go out and welcome refugees in their day to day life rather than avoiding and shunning them except when patronizing them for social media photo ops? LOL. Just LOL. People are the same all over.
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Anonymous2018-05-10 15:29
>>5 People =/= levels of agricultural productivity and industrial development
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Anonymous2018-05-10 15:55
So there are no cultural differences between Democratic Republic of Congo and Belgium?
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Anonymous2018-05-10 16:32
>>10 Doesn't seem to be any significant ones. Maybe culturally DRC is less tolerant of niggers nigging, but not by much.
Information available to NIGERIA NEWS revealed that two of the deceased met with their death at Ojowo section of Ijebu-Igbo as the cultists were engaged in a bloody battle while the third victim was murdered at station garage area of the town. A source who pleaded anonymity gave the name of the last victim as Mr Owolabi, alias Aburo Obasanjo.
By
Olasupo Ololade Published May 11, 2018
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Anonymous2018-05-11 10:12
>>20 If you commit sins, then in the next life you will be born in Nigeria or Russia.
