An old man is dying in his hovel on the steppes.
There is a menacing banging on the door.
‘Whose there?’ the old man asks.
‘Death ‘comes the reply.
‘Thank God for that,’ he says, ‘I thought Yeltsin had sold off my dacha to the liberal mafia before he'd even finish starving, freezing, medically-neglecting, and alcohol-poisoning me and a few million other Russians in the countryside to death with zero Western media coverage'.
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Добавил: sveta |
Дата: 16.07.2008
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Making a walk through Saint Petersburg a Russian friend pointed at what he called the tallest building of his city. Seing the surprise on my face, as the building was rather big but really not that tall, he explained : this used to be the KGB-headquarters and in the old times one could see Siberia from its cellars.
‘Whose there?’ the old man asks.