Friends;
I am sorry for any broken limbs and shattered teeth that my enthusiasms may have caused. It was not my intention to hurt any of you, and you should know that Father Russia loves all of his children.
I must thank you very much for this training session. I needed it. Sometimes, the stresses of a global Alpha can be intense. Sometimes, you must break something or you yourself will be broken!
(Waits for applause to subside)
A man does not have it easy in this world, let me tell you.
But I am not here to speak of the unknowable hardships and cruelties a man such as myself must endure. No, I am here to congratulate Ezio Gamba for the powerful and autocratic judo lessons he has dispensed to the national team! He has made you all super hardcore, and that is the Russian way!
We are too hardcore for the Americans!
(Cheering)
We are too hardcore for the Japanese!
(Cheering)
We are too hardcore all the feminine states of Europe!
(Cheering)
We are hardcore!!
(Waits for applause to subside)
And Ezio, much of that is due to you, and I thank you.
I will tell you something you would not guess, but it is not conducting surveillance operations or gassing protestors where I feel most at home.
No, it is on the judo Tatami. It is there where I am my powerful true self.
I am a master of all flesh in the Tatami. There, in a tight embrace, I can unleash the unmeasured furies of my passion!
When I was a young and confused KGB agent, it was judo that provided me with a safe spot. It was there I could be my masculine self and share my physical feelings with other men, but elders grew concerned at the disorienting and often unsettling intimacies of the matches, and so they set me up to fight with Lyudmila.
She was very mannish looking and a formidable opponent. I did not know she was of the females until much later, after much rough combat. We were eventually paired in matrimony and an off-spring was made in the dark of the Russian night.
The American song Islands In The Stream played, I remember.
Yekaterina.
A beautiful name for a beautiful girl.
Our daughter, it is the one good thing Lyudmila and I did together. She is better than any judo moves we ever made, and I am not ashamed to say I would kill with my hands any man who would think to violate her with his primitive heterosexual urges.
No longer paired with Lyudmila, I was free to practice judo with whomever I liked, and those were glorious times for Vlad. Such beautiful judo! Truly, it is the sport of love.
Anyway, my old female partner has gone on to marry another man, a man 20 years younger than her! How about that?
I could have him killed, but I will not. He will suffer with Lyudmila as I suffered with Lyudmila, and I will continue to be the most powerful Alpha in the world, enjoying judo with as many partners as I choose!
You must eat the pain, comrades!!!
Long live Russia, and long live judo!!
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His silence during this time had fueled all sorts of speculation, with some people believing he’d been in Switzerland to attend his girlfriend giving birth, while others thought he was ill, had power seized from him or that he might even have been assassinated.
Well, he appeared hale and hearty on Monday morning, and it turns out that Putin, utilizing the survivalist training he learned as a KGB operative, had spent the last week camping on his own. These are his private journals from that trip:
Day 1:
As spring approaches, the burning comes hard and fast.
I shudder with the unnatural urges and I know that I must, once again, remove myself to the Bialowieza Forest and make peace with the natural world.
My mind, as if fevered, returns again and again to that Sikh cab driver as he stared out his car window on Shkolnaya.
For a moment, our eyes, like magnets, found one another, and we were two beautiful, masculine animals locked to one another, our breathing becoming so urgent and alive, and in such perfect and furious unison as to be inseparable. We would to be just one, all flesh, muscle and luxuriant and mysterious beard. Ah, but this moment lived only in our hearts and minds, for we never met or spoke, just two rugged ships passing in the fading light of a tired Moscow day.
In the Bialowieza Forest there are no seductive cab drivers with strong, Indian features. No, here there are berries. Here there are cold streams in which to cleanse impurities from one’s naked body! Here there are animals to kill! Here there are so many places to unleash the rage and to let the echoes of pain take flight!!!
Day 2.
I am heterosexual.
I am heterosexual.
I am heterosexual.
I am Dear Shirtless Leader.
I am a powerful, heterosexual leader.
I am ruthless and without pity.
I am heterosexual.
Day 4
I use rocks to pound my hands. The pain reminds me of how much I love women and not men. Rocks are my friends. I will incite my people to throw them at the homosexuals when I return from my purification!
Day 5.
I spent the day in penetrating, decontaminating meditation.
The cold of the March forest felt good on my naked body. It was like being caressed and then handled roughly by the indifferent hands of an anonymous man looking to satisfy his own primal needs. I was an empty and willing vessel, a village waiting for to be led by its mayor.
I then ate two birds that I knocked out of the air using my belt. They are part of Father Russia now.
Day 6.
Today a young stag approached my camp while I made weapons from the beaks and talons of the birds I ate. This buck looked at me with both certainty and curiosity, and as a confident as a bear, walked right up to me and licked my bare chest.
I could have torn him apart with my horrible weapons, but I did not. He continued to lick– he must have been starved for nutrients and minerals—and I took his beautiful head in my powerful hands– and then he began to lick me in an intimate spot. The forest was a beautiful canopy above us and the sunlight was falling like gold coins all around, and for a moment there were no other living creatures in all of the universe, and then I twisted his neck and killed him, and there was but one living creature left, and it was then that I knew I had won and was ready to return to society.
]]>I recently won a kitten and have brought it into my household. It is my wish that it will bring hope into our lives. How should I treat it so that it does not run off to live with some of our other competitors in life?
With respect,
Sergei
Sergei:
It is good that you have written me with this question for my love of kittens is of global renown. My love for them is like a thunder that rolls across the steppes. My passion for kittens is the same as the passion a Cossack feels for battle! Truly, my ardor is without boundaries.
Personally, I have six surviving kittens and I am proud to say that they are all a part of the powerful Putin clan. My strongest connection is with Polkan. He is such a character! Sometimes he walks over my keyboard when I am busy writing a new law against the homosexuals! I tell you, if some bureaucrat were to do that, my response would be swift and without ambiguity, but I have no rage toward the cute, little face of my Polkan!
To make sure your kitten does not stray to a more appealing environment, you must pick it up, kiss it’s neck repeatedly then set it in your lap so it has a feeling of security, as you would a woman. You must be positive that it understands that you are not a predator! If the animal wishes to break free from you, you should let it, for you do not want it to feel trapped and fearful that it is to be executed for a crime! However, you must swiftly return to it, employing the same strategy (also, add treat) that you first initiated. You must repeat until your subject has been subdued.
Pet Corner:
I have been thinking about getting a Siberian Husky as I am looking for a loyal guard dog. Thoughts?
Gratefully,
Pavel
Pavel:
Ah, the Siberian Husky! It is as if their piercing eyes can penetrate deep into your soul and see your most secret desires and ambitions. I understand why you would feel such a burning attraction to them.
Evgeni had eyes like a Siberian Husky—as blue and vivid as lake Baikal. It was like he and I were carved from the same block of heterosexual man, and sometimes it was hard to know where where Evgeni ended and Vlad began. Our glorious days training together at secret KGB locations, were so curious and tense and beautiful, that sometimes we lost ourselves to our fitness regimes, and glistening with sweat, we would spar with one another– rough and tender– again and again, deep into the caressing night.
However, just like Evgeni, the Siberian Husky, is not a one-man dog. The breed is not fearful of strangers but will go to them, even seek them out in the dark corners of the city, and then one day you may happen upon your beautiful dog with another man, and you will feel nothing but rage, shame and horror, and then your KGB training will kick in and you will eliminate the problem before you. There will be more blood than you ever thought possible, but you will clean it up, and from that point forward you will bury deep, deep inside, all the hurt, pain and confusion, and you will become a new, different man, a man who hates even the disgusting thought of tenderly practicing martial arts with another man! And so I caution you, the Siberian Husky presents as many risks as it does rewards.
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The central feature of this work is just how much smaller I made Putin’s left eye than his right. It’s all scrunched up and sleepy, like a little deformity. Personally, I think he’s got something twisted inside him, a torturing secret that keeps that one punky eye twitching and moving all the time. He just doesn’t feel safe, like he’s worried someone’s gonna’ catch him doing something.
I know I initially said that I saw into his soul the first time I met him and that he was trustworthy, but that was bullshit. Politics is 95% bullshit, which is why I was so dominant at it– the Bush family, we’re like the goddamn New York Yankees of politics, something I think you can see reflected in my self-portrait. I look confident, like a powerful eagle that can just swoop in and have whatever lady bird he wants. I’m not really convinced that Putin likes the lady birds.
Why? Well, he made a big deal about his dog being bigger than my dog, like he was actually talking about our dicks. I don’t know what they teach you at the KGB, but when I was a cheerleader at Yale we learned that your dick is very different than your dog, and the cheerleaders that were always talking about how big their dog was, well, they were almost sure to be queer.
One of the guys that was a cheerleader with me at Yale actually became a dental hygienist. Imagine that! Only male dental hygienist I ever heard about. Don’t know about you, but I wouldn’t want another dude cleaning my teeth. Anyway, this guy, Anderson, when he was a cheerleader he was always talking about how big his dog was, so it just goes to show you. Over-compensation, that’s what the shrinks call it.
Oh yeah, the painting! I also made Putin pout a bit in the painting, like a little crybaby, and I wanted his eyebrows to look like caterpillars because I really don’t like the guy. He’s got no sense of humour, and he’s always wanting to show off his karate moves and flip you. Very touchy-feely, but in an angry way, you know?
Just a douche.
He needs an infusion of Jesus Christ in his life.
Stat.
]]>“The Invisible Gays” was a Black-Ops project undertaken by the CIA that lasted through the 1950s to 1980. The highly classified covert operation implemented weather manipulation technology, chemical warfare, mind control and the paranormal in an attempt to influence social behaviour and undermine the USSR. Like a weather system, the CIA sought to create “Homosexual Clouds,” with which they could then target various key groups of Soviet society. This imperceptible cloud would infiltrate certain groups creating gays, or at very least feminine, neutered sensibilities, from what was otherwise very vigorous, heterosexual stock. Through this process the USA hoped to gain the upper hand in the Cold War by emasculating, demoralizing and destabilizing the male-dominated, warrior culture of the Russian empire.
The success and even existence of the operation is still in some debate, although there are many in the West who believe The Invisible Gays played a large role in the eventual collapse of the Soviet Union.
The Invisible Gays and hockey
The “enigmatic” Russian hockey player is said to be a direct result of The Invisible Gays project. Historically, hockey was a very violent sport in Russia, but over the course of the 1970s the game took on an artistic character that saw fighting almost entirely eliminated even though it had always been a beloved and encouraged part of the sport. According to sources within the CIA, “Homosexual Clouds” were directed in greater and greater number into the locker rooms of powerhouse Russian hockey teams like the Red Army and Moscow Dynamo during the 70s, resulting in an effete style of play that lingers in the national character to this day.
Vladimir Putin and The Invisible Gays
It’s believed that Vladimir Putin’s current anti-gay laws have much to do with his knowledge of The Invisible Gays from when he was working for the KGB. Although it has never been confirmed, it is believed that Putin worked exclusively as an anti-The Invisible Gays operative for 6 years, at which time he was exposed to many Homosexual Clouds. Some have posited that this exposure has had lasting effects on the man, leaving deep within him homosexual desires which are now expressed as a repressive rage. Some argue that is a False Flag, and that Putin simply knows from personal experience how dangerous and what a threat The Invisible Gay project, and thus homosexuality, is to stable Russian society.
The Invisible Gays and popular culture
Reclusive American author Thomas Pynchon wrote a novel called The Invisible Gays.
He couldn’t be stopped, his dick had to be seen.
Of course, politicians have long been engaged in reckless, sex scandal drenched behaviour. Vladimir Putin, President of Russia and robust anti-gay activist has actually been celebrated for his aggressive sexual posturing, with his PR team strategically releasing sex room chat transcripts to the public in an effort to bolster his macho image by “gay-baiting,” a practice common in Russia, a nation now dealing with the fallout from Putin’s new anti-gay laws.
Here is one of those transcripts:
Bear60: Tell me! What is it you are wearing!!
Twink23: Black leather chaps and a wife beater. Also, I’m hard.
Bear60: You must prove this to me! I demand it!! You are submissive!!
Bear60: Ha! I am not gay and now you have sent me a photograph of your hard penis!! The joke is on you, fag-boy!!
Twink23: I like it when you talk like that, you want some more, don’t you?
Bear60: It is a nice penis you have, strong. It is a shame you waste it on men and not women!
Twink23: I would waste it on you.
Bear60: Tell me Twink, what sort of men do you like? Do you like Russian men?
Twink23: Oh, you know I do. I love the HARD consonants of the language, I love everything HARD about Russians—their lives, their hands, their dark secrets.
Bear60: Maybe it is one of your homosexual fantasies to imagine sex with a powerful Russian man who was once a killer in the KGB!!?? Perhaps that excites you Twink23!?
Twink23: Tell me more, Bear, tell me more!
Bear60: This man, he would take you roughly because he hates that you have unnatural sex! And to show you his anger and disgust he would tear off all your clothes, and it would just be the two of you in the secluded barn that had been sheltering you from the storm! Because you are weak, you would demand to be punished sexually for the things you have done and the Russian Bear would humble you with great force and beauty, and then your skin would glisten and emit a satisfied and loving rosy hue!
Bear60: Ah, Twink, I see I have tricked you into sending me another abberant photograph of you! Ha, you are a fool, but I see you must workout! A lot. I also work out, for I am a very vigorous and heterosexual man. Do you know where it might be possible for me to trick a black homosexual into sending me a picture of his penis and muscles? Maybe the three of us could chat?
