By Sarah Kitt, Special to The Brutal Times, MOSCOW – What was I thinking? Oh my fucking godddd! This country, this city if you can call it that, and I would not, is a complete and utter wasteland.
Traveling to Russia had been my dream ever since I read Beyond Good & Evil by Karl Marx in college. The trick ending blew my mind! I was instantly hooked on all things Russian after I finished page 6,897 and put the book into my apartment incinerator.
But the Russia of today is a kick in nuts – everywhere you look old people with beady eyes and fangs glare at you. Many of them try and pinch your bottom.
The weather is like being boiled alive in a human-sized tin of baked beans – if you don’t like baked beans, and I don’t. Every day, to get the stench of beans off of me I lick my entire body like a cat; this is one of the few local customs I’ve been willing to pick up.
I did make one friend the other day – Molotov, the town anarchist. He’s about half my height, twice my weight and maybe four times my age. He lacks any appealing quality. But if you consider someone who follows you around 24 hours a day a friend and refuses to let go of your hand a friend, I guess he qualifies.
Prices are extremely high – a sandwich made of stale bread with some kind of spamish thing inside costs 8978 Russian rubles ($980 US dollars). A donut can cost you your life. Donutmakers and their families are often targeted for kidnappings so if you get asked “Do you like donuts?” say “No.”
Shopping? Unless you are the owner of your own country you are not going to be able to afford anything here – not that you’d want it, anyway. Lots of people will try to sell you “folk crafts” – but these are known as cardboard boxes in our country. Yes, someone is going to try and sell you a cardboard box, aggressively try and sell it to you.
The city of Moscow has been shorn of much of its historical value by the ubiquitous gigantic stone and marble tributes to Quebec’s Cirque du Soliel. Russia’s president, Vladimr Putin loves Quebec and has dedicated much of Moscow to paying tribute to the showy Quebec circus’s performers and hangers-on.
Personally, I think Cirque is a big fat pretentious yawn, but again – if you are asked what you think of the Cirque du Soliel while in Russia my advice to you, gush with enthusiasm, lest you find yourself underfoot of some kommisar’s boot.
About the only thing redeeming about Moscow is the Kinko’s copy shop. There is just something I find really comforting about a good old-fashioned 1980’s photocopy shop. Because there are no restaurants in Moscow or cafes, Kinko’s is the only place you can go into to warm up your balls or woo- woo since it is normally 100 below outside in the street.
Bringing up the cold makes me want to use the bathroom, so it’ s about time I end this post.
As you tour through Moscow’s congested polluted narrow streets the freezing temperature squeezes your bladder so you have to stop every ten paces and go wee wee. As it’s pretty much the same for everybody excepting those with Olympic bladder control, all you see all the time is people whizzing away. Pretty soon I think all the snow in Russia is gonna be yellow.
Or is it?