i was cleaning and i found a book with like all adventures of Gena andCheburashka and its just so hilarious, soviet books for children dont fuck around gena went like to army once worked as a director of the zoo and then went to prison
On a political cartoon site, one otherwise liberal cartoonist made the mistake of expressing doubt about the Russian connection to Donald Trump, to which a poster (handle “Radish”) provided the following amazing response:
I don’t know – it’s hard for me to see any U.S. ties to Russia…except for the Flynn thing and the Manafort thing and the Tillerson thing and the Sessions thing and the Kushner thing and the Carter Page thing and the Roger Stone thing and the Felix Sater thing and the Boris Ephsteyn thing and the Rosneft thing and the Gazprom thing and the Sergey Gorkov banker thing and the Azerbajain thing and the “I love Putin” thing and the Donald Trump, Jr. thing and the Sergey Kislyak thing and the Russian Affiliated Interests thing and the Russian Business Interests thing and the Emoluments Clause thing and the Alex Schnaider thing and the hack of the DNC thing and the Guccifer 2.0 thing and the Mike Pence “I don’t know anything” thing and the Russians mysteriously dying thing and Trump’s public request to Russia to hack Hillary’s email thing and the Trump house sale for $100 million at the bottom of the housing bust to the Russian fertilizer king thing and the Russian fertilizer king’s plane showing up in Concord, NC during Trump rally campaign thing and the Nunes sudden flight to the White House in the night thing and the Nunes personal investments in the Russian winery thing and the Cyprus bank thing and Trump not releasing his tax returns thing and the Republican Party’s rejection of an amendment to require Trump to show his taxes thing and the election hacking thing and the GOP platform change to the Ukraine thing and the Steele Dossier thing and the Leninist Bannon thing and the Sally Yates can’t testify thing and the intelligence community’s investigative reports thing and Trump’s reassurance that the Russian connection is all “fake news” thing and Spicer’s Russian Dressing “nothing’s wrong” thing so there’s probably nothing there since the swamp has been drained, these people would never lie probably why Nunes cancels the investigation meetings all of this must be normal just a bunch of separate dots with no connection.
Viktor, as they’re loading the groceries into the trunk, says, “Oh, we forgot sour cream.”
“Oh well,” says Yuuri, who is already planning how to work around the absence of sour cream in their fridge for the next week.
“Let’s go back in and get it,” says Viktor, closing the trunk with a decisive bang.
“Um…no, that’s okay,” Yuuri says. “We don’t–do we need sour cream? I don’t think we need sour cream.” Half of Viktor’s recipes require sour cream. It’s a Russian thing. Yuuri has a What I don’t know can’t hurt me policy with regards to how much sour cream the typical Russian consumes in a week.
“Yuuri,” Viktor laughs, taking Yuuri’s hand, “Come on. The store is right there–it’ll take two minutes. It’s not like we’re in a hurry.”
“We’ve left the store,” Yuuri says. “We have to live with the purchase we’ve made. At least until another shift. We can come back in a few hours?”
“But we’re here now,” Viktor says, utterly perplexed.
“But the same person who just checked us out will probably check us out again,” says Yuuri, “and the only thing we’ll have to buy is two family-sized cartons of sour cream. They’ll know that we were just in there. And that we forgot something. And that our family eats a ridiculous amount of sour cream. Viktor, they’ll want to ask us about it.”
“Okay,” Viktor says. “Would it be better if…I went in and got it myself?”
“No. We go to this store every week. They know we’re married. The next time I’m here they’ll ask me Why did your husband buy all that sour cream.”
Viktor, gently, laughs and says, “Darling, I really don’t think cashiers pay that much attention to what people buy.”
“I know,” Yuuri groans. “But what if they do?”
“It’ll be fine,” Viktor says, and starts towards the store. “I’ll buy something other than the sour cream. I’ll be back in two minutes.”
When Viktor settles into the car, passing the single shopping bag with two huge containers of sour cream and one singular pack of gum in it, Yuuri releases a mournful bleat and says with the gravity normally reserved for funerals, “We can never come back to this store”
There is such an incredibly well-done Kylux gopnik!AU over on diary.ru and I really fucking wish I could share it with everyone. But it’s in Russian, and also likely untranslatable, given the slang, mat, and general atmosphere and setting. It would need to come with a primer of, idk, Russia in the 00s, and a primer on relevant slang (mat, prison slang, etc), maybe the criminal component of the automotive industry, and how some Soviet cities were built, and why Renat Amirkhanovich Solaev is a perfect choice of name, and just. Argh.
Please let me talk to you about Tony and Maria and music.
Let me talk to you about Maria sitting with six year old Tony in front of the piano for the first time when he’s 6 years old and Howard has just snapped and started yelling at him for the first time, his little legs dangling from the edge of the seat, following Maria’s fingers with intent focus as she plays Clare de Lune.
Imagine him clumsily retracing the notes over the keyboard after she’s finished.
Imagine them spending hours on end inside the music room while Maria talks to him about music history, how she talks to him about Verdi and Puccini and other Italian composers but he ends up developing a special thing for Russian composers, and it’s maybe something about the rage he can hear in the strong notes of Stravinsky and Mussorgsky.
Imagine him falling in love with music and dreaming as a young child, dreaming of pursuing a career as a composer, though he soon learns that dream’s never going to come true because his future has already been chosen for him and he has no way of escaping. Imagine him as a 13 year old seriously considering running away from home to become a musician.
Imagine him playing angry Rachmaninov every time he has a fight with Howard.
Let me tell you how after his parents die, just coming back home from the funeral, he thinks about going into Howard’s study and trashing the place, but instead finds himself in the music room and he’s now somehow playing Clare de Lune. And this is the thing he can remember Maria by, because he has so many things he will always have to remember his father for, everything has got his name plastered on it –the company, the house, his very own person, his own fucking reflection in the mirror– but he’s playing the soft melancholic melody that started it all and he realizes this is so much bigger than any other thing Howard could have left him, that he can play the piano and have something that’s hers (and of course he’s also got her heart and compassion, but that’s not something he’s willing to admit to himself at this point in his life), and he smiles.
Let me tell you how whenever numbers and equations and blueprints clog up inside his brain he stands from his workbench and goes sit in front of the electric piano he’s got inside the workshop and starts playing and all the math falls into order.
Let me tell you about the time Steve found some crumpled music sheets at the bottom of a forgotten cardboard box in the basement and found a symphony scribbled in Tony’s frantic handwriting.
Let me tell you how he goes and gathers a full orchestra and has it played for him on the 20th Anniversary of the Maria Stark Foundation as a charity event and Tony listens to his own composition played for him and breaks down crying for the first time since he was a kid.