Hello, my name is Olga Doroshenko-Sahaidachna and I am a kinda stand up comedian wannabe.
Despite the fact that I am actually sitting now, so I must be a kinda sit-down comedian wannabe.
I have recorded a videoblog about some shit recently happening in the Ukraine. It became rather popular last time so I decided to share it with the world. And since the world doesn’t speak Ukrainian yet, I’ll try English. Something will be lost in translation, because there is no way to transfer surzhik (it’s a Ukrainian-Russian language mishmash), but I think my English is funny enough.
So, tha was the foreword -- now let us skip to the word. Actually, to three words, kind words that I want to say to our brave Golden Eagle squad that fights rebels so, er, bravely.
And the first word is ‘Thank you’.
Really, I want to thank you guys, for if it weren’t for you, we Ukrainian women would never have known that our Ukrainian men have balls. Because during Yanukovich’s term we were afraid something in them became rather soft. People were creaking like under the Nazis seventy years ago but did nothing. Those things we could palp in the middle of the night – they were rather like balls of yarn. And suddenly the Golden Eagle lads came on the 30th of November, and made them into footballs. You see, when a guy gets kicked in the balls he just cannot deny he has them. ‘Cause it fuckin’ hurts. And he decides that there must be some use in those balls, other than feeling pain and breeding future tax-payers. So I thank you, Golden Eagles, for helping our guys to grow balls. Whoa, you were so efficient in your work that even we girls grew some balls. Metaphysical, yes, but nevertheless tough.
How could we have grown them without you, Golden Eagles, Cheetahs, Gryphons and other, y’know, cattle.
Though stripping that Cossack guy Mikhail Havrilyuk – it was a huge mistake. I can understand you – as a woman and a rather open-minded person. And Havrilyuk is quite a guy. But there must be some culture of courtship. You have to have a date with a person, maybe flowers and ice-cream… OK, to hell with the ice-cream, it’s sixteen below zero. Coffee, then. Or hot tea or something stronger, and then you go home and get to stripping. Maybe you have had something good in your, so to say, minds. Or what passes for it. Maybe you wanted to demonstrate that Ukrainian men really have balls but couldn’t do it to yourselves. So you had to find a volunteer, or pool some money and hire a professional. Tarzan is quite a guy too!
You just cannot grab anyone and strip him, however noble your intentions. And demonstrating balls on such a frosty winter day is extremely unhealthy. And extremely unwise. Because the very subject of demonstration tends to shrivel.
Or you wanted to show the world the most terrible weapon of the Cossack – his bare ass?
No kidding here, a true Cossack can crush a hedgehog with his bare ass, they threatened the Turkish Sultan with it. I can imagine how you feel standing against those barricades: you have only armor, a helmet and a shield, and every one of your enemies hides a naked ass under his clothes.
Every last one. It’s really horrible.
So after ‘thank you’ I want to say ‘sorry’. Sorry, guys. You have to perform your duty virtually in Cocytus, in every sense of this word, and the only option for getting warm is a Molotov cocktail, while the bastard you are protecting drinks beer in Austria. I understand your fear, your bosses could betray you any minute. And the people against you – they are terrible people. If people make armor from glossy magazines, or sewer pipes, or any other shit, if they are ready to advance on your shield formation in this lousy armor, if they build catapults and watchtowers – they are really people to be afraid of!
I want to beg your pardon for these people. They just cannot comprehend your kind treatment. Excuse them for beating so violently against your boots – they don’t understand how blood can ruin a really good boot! They never could afford a pair of good boots, losers.
I think it’s just bad upbringing. All those Soviet books and movies about the heroic struggle against the Tzar or the White Guard or the Nazis. In our childhood they made a strong impact on us. Do you remember the book ‘Young Guard’, about those Ukrainian teenagers who became guerrilla fighters? It should be forbidden. It is where we learned about the Molotov cocktail, and we were taught that the guy who served it to the Nazis was a hero. There are monuments of him. Streets and squares named after him: Sergey Tulenin. We should be taught otherwise: that he was an extremist and a criminal, and the Nazis who tortured and killed him were heroes. After all, they only followed their orders just as you do, they never wanted their comrades to burn, and he should have known better. But we used to consider him a hero, we have been spoiled beyond repair, sorry. You’d better seek another nation to serve.
Speaking of. The third kind word I want to tell you – ‘goodbye’. Just goodbye. Ciao, lads.
(Special thanks to Alexandra and Phil Tussig)