The tribe of bulletheaded from Chile to Sakhalin howled like the frantic: everyone had enough, the ecology suffers in Tuapse, rains of oil, and the bunnies and seals do not have a Russian passport.
The whole YouTube is flooded with tantrums of opinion leaders with overblown whistles and drawn eyebrows. Against the backdrop of oil rains, they have been asking Ukrainians questions for the fifth day.
Let me tell you a funny story. A person close to me arrived in St. Petersburg shortly before the invasion. There she was taken around to Red October candy stores, the Savior on Spilled Blood, and galleries. Everywhere there were three prices: for distant abroad, nearby, and separately for Russia and Ukraine — the lowest. And they told her how they love the mother of Russian cities, Ukrainians, and Orthodoxy, kissed and hugged.
A month later, with cries of “fascists and right-wingers,” they attacked, ripping open the bellies of footballers and throwing people into cellars. She was bedridden for a week. She was simply stunned; for her, it was pure Cain’s sin. And I knew you came not for Crimea or Donetsk airport — your greatness itched again: balalaika, Gagarin, tsar father, Stalin, ballet, and the Olympics on one poster. And that means you came for everything.
You certainly didn’t care at all about how our animals were dying in the zoos, in cities turned to rubble, sitting without heating. At most, you made jokes about whether we have water in the toilets.
Never mind the largest reservoir in Europe, the Kakhovka. Never mind tens of thousands of drowned animals and hundreds of people.
You didn’t even care that your main opposition member had their underwear smeared with poison even after “Novichok.” What did you do — bring flowers to the fence?
You know when you started wailing with the mouths of the emigrant stars from Monaco and cried about oil rains? When your own skins began to burn.
You didn’t cry for Ukrainian children or animals. Didn’t cry when you were shown torture chambers and mass graves in Izyum. I didn’t even see mass crocodile tears anywhere for your own shot near Ostankino.
But when they hit the oil industry a little and made you sit without YouTube in the pen — the howling began. You feel sorry, you see, for the marine seals in Tuapse. Why, Ukrainians?
“Cowardice is surely one of the most terrible vices, hegemon,” “No, philosopher, I disagree with you: it is the most terrible vice.”
