Pass it on if it’s useful.
This is my brother and I, singing the “I’m a Happy Cockroach” song, which has become the ringtone of champions in Russian-speaking circles (the word “champions” being, uh, synonymous with “twelve-year-olds”). The thumps you hear are supposed to be the sounds of shoes being flung at the Happy Cockroach. The Happy Cockroach is taunting the shoe-flinger.
Now, I have to warn you, the video does end on a tragic note. After the final thump, the cockroach is no longer singing. And I, the survivor of many an epic battle with the scuttling spawns of Satan, have a murderous grin on my face. This isn’t for the faint of heart, so don’t bill me for the Valium later, ’cause I have warned your ass and don’t have money anyway.
P.S. The performance is, of course, dedicated to very special twin birthdays; to my mother Tatiana and my aunt, godmother, and namesake, Natalia. Live long and prosper, my ladies.
If you don’t read Russian, you probably don’t know of the existence of Dmitrii Arteymev, an opinion essayist for the popular APN.ru website (APN stands for Agency of Political News) and self-described “Orthodox Christian.”
I have to say, I envy you.
The misery of knowing that a person like Dmitrii Artemyev exists is a burden that I cannot bear alone. Having invited all of my Russian-speaking friends and relatives to share it, I shall now inflict some choice bits on my non-Russian-speaking friends as well. The bits were originally part of an essay on the 8th of March, International Women’s Day.
What follows is a translation, combined with my own commentary. Please note that my good Russian-English dictionaries are presently away from me. I have, however, tried very hard to do this monstrosity justice… or injustice, as the case may be. Continue reading “Dmitrii Artemyev on APN.ru: The Clown-Show to End All Clown-Shows”
“Who was it who had the bright idea to use sunlight hares in the attack?” The General asked impatiently.
“Hares, sir?” The adjutant hid his amusement. Although the General was only beginning to gray about the temples and the nose hairs, dementia was surely not far off.
“There was a figure on a hill. Outflanking the poor bastards in the ravine. The figure was holding a mirror, reflecting light onto their faces. It wasn’t remotely clever it was… ridiculous, that’s what it was.”
The adjutant’s ruddy complexion momentarily turned white with fear. The General did not notice. He was not in the habit of noticing things that were of no tactical importance. Continue reading “The Blunt Mirror”