Monday, November 07, 2011
My Dearest Komrade Horcov,
How is this letter finding you? I am going out on limb and saying that you are well, perhaps even you have a gap toothed smile of satisfaction on battle scarred, broken nosed face. Even though smiling is not usually way in Motherland, unless many vodka have been consumed or small country trampled underfoot by glorious Red Army, I must say I do not blame you.
Things are well with you! I know because I read horrible newspapers from remote outpost where you play and like Great Patriotic War when we marched to Berlin, none are standing before you. Is it like that Komrade? Do you sometimes pretend when you go out on ice that you are in fact leading Russian soldiers into battle, sitting astride great while stallion, naked except for cold steel of pistol in your hand as you wave them forward to victory. Oh and also large fur hat of course.
I know now things are getting more difficult for you as you leave friendly confines of windswept Arctic nothingness and go on the road. Hopefully you will hit road rather than road hitting you as it does to anyone who dares cross into Motherland, hm. Ask Napolean or little Austrian with stupid little mustache how that went.
My friend I am happy for you but as you rampage through inferior Western professional hockey league please spare thought for your old friend Vlad for with me things are not so good.
I was born in wrong time my friend. I long for days when you could starve out peasantry or execute thousands at whim or send tanks into small nation for weekend sport. I fear that we are becoming more and more like West, fat and stupid and greasy from drinking sugary drinks and eating fried chicken made by illiterate white clad old man. And who was not Colonel!! Not even private I am thinking, certainly I would not have him in Red Army with his goofy outfit and Kentucky drawl. It is not like old times when fearless leader could find ancient pottery while on diving vacation and nobody would question it. Now everyone is in everyone's business and knows everything which is job for KGB, nobody else.
I am afraid it is not good times for me my old friend. I have barely left room in weeks since embarassing diving fiasco. Why I listed to stupid LaForge and agreed to stupid stunt is beyond me. I think I looked at this Katz fellow and saw how he corrupted local politicians and newspapers to take money from local peasants and give it to him, one of richest men in country. It is move worthy of glorious Stalin in its ballsiness. He is little man, this Katz, but if you dropped his pants you would find enormous stones, much like Russian boar rampaging through vast dark woods. So from that astounding thievery I thought I will hire this LaForge fellow to improve my relations with public. They do not fear me and I cannot massacre town like old days to inspire them to do so. So I figure I kill with kindness, impressing them with amazing feat and instead that bald headed dummy created for me a disaster. It will teach me to believe snake oil salesmen and worst of all I cannot have him shot in forest.
Oh woe is me Komrade. I am hiding in dark room with nothing but case of vodka, sitting naked on poorly made chair made poorly by Swedish company that will remain nameless. If this were old days Stockholm would be nothing but ash and I would be sitting on throne of skulls while Swedish amazon licked my bumhole but instead I sit here with sore ass and no licking. I believe I actually have open wounds from sitting here so long but I do not care. Let them ooze. I have done nothing but drink for weeks now, I am like bugeyed maniac actor Cage in that movie where he goes to Vegas and jumps out of plane with skydiving Elvises. You know one where he drinks self to death, slurping whiskey as it slides down beautiful white full breasts of sister of Melrose Place guy? Or is it horsefaced wife of Ferris Beuller. No it cannot be her, she has no breasts on horrifyingly haggard frame.
It is of no matter. I am almost there Komrade. So sad am I that even thinking of perky sunkissed nipples I am unable to even get stirring of massive cock. It lays there sadly despite my feeble attempts to arouse. Indeed it shrinks away from my touch, which is ironic because so did Mrs Putin on wedding night when she was first confronted with its enormous magnificence. It is reminding me of poem Death of My Cock by long haired bloated weirdo singer of hippy band the Doors. Did he not also drink himself to death?
I am sorry Komrade. You deserve better friend than what I am providing. I should be cheery for you with great beginning to new season but then again who knew that Komrade Nikolai could still perform like he did in old days before he became like Cold War era tank, rusted and useless. And then this Potter fellow, he is big surprise, like Lenin coming in train to turn great Revolution on ear. And this baby faced one, he is like twelve year old boy. I am certain he will enjoy road trip very much though, especially visit to Montreal. I am hoping veterans will take him to bars with best puck bunnies who will show him ropes. LOL as the decadent western children say, those French girls will break him in two. Perhaps make sure Eager goes along to protect him. He has to be good for something, yes?
I am very happy for you Komrade. For you it must be good times for certain with old friend with bad hair and monotone cliched interviews to stand by your side once again. The two of you is like turning back clock, playing other team's best players and doing so with success, it is like 2006 with Jones playing role of Todd Harvey except without the awful mustache that reminds me of child molester in old neighbourhood before we sent him to Siberia. Or did we just shoot him? Or was that Todd Harvey? I cannot remember, I am so addled with vodka.
So it is good times for you with fast start and gaptoothed smiles all around and bad times for me and so I am asking favour comrade to help me get it together. I am thinking I will come for visit. I will stay with you, yes? Just for few days I promise until I get bearings. It should not take long in little town in middle of nowhere. I will get to know places where I can eat and drink like Westerner. Perhaps I will even eat wonderfully named Poutine - as they say, when in Rome Komrade, even though idea of heartclogging fried potatoes with meat fat and cheese on it is telling me all that is wrong with fat disgusting westerners. Why not just inject air bubble directly into heart and save time, eh? Notice how I use cutesly little Canadian idiom? Eh? Ha, suddenly my spirits are lifting, even as I write this. Yes Komrade this is what I will do, I will come for visit. Tell your lovely wife Olga not to worry, I will only stay in guest room for less than week, I am sure you have room in vast mansion you must have built with millions of dollars drug oligarch has given you. Once I have found my way and met your friends I am sure they will taken with me and I will be able to find roomie. I am thinking perhaps long haired Tom Gilbert with pretty face. I would bet he gets all of the pussy and I am thinking I might get some of that.
Letting me know please and thank you.
Posted by Black Dog at 12:55 PM