Demented paralegals storm the barricade demanding lifting injunction as to know what shampoo brand the president uses. WE DON"T EVEN HAVE A PRESIDENT, YOU VULTURES! (why don't you go and wait for a school bus to fall in a ditch)
If east is the new east, then where do our spices come from? (She needs a back rub, I can tell).
The Hermitage is the new Russian water cooler, a surrealist Muscovite told me as I stood in the sea of people calling for artists to have free dental service.
"Lucifer himself painted my face black" was a minstrel classic, circa 1903. I wonder what happened to that singer (yes, dead. As he should be)
She had "Ochi Chernye", just like the Ivan Rebroff song. The red square is being refurbished and will become the "Piazza del Maroon Sovietika". All the artists get on a soviet tank and head westward, only stopping for gas at a local Polish pump station (5,000 rubles on pump one, and make it snappy)
If I was a Nazi hunter, I would trial them but not kill them. Instead I would make them work 14 hour shifts at a south London kebab shop (hold the mayo, you fucking Nazi!)
"Sayonara Kimosabe", a voluptuous Japanese madam steps on my toes, (she can pee standing up. That is why she's in the stall next to mine). She obviously hadn't heard about the "bomb," not the atomic one, but the new trend of glow-in-the dark sneakers.
I order her to come and shine my shoes. She pours Sake into my mouth from a crystal Third-Reich goblet. Those are the only reparations I need (From the Germans. The Swiss have yet to pay me back)
Knick-knack Paddywhack is an old Irish drunk I knew, or at least that what I called him. He raised the Royal Doulton Dorchester Crystal wine glass, which is full with High Commissioner Whiskey, and we toast to the fall of the empires and for youth.
He commented, slurring his words:
Pubescent coup d'état is the only way to make the gravy train keep chugging!
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