Think #36 25 августа 1999

Юмор

Poem - Humor.

        (C) LCD Vorobiev


         stereo-poem


             EX!

  (Raving mad quiet)


 Sucks to live in the light of this!
 the sky is well!
 I love a girl!
 Who? You do not say.
 Makhno's anarchists.
 Sadistic-communists.
 Siberian cholera.
 Chinese scurvy.
 shooting a machine gun.
 get rid of oppression.
 Izauru not sorry.
 I want to sit in the CC!
 Christ crucified goats.
 Jews are my enemies.
 on the street already morning.
 do not see a damn.
 go, eh, hanged himself.
 No ropes with me.
 Eugene I am not a genius.
 who gave me three rubles.
 native police.
 I badly without you.
 fire in Karabakh.
 boy-onanist.
 send to a Mielke matchmakers.
 Elbrus mountain climber.
 I was sitting on the couch.
 outside the window snow fells.
 comrades and brothers!
 AIDS in Russia is abuzz!
 Shoot, do not miss it.
 yes in the priest king.
 to line up in a build.
 undress to Naga.
 my sister, my dear.
 I love you alone.
 just wish you give me an outsider.
 I will not come to you.
 Baku commissars ...
 ... shot 26.
 have Lenin in the mausoleum?
 I've seen, so there.
 Chapaev was a hero.
 CCP is not lying.
 podohshaya mare ...
 ... not carry her off.
 Soviet intelligence.
 gave the bow to the enemy.
 has not bothered to read?
 but I can not.
 hang the Communists.
 Jews all crucified.
 I, brother, not from saddistov.
 Cologne did not consume.
 reading "Pravda, Izvestia.
 their ass on the front.
 I know not dishonor.
 Give the plane.
 my love is cool!
 there is no happiness in the life of me.
 My Native Land.
 Stalin, where are you?
 where are you? Where "?
 plane fell from the sky.
 seventeen tons of Mahra.
 That would be our smoke.
 if only these dovezli.
 four, blah, tanker.
 their dog alone.
 to tie the knot tight.
 you do not like the Cheka?
 the bad news from the field.
 lost the entire crop.
 you were not in the Pentagon?
 Then sit down, to enter.
 Circle one Semites.
 any strangled.
 do not shoot on the icon.
 only one ****** love you!
 Japanese intelligence.
 and in the United States moonshine.
 bananas are now rare.
 is one car.
 You guys do not beat.
 neither her nor me.
 Werther was stupid robot.
 no smoke without fire.
 two young oktyabrenka.
 and the third - a Communist.
 Give me the child!
 shot himself a masochist!
 Stalin - bloody Tartar!
 Beria - Uzbek bald!
 zasrat my country.
 Battle of the twentieth century.
 something signed.
 it is time to stop.
 all, that's enough for today.
 put to print!


                     December 1990


      (C) LCD Vorobiev



     TERRORIST VOROBYOV


        (5 parts)



           Part I

        Beznazvannaya

 I - a Soviet man
 And it's all the same,
 That the British bus
 The Chinese porcelain.
 I used the Kalashnikov in his hands,
 I will bring terror to
 To all democrats and
 Other disgrace.
 I have all the Communists
 Put to the wall for what
 What they have done in the country.
 I'm all right
 And in the brain and in the family
 But, alas, life is bad
 On native land.
 And my hand tightly
 Take a forearm.
 And by clicking on a hook
 I'll let all
 What's in my shop
 Securely rests.
 None of the Communist
 I did not run away from.
 I know - you say
 That my method is cruel,
 But once you ought to
 Writing a lesson in red.
 And the bullets caught
 In the rear or side,
 Vybyut new nonsense
 From theirs minds.
 There will be pain and moaning,
 And the red blood -
 This makes it
 Terrorist Vorobyov.


         Part II


         Rescue.

 Impact of scrap I'll take
 From the post at a warehouse guard.
 And he took his rifle,
 I will go to the main man 'republican committee.
 After selecting secretly in the house of the Soviets,
 I have a soft doors go up.
 And knocking with no response
 The door with his foot raspahnu.
 And I'll catch sight glass,
 Scared, shy glance.
 And the shot of a clap loudly,
 His spirit will give off the first reptile.
 Pour the blood flood shirt
 In the forehead will turn black hole
 And suddenly I feel his grip,
 Shot noise in the cops.
 His butt stunned,
 And with the first Gad
 Ment - the poor thing put
 I gingerly around ...
 From the building went out into the cold,
 Rifle throw in the snow.
 And, like I'm crazy dog,
 We will accomplish. Man
 Terror is my scary.
 I know, the blood
 Shed more than once,
 Until the last Communist
 No dies, bugger!


         Part III


         November 7

 Nov. 7 occurred in the country.
 Communists in the stands took place.
 I mingled with people in the gray crowd
 And walking in the middle of 201-th series.
 In the backpack I carry a machine gun,
 But no one will understand.
 And crunches underfoot young ice
 And people are yelling and screaming.
 Prior to the Tribune remains the steps commercials hundred
 Unleashed a carefully backpack
 And, to focus on the barrel of a sated person
 Ran from the crowd as a trotter.
 Rang my mother PCAR,
 Fled in terror all the brimstone crowd.
 And cut it all, all,
 Who are we from the rostrum. Naspe'h
 Stuffed nova band, again
 I became a machine-gun chatter.
 For asphalt hot blood flowed
 And washed my shoes.
 This again gave a lesson in red I
 In this unhappy and impoverished country.



         Part IV


         Mausoleum

 In the queue to the Mausoleum
 Freeze, but still standing.
 Signet ring on his finger glittered
 About him I say below.
 Two with red armbands
 Popping in my pockets.
 Went to Red Square,
 Until death at hand.
 The clock struck fine,
 And suddenly felt colder.
 GB has been replaced by the entrance,
 After returning to the genius of honor.
 And here I am under the arch of the passage,
 Soon come true revenge.
 Here it is, Ilich our favorite.
 Lies, dear under glass.
 Pull a ring from a mine
 And threw it at him.
 The explosion stuns everyone in the room
 People are running out.
 And I'm with the people
 Endure the December cold.
 Blood from the sleeve of my runs,
 But I'm happy -
 Damaged microclimate
 The leader of rot.


         Part V


         Death.

 Through the mountains and the valley,
 Drenched in blood,
 I run to my favorite,
 Sinking knee-deep in brown slush.
 Running my work ...
 Feet sinking ever stronger.
 I'm exhausted
 Lynx dark days.
 Cry of my soul
 It flies like a bird.
 And all around I see only evil person.
 Cry of the soul flies, but, breaking the glass,
 He falls under her window.
 But she did not hear.
 Rises in the valley of the blood of all the above.
 And already neck-deep in a crimson froth
 I'm floating, like the Siberian river Lena.
 But a wave of cool covers me.
 And in my eyes I see the day.
 And my heart breaks at will,
 Her cry again on the glass beats
 But my love did not hear
 Blood in the valley above,
 Higher than the mountains, ragged clouds.
 I am lost to the great joy of enemies.



               November - December 1990