News from land of lackeys named Estonia. A gang of drunk russian chavs who were wandering around Tallinn together with their leader, Putin’s whelp film director Govorukhin, assaulted a couple from Ukraine for question about Crimea. (Source) No arrests were made and by European tradition, no one of ruskie perpetrators will be punished.
Like country, like its “elite”. Always brave in crowds against disarmed people, but crapping pants if they encounter armed resistance. In Estonia, any “tibla” chav feels here like home, cause gun permit is a caste privilege issued by russian asshole officials and assault is not considered a crime, if committed by ruskie untermensch.
Hey you, frozen dimwit commie-loving Baltic ass-kissers! You think NATO will save your slow asses? Then I gonna bring a little disappointment in. No one will risk his life for those who don’t want to do anything themselves. You’ll end up in putinist GULAG. Camp toilets need cleaning and you just belong to russian latrine duty.
With this post, I open a new category: unknown quotes of famous people describing Russia and its population. They wouldn’t be picked from some German WW2-era memoirs as you could’ve thought. The opinion of reasonable Westerners about ruskie savages is known well enough already. Now, it’s time to learn what famous Russians and Soviets were saying about their own nation!
A collective image of the Russian.
“Always drunk up to cattle condition, envious, greedy, aggressive, dumb. The Russian banya myth dissipates instantly if you’ll pass by a typical Russian. Alcohol belch fumes and underpants which saw no laundry for a long time stink disgusting by itself, but it is also the smell of sour cabbage and cabbage soup, which russian just adores. His favorite pastime is lying on the stove and dreaming of a better life. Those dreams are constantly incited by the ruling elite.
Not inclined towards science due to his stupidity, caused by immoderate mash consumption. He drinks it because he just can’t make the moonshine – not enough patience. Of the entire language diversity existing on Mother Earth, he is fluent in only one – russian mat (dirty profanities).
Physically seems to be healthy, but at the same time suffers megalomania and chauvinism.
Declares himself as follower of the Third Rome, but in reality represents Sodom and Gomorrah. Aggressive. Very aggressive, what is confirmed by his regular occupation of foreign lands, where he settles as master and considers everything around his personal belongings.
This description of Russian portrait could be extended infinitely, but this would have been not as tiring to readers, at it is disgusting. Alas.”
-Maxim Gorky (Alexei Peshkov), Russian and Soviet writer, communist
Once I wrote about things that happen when russian asshead propagandists get drunk in their brainless commie pride. Now it’s time to see the holiday cuisine of untermenschen.
Those commie cakes are the dessert most suitable for untermensch, especially after the chicken shown above.
By the way, handguns are completely banned in Russia so they put a fake plastic one to show their pride for “mighty russian weapons” which are issued to red slaves only for protection of their serfdom.
Make a fool to bow with grace and he’ll fall flat on his face, revealing all his shame. Those billboards are telling more truth about russian cannon fodder style of war than their official propaganda.
For a true russian untermensch, there is no holiday without drinking his head off and hard landing in street mud. To help his slave nation to do so with ease, thug dictator Putin ordered the production of low-rate cheap vodka named after him.
The discount price tag says “Price of the victory!” That’s one more thing bearing the shadow of historical truth – vodka remains a fuel for russian horde since the time long before the WW II. Without it neither NKVD machineguns nor Gulag would have been able to force untermensch to fight.
What else is mandatory for a russian thug? To share his vodka. Drinking alone is a grave crime against untermensch traditions.
For sharing the subhuman elixir with mates, those disposable sets are available. Ribbons are for those who forgot to buy them, rushing with the crowd towards the messed alcohol stock.
That’s very preventative of commies. A russian who grunts in mud is just some common russian, but if the same scumbag puts on that ribbon, he is considered a “patriot” who “remembers the victory” despite the inability to remember a single civilized word.
When russian savage brutes invaded Europe in 1945, desperate Germans invented a new way to stop (unfortunately, only temporary) murderous subhuman horde.
Knowing congenital russian obsession with booze and their unstoppable urge to drink everything that has a slightest resemblance with alcohol by either smell or vision (from insecticides to machinery liquids), Germans left stocks of methanol on red horde’s way. Plenty of red rapists and looters found their painful, slow death nearby.
Modern days revealed one more cheap and fast way to disable red drunk subhuman. Vodka and brick left on his way.
(an advice: disable sound, there is nothing but russian dirty profanities).
Considering russian ape herd instinct, a pile of bricks and barrel of cheap vodka should stop them as effectively as tank full of booze-smelling chemicals.
Drinking heads off in national tradition of russian orcs, as well as fighting after their vodka.
Two red imbeciles demonstrated their eternal habits in Europe once again. Durung the Moscow-Munchen flight one ruskie get so drunk he fell right on his fellow “comrade”, thus starting the fight. During arrest, drunk swine fell again, bashing his empty head onto asphalt (there were nobody to fall on).
Pity that civilized passengers had to endure close presence of such untermensch during the flight. There must be some “special” places in planes, or better no places for russian drunkards at all.
Many russian villages look more like post-war wasteland than populated settlement. I once saw such village with population of one man, whose house stood alone amongst half-destructed walls of others. Nobody cares about those remains; they often not even marked on maps.
But recently such village named Kiverpikovo appeared in top hews of Russia. Until that day, inhabitants (population 2) were common russian vodka-mates as everywhere; of course there were traditional non-lethal fights after drinking, but today one of yokels took a knife and everything went out of tradition. Sobering up, he ran to neighbor village for help but his “friend” was already far beyond it.
That’s one russian village less for now. At least its end sounds almost epic – half of inhabitants is butchered, other half is jailed.
Source: “voice of Russia”