Notes on the Innocent Buddhist

Written and Recorded by Vinny Blud

Note 1. Who is the Innocent Buddhist? (The Apparition)

The sun was about to set behind the bamboo grove when the figure of a man suffering from an absence of hair on his head emerged from the misty horizon. His hands held a small rug, its purpose not yet clear, though clearly not meant for hanging on the wall of a pagoda. Upon his lips was a smile so warm and kind that animals came up to him and offered him their paws, hooves, tails, trunks, and...

THAT WAS the Innocent Buddhist!

Note 2. The Innocent Buddhist and the Baobab.

I.B. sat in the shade of a Baobab and engaged in a gradual departure from reality, so that when a strong gust of wind caused the Baobab to crash down upon I.B.'s head, he did not stir a single limb; only his eyes stared at a single point, focusing on the future of the world. And the Baobab returned to its former state.

Note 3. I.B. eats grass.

The rainy season came to an end, and I.B., after a month of fasting, discovered wild-growing grass at his feet. Inside his stomach—that is, what was left of it—there was a hollow, rumbling roar. I.B. plucked some grass and, having chewed it thoroughly (i.e., 33 times), swallowed it. After waiting a little while, not knowing for what himself, he withdrew into himself, and when he returned, he discovered that a very important part of his innocent body had fallen off, and moreover, two other important parts had fallen off right along with it. I.B.'s fear and despair knew no bounds. In his agitation, he plucked a small flower with toes wet from cold sweat, chewed it, and spat it out. And a miracle occurred...

Note 3/2. A Miracle!

The very important part and the two other, no less important parts rose above the ground and returned to their former place.

There were no bounds to I.B.'s joy.

Note 4. I.B.'s Rug.

When I.B. walked across the soft emerald grass, he laid a small rug under his feet so as not to crush any insects, large or small. The procedure looked like this: I.B. would leap two meters into the air and throw the rug down onto the spot where he intended to step. Then he would land on it, and leap again. This went on for quite some time, until mid-flight he accidentally noticed a beautiful maiden sleeping beneath a tree below him. Charmed by her beauty, I.B. missed the rug and landed with both feet squarely in an anthill. Hundreds of ants perished, thousands were maimed, residential buildings were destroyed; in short, the damage inflicted by I.B. was horrifying.

From that time on, I.B. never looked at women.

Note 5. I.B. and the Sun.

What can be said about this? Only that the sun is the sun, and I.B. is I.B.

Note 6. The Talking Horse Head.

Once, walking along the road of life, I.B. saw a Horse Head in his path, which, looking at him mournfully, said: "I have seen many innocent Buddhists in my time, but you, I believe, are the most innocent of all..." Having said this, the Horse Head vanished.

Note 7. Radiant sparks from the eyes.

Walking through the forest one day, I.B. suddenly felt his body lose its weight, and he soared above the trees and began to accelerate. Soon everything was rushing past him at incredible speed, except for a huge tree that arose in his path out of nowhere. Radiant sparks from I.B.'s eyes scattered all around, illuminating the forest, which would have burst into flames were it not for the rain that began instantly and extinguished the whole outrageous mess.

Note 8. I.B.'s Dream.

I wonder, have you ever seen other people's dreams? Well, neither have I.

Vinny Blud.

Note 9. I.B. and Vinny Blud.

I.B. was sitting, as usual, in the shade of the Baobab and, as usual, was deep within himself, when Vinny Blud appeared nearby and, smacking I.B. on the back of the head, said: "Hey brother, I wrote some notes about you." And laughing at the top of his lungs, Vinny Blud skipped off into the neighboring forest. Around I.B., his Vinous spirit lingered for a long time.

Note 10. Buddha and I.B. Side one.

Once, hearing I.B.'s prayers, Buddha descended from the heavens, patted him on the head, and said: "My boy, you have already grown up and become an adult. Come back home. Huh?" But I.B. replied: "No, Papa," and withdrew into himself again.

Note 11. I.B.'s Departure onto the High Road.

One night, I.B. stepped out onto the High Road. It was flooded with the silver light of the Moon. Not a soul was in sight, only silence and darkness all around. Except that far away, someone was screaming hysterically about something. Maybe calling someone somewhere? But I.B. heard nothing; he was, as always, immersed in himself.

Note 12. I.B. and the Great Serpent.

As I.B. walked along the path to the river, the Great Serpent sprang out from nearby bushes and, striking a combat pose, said in a rumbling voice: "Sha!" To this, I.B. smiled sweetly and blinked his eyes. With this, he struck the Great Serpent dead on the spot, and upon hitting the ground, it expired right then and there.

Note 13. I am very superstitious.

Vinny Blud.

Note 14. A Great Difficulty.

A great difficulty befell I.B.: he was unable to withdraw into himself. He had lost his keys, but where and when, he couldn't remember. Either in the Brothel or somewhere else. But since he was the most Innocent of innocent Buddhists, clearly the keys were not in the Brothel. It followed that they were somewhere else.

Note 15. The Search for the Keys.

For an entire month, the residents of nearby villages could observe I.B. crawling in the dust looking for his keys. But he never found them. A locksmith had to be called.

Note 16. I.B. in Court.

I.B. was summoned to Court on charges of vagrancy. There they asked him: "Your name?" I.B. answered honestly: "I.B." After which he was immediately released.

Note 17. In the Desert.

Once, wandering inside himself, I.B. happened to notice that around him was a desert. It lay on the border of Eternity. It was a genuine desert. A hot wind blew roasted sand into I.B.'s eyes. "No," thought I.B., "this is not for me, too empty." After which he returned under his Baobab, which was perhaps a sequoia, or perhaps a Lebanese cedar; what mattered was that I.B. always had a place to return to.

Note 18. I.B.'s Spring Theses.

Thesis 1: Spring is wonderful.
Thesis 2: Spring is dangerous, because in spring it is easiest to lose one's innocence, both physical and spiritual.

Note 19. I.B. and the Elephant.

I.B. was walking through the jungle and saw an Elephant peacefully nibbling on grass. Looking at its trunk, I.B. thought: "With an instrument like that, one wouldn't be ashamed to live."

Note 20. Buddha and I.B. Side two.

I.B. was plunged in deep sleep when Buddha descended to him from the heavenly plains and whispered in his ear: "Still, my boy, it is time to go home..."

Note 21. Exit.

"Twenty-one, gentlemen, cards on the table!" said I.B. and rose from the table. And then everyone saw that it was Poruchik Rzhevsky.

P.S. The sun was about to set behind the bamboo grove when I.B. vanished into the misty horizon. The animals waved goodbye to him with their paws, hooves, tails, trunks, and...
P.P.S. Perhaps he will return yet.
P.P.P.S. THIS is not yet the End.

Written and recorded by Vinny Blud. Notes 11, 12, 14, 16, 17, 18, 19, 21 inspired by Sovinnoye Chudo.
August 27-28, 1992.

For Vinny Blud — ZhK Vorobyov-Gorobetsky.
For Sovinnoye Chudo — Aleksey Aleksandrovich Tokmolaev.

CLEAN TOILETS

A cockroach sat on the wall opposite Stepan and slowly, as if reluctantly, twitched its long whiskers. Its sly eyes didn't let go of Stepan for a single second. Stepan, meanwhile, glancing away from his bowl of soup, shot the impudent cockroach a contemptuous look and once again immersed himself in his task. HE WAS HAVING BREAKFAST. The kitchen, with its dirty walls and gray, cracked ceiling, was filled with the aroma of Ukrainian borsch that Stepan had cooked himself. Mother's lessons hadn't gone to waste; any woman, if only they were a bit wiser, would be happy with Stepan, but, alas, he was a bachelor. And this weighed heavily on him. He yearned for understanding, tenderness, and even love. But Love hadn't visited him for the past ten years, and Stepan had completely forgotten what it looked like.

The spoon slowly dipped into the borsch and, just as slowly, surfaced back out, filled with an appetizing reddish-brown liquid in which chunks of potato, beet, and meat floated. All of this went straight into Stepan’s cavernous mouth and vanished inside, releasing a farewell wisp of aroma. This wisp drifted across the kitchen and, eventually, disappeared inside the cockroach, which hadn't taken its sly gaze off Stepan. Stepan, eyes half-closed with pleasure, chewed on the morsels of meat that got stuck between his large teeth. From such pleasant sensations, pleasant thoughts appeared in his head: "Someday, in say 10 years or so... no... better in 5, I won't have to deal with my repulsive trade," Stepan thought. "People will become tidy, they'll invent new plumbing. And the toilet bowls will be clean..." He thought this way because he worked as a plumber for Housing Office No. 12, earning 150 rubles a month from it, plus tips, which took the form of rustling little blue banknotes.

Stepan glanced at the alarm clock ticking peacefully atop the rattling refrigerator, and all his thoughts were instantly lost in the deep convolutions of his brain. The clock showed 10 minutes to 8. "Time to head to the Housing Office," Stepan thought and spat with annoyance at the wall. The glob of spit, tracing a trajectory close to a parabola, hit the cockroach right on target. Cursing and snorting, the cockroach ducked under the sink, which was packed to the brim with dirty dishes. Stepan stood up, looked around the kitchen, and stepped out into the hallway. There he slipped on his shoes, which were practically begging for something to eat, picked up his toolbox, and walked out, firmly shutting the door behind him.

Exiting the entranceway, Stepan saw three men with red, puffy faces. They sat on a bench that tilted slightly under their heavy bodies, staring into the distance. "Are you waiting for me?" Stepan inquired, looking at his watch. There was no answer. Three hazy stares bored into him. Something clicked faintly in the men's heads, and their eyes faded out completely. "Well, if you're not waiting for me..." Stepan began cheerfully. "Nope," one of the three growled, and silence settled in again. "...then I'll be off," Stepan concluded and jogged toward Housing Office No. 12.

Outside the window, a near-tropical downpour was lashing. Stepan flipped through Krokodil and, to the beat of the radio music, drummed his fingers on the tabletop. There were two of them in the room. Him and Serafima. Serafima was typing something on a typewriter. Obviously, an announcement about some event in the neighborhood. Stepan chuckled, showing his teeth. Krokodil clearly had a bit of humor to it. When the laughter died down, Serafima asked: "Stepan, you're about to turn thirty soon, and you're still kicking around as a bachelor. Why don't you get married? You're a fine-looking guy! Huh? Stepan?"

"You see, Serafima, I've figured out my ideal woman and I'm waiting for her to appear to me."
"Ah, is that so..."
"Yes, that's so."

They fell silent, each lost in thought. The rain outside picked up. The drops hammered against the glass with such force that it seemed they wanted to smash it to hell and gone. The trees outside bent under the wind and the weight of the water from above. It was the month of July. Stepan looked at this quiet frenzy of nature and it held him spellbound; he wanted to run out into this pouring rain and splash through the puddles, showering passersby with spray. But something kept him in this dry and warm room. Suddenly the door opened. Stepan's portly boss, Yegor Kuzmich Sigachev, squeezed his way through it.

"Stepan, a work order just came in," Yegor Kuzmich said after a breather that followed his conquest of the doorway. "Need to go check it out."
"In this kind of downpour?!" Stepan protested, but something scratched at his insides, and after a moment's thought, he said: "Alright! I'll go..."

          (continued)

The elevator brought Stepan up to the seventh floor and hospitably slid open its doors, letting him out onto the landing. Waiting for the elevator to close, Stepan found the required apartment and rang the bell. The door was opened by a woman of about thirty.

"You called for a plumber," Stepan began his usual routine and froze, looking at her. It was HER, the one who 10 years ago had turned his life upside down, broken his heart, and wrenched his soul inside out. The first thing that crossed Stepan's mind was to turn around and run. Run from the memories, from the longing, from youthful love. But he coughed and, as if nothing were amiss, uttered:

"So, uh, did you call for a plumber?"
"Come on in, Stepan," She said, stepping aside to let him into the apartment.

He went into the bathroom and spent a long time tinkering with the faucet. Finally, everything was fixed, and after washing his hands and packing his toolbox, he headed for the exit.

"Wait, stay a bit... Have some tea... We haven't seen each other in 10 years..." She said, with a look in Her eyes that conveyed a plea, a prayer.
"Alright. But not for long," Stepan agreed.
"Thank you," She said quietly and led him to the kitchen.

An hour passed, but they were still sitting and talking.

A week went by. Stepan visited Her every evening. An old affection for this woman awoke within him. But it was not love, though who could tell. She was divorced and had been living alone for two years. Meeting Stepan reignited something in her heart that had been absent for a very long time.

Stepan walked out of the building. On the bench sat three men with red, puffy faces. They weren't doing anything, just staring into the distance with eyes holding such profound wisdom that Stepan hurried to walk past. He glanced at his watch. It was seven o'clock in the evening. His soul yearned for Her. And he gave it free rein.

She met him with a smile that promised the evening would go well...

Stepan opened his eyes and saw that he was lying completely naked in an unfamiliar bed, by an unfamiliar window, in an unfamiliar room. Beside him, with Her head resting on his chest, She slept. Stepan began recalling what had happened the night before, and everything came back to him. A smile flickered across his face and hid in Her hair. She stirred and opened Her eyes. Sunbeams lost themselves in their depths. She kissed Stepan, got out of bed, and said:

"Time to head to work..."

           (the end)

A month passed. Stepan realized that everything he felt when thinking of Her was love. And he was happy. Stepan spent his working hours in longing; a force unknown to nature drew him to Her. When the final minutes of his labor ran out, he would burst out of the stuffy ZhEK No. 12 and fly to Her. So it was this time, too. She opened the door, but something about Her was off. Stepan noticed sadness in her deep eyes. He stepped into the hallway, took off his shoes, walked into the kitchen, and looked closely into Her eyes. She couldn't bear his gaze and looked down.

"What happened?" Stepan asked, and a splinter of anxiety slowly began to pierce his heart.

"I have to tell you that..." She couldn't finish; tears choked Her. "...that we won't be together anymore."

"But why?!"

"You see, when I saw you back then... again... I thought you could change my life, and hope arose in me. You awakened my heart, but forgive me if you can—I don't love you..."

She looked at him, and tears ran down Her cheeks again. Stepan stood as if he had just been struck by a 100-volt current. He couldn't believe this wasn't a dream. Just yesterday everything had been so good... AND SUDDENLY, NO, THIS CAN'T BE... Everything was repeating itself again. He didn't know, couldn't imagine, what he was to do in this life without Her. Over these days, he had come to love Her like he had never loved anyone before. She looked at him, softly sobbing, unable to speak any longer. Stepan raised his eyes, smiled a strange smile, and said quietly:

"You don't love me... How can that be... How can that be, huh?..."

She couldn't take it anymore and burst into sobs, burying her face in her hands. Stepan smiled again and walked out of the kitchen.

The ladder to the roof was horribly rusty. Stepan's hands turned brown. Looking at the city, he thought: "What is human life? There is so much suffering in it... It brings no joy to man..." He looked down at the gray asphalt. Down there, on a sewer manhole cover, lay a cat; nearby, children were playing in a pile of sand. Stepan felt the asphalt drawing him in; it was pulling him down. Stepan looked up at the sky and took a step...

She came out onto the balcony. The sun blinded Her. Tears streamed down Her cheeks, but She was already feeling better. She looked down and screamed.

Stepan lay with his head thrown back—or what was left of it. A puddle of black blood framed his face, his eyes miraculously intact. They were open, reflecting the sky. A crowd gathered around his body. Someone was crying, someone was looking for reasons, but he could no longer hear any of it. Life went on all around.

THE TOILET BOWLS WERE SOILED...

June – August 1991.

==========================================

<< "NEW RUSSIAN" FAIRY TALES >>

==========================================

Vadim Golovanov.
"New Russian" Fairy Tales

"GREAT AND MIGHTY IS THE RUSSIAN LANGUAGE"
— M. V. Lomonosov

"TOUGH AND LOADED IS THE NEW RUSSIAN LINGO"
— Said by one of the famous lads

"NEW RUSSIAN" LITERATURE

A TEXTBOOK FOR CHILDREN OVER 16 YEARS OF AGE

"New Russian" fairy tales,
"New Russian" poetry,
"New Russian" novellas,
"New Russian" etc., etc.

First edition, rethought, with difficulty.

"New Russian" Fairy Tales

THE TALE OF THE KOLOBOK

Once upon a time, an old man had plenty of dough (babki). And he decided to take stock of his tangible inventory. He scraped the cupboards. Swept the granaries clean. And the TOTAL came to: a kilo of flour and a kilo of cottage cheese.

"I'm hardcore!" decided the old man and started throwing gang signs. And while he was flexing his fingers, quite casually, with his own digits, he sculpted a bun—a kolobok. And the kolobok didn't think for long. In fact, he didn't think at all. Where would a kolobok get brains? Just curd and flour. He hopped into the old man's Mercedes and rolled out!

Coming toward him was a hare. Cross-eyed, all messed up with debts. Debts hanging over the hare just like his ears. Two of them. But huge ones. "Kolobok, kolobok!" says he. "I'm gonna eat you!" And the kolobok goes: "Are you nuts, hare?! I ditched the old man and his dough! And from you I'll go DA-BA-DEE DA-BA-DA!"

"Say what?!" the hare didn't get it.

"That's it, hare! You're in over your head! You owe me big time!" said the kolobok and rolled on.

Coming toward him was a wolf, a real tough guy by nature. "Kolobok, kolobok! I'm gonna eat you!" And the kolobok goes: "Come off it, wolf. I ditched the old man and his dough. Now you, wolf, count properly to ten and we'll sort things out hard-style." The wolf started counting properly, while the kolobok rolled on...

A bear was supposed to show up at this point. But he was a no-show. The kolobok waited about twenty minutes and kept rolling.

Coming toward him was a fox wearing a real human-fur coat: "Kolobok, kolobok. I'm gonna eat you!" And the kolobok goes: "Are you crazy, fox?! I ditched the old man and his dough! The hare owes me!! I put the wolf on the meter, racking up interest!!! The bear stood me up, chickened out of the sit-down!!!! Why, I'll..."

"Actually, you know what—just eat me, fox! No matter which way you roll, it all ends the same. I'm sick and tired of this life full of chases and shootouts!" said the kolobok and began to digest. The fox ate him and wept.

And the moral is this: If you walked away with someone's dough, roll as far as you can. Before you get eaten!

THE TALE OF THE FROG PRINCESS

Once upon a time, there lived—pretty well, in fact, I'd even say living large—an old man. And he had three sons and a firm called "Father, Son, Another Son and Yet Another Son Ltd." One day, the old man decided that the lads had spent enough time acting as personal assistants and that it was time for them to make something of their lives. He gathered them together and said: "Listen here! Go set up some sit-downs. Wherever each of you sets up a meet, that's the business he'll be running!"

The sons went off to set up sit-downs. The eldest son set up a meet at the merchant's courtyard and went into the merchant line, getting into wholesale commerce. The middle son set up a meet at the boyar's estate and opened a real estate agency, dealing in boyar mansions. But the youngest son set up a meet somewhere out in the woods, on a swamp. A frog showed up to his sit-down. The youngest son took a look at her and figured: "What, am I supposed to deal in seafood now?" But the frog explained to him like a decent human being: "You go open an advertising agency, and I'll be your top photo model." And Ivan Tsarevich...

Almost forgot to introduce the guy. The youngest son's name is Ivan Tsarevich. Good lad. You can do business with him. I vouch for him.

So, Ivan Tsarevich says to her: "What kind of photo model could you be? At best, you're good for two hundred grams of crab sticks to go with beer!" But the frog replies: "Don't sweat it, Ivan Tsarevich! I'll put on proper makeup, fix my hair, get some plastic surgery from a vet I know, and I'll be a high-class chick! You know yourself—if you've got the cash for PR, you can turn even a frog into a princess! Just make sure you sort things out cleanly with Kashchey. He controls the entire advertising racket."

Almost forgot to tell you about Kashchey. His street handle is "The Immortal." That's because he once overdosed on Herbalife, lost a ton of weight from it, and prolonged his lifespan for ages. If anyone remembers the road to Far-Far-Away, there's a castle on the right, yeah? That's his castle. Well, what else is there to say? Kashchey only looks tough on the outside, but really he's a cheapskate. I've heard bad things about him since childhood. Take my advice—better not do business with him!

So Ivan Tsarevich didn't bother sorting through excuses; he went straight to a hitman. The hitman started laying it on thick: "Kashchey is heavy-duty. His death is on a needle. The needle is in a duck. The duck is in a chest. The chest is..." But Ivan Tsarevich cuts him off: "Cut the bullshit, stop driving up the price! I know the going rates, I'll pay fair." They struck a deal with the hitman, and you could say that was the end of the story. The hitman took the advance and took out Kashchey.

And the moral is this: If you've got the dough, you've got no problems!

THE TALE OF THE TURNIP

Old man planted a turnip. Planted it in a prime, high-traffic spot to hustle all kinds of greens. And the turnip grew big, hauling in mad profits from the hustle. The old man went out into the garden to chop some cabbage and saw it was time to shake down the turnip. "Hey, Turnip!" he says. "You're growing on my turf. Look at the fat turnip you've built up for yourself. And you haven't kicked back a single leaf to me! So haul yourself out! We need to have words! I'm taking you to the market and selling you off to guys from the Caucasus."

But the turnip stays silent. Turnips rarely talk anyway. One of the lads said it’s because they’re plants.

The old man pulls at the turnip, pulls and pulls. But he can't squeeze a thing out of it. So he paged the old lady on her beeper. One cracked skull is good, two cracked skulls are better. The two of them pull together. The old man leans on the turnip. The old lady backs him up, ready for trouble! But while the turnip was growing in the dirt, it had made some "roots" of its own—homies helping it stand its ground.

So they called the granddaughter... In short, they called the Granddaughter, the Cat, Zhuchka the dog, the Enforcer, Baldy, Ibrahim, Little Lyokha. Basically, the whole crew. The whole gang leans on the turnip, pulls and pulls. But they can't even drag a word out of the turnip to catch it slipping on its words!

Well, what's there to do?! What to do?!

So they called the Mouse, the local crime boss.

The Mouse rolled up, sorted things out properly, and right off the bat beat someone's turnip in. But for some reason—go figure, right?—he beat in... Zhuchka's.

And the moral is: If you lean on someone, your own turnip might get smashed!

THE TALE OF RYABA THE HEN

Once upon a time lived an old man. Shacked up with an old lady. Hustled "Bush legs"—Ryaba the Hen's frozen chicken quarters. And one day he found an egg between them. Not a simple egg, but a golden one.

The old man struggles and struggles—can’t fence it. His old lady bangs and bangs her head against the wall—they won't trust her with the deal.

Well, what to do?! What to do?!

So they called the Mouse...

For those who don’t remember—you gotta know these things so you don't run into problems later. The Mouse is the boss from the previous tale. I know him.

Well, the Mouse rolled up. Sorted it out smoothly and instantly stripped the old man of his egg. Of his golden egg, obviously.

The old man weeps—they jacked his egg. His old lady weeps—she banged her head against the wall for nothing, hurt herself bad. A spotted Siberian deer weeps—he’s got some personal issues going on. None of our business. And Ryaba the Hen's chicken legs say...

Normally, chicken legs don't talk. But you gotta understand, I genuinely feel bad for the old man, man to man. When you get right down to it, he ended up as the fall guy. It’s not his fault he was born a sucker! So, no offense, let the legs speak, yeah?

And the legs say: "Don't cry, old man, and calm your woman down. I’ll lay you an egg. Not a golden one, just a regular one. Hustle that!"

And the moral is: Keep it simple, folks, keep it simple!

THE TALE OF SISTER ALYONUSHKA AND BROTHER IVANUSHKA

Once upon a time lived Sister Alyonushka, and the only gang she had was her brother Ivanushka. He guarded the commercial kiosk where she peddled bootleg vodka.

And that vodka was so fake they didn't even bottle it—they poured it straight into animal hoofprints!

One day Ivanushka says: "Thirst is killing me, hangover's bad, Alyonushka. Give me a couple of hoof-shots of the cow stuff." And Alyonushka says: "Don't drink it, Ivanushka, you'll turn into a calf."

Ivanushka didn't listen, downed a hoof-shot. And it was pure tap water. He turned into a calf and started acting aggro: "What garbage did you slip me? Come on, gimme a couple hoof-shots of the horse stuff!" And Alyonushka says: "Don't drink it, Ivanushka, you'll turn into a foal."

Ivanushka didn't listen, downed a hoof-shot. Pure tap water again. He turned into a foal and started neigh-laughing: "Ha-ha-ha, Alyonushka, ha-ha-ha. Give me a couple hoof-shots of the goat stuff."

Here's my personal advice. If you ever have to chase your buzz with hoof-shots, stick to cow or horse. Better for your health. And you won't get memory blackouts. Anyway, what happened next?

So Alyonushka tells him: "Don't drink it, Ivanushka, you'll turn into a goat!" Ivanushka got pissed. I’d even say he entered a state of temporary insanity, if I knew what those words meant. No wonder—she called him a goat! So in that state of insanity, he downed a couple of goat hoof-shots. And instantly started growing thick hair. Couldn't say a damn word, just digging his horns into the ground. Irreversible processes kicked off in whatever was left of the beginnings of his brain.

They say he turned back into a human later. But personally, I don't buy those fairy tales.

And the moral is: Don't drink homemade swill, or you'll kick the bucket.

THE TALE OF THE FISHERMAN AND THE FISH

Once an old man lived with his old lady, renting a shack right next to a blue-nosed drunkard. All his life the old man ran scams, throwing his net out into a sea of cash. The first time he threw it—caught pure trash. The second time he threw it—almost caught a beating to the head. And the third time he pulled up a gold chain, weighing about ten kilos, and it could talk.

Let me tell you, yeah! Chains these days come super tricked-out. For good money you can buy one that talks, one that dances. A buddy of mine had a chain that could even drive a Mercedes.

Anyway, the chain says to him: "Yo, bro, what's the issue?!"

The old man’s got no issues. Threw the chain around his neck and headed back to the crib.

And his old lady goes: "You total brain-dead moron, you brainless sucker! Why’d you only take one chain?! Go talk to the lads, let them set you up proper in life!" And she started throwing tantrums and throwing signs. First she needs a 500-series Merc, then a 600-series. First a two-story mansion, then a three-story one.

Well, what else could he do? The old man went to the boys. And they go: "So you're the one who pinched our chain!" They snatched the chain back. Put him on the meter with compound interest.

The old man came home, and his old lady was left with a smashed-in face.

And the moral is: Listen to your woman less!

THE LITTLE PRISON HOUSE

A frog known as "Croaker" was hopping through life. "Croaker" was just her street alias. And she ended up in the little prison shack.

Basically, she hopped too far and got handed a stretch that was neither short nor tall—ten years maximum security, even though she’d been a sharp-headed thinker since childhood. "The joint is my home!" the frog figured, and started doing her time there.

Then a mouse caught a bid, landed on the bunks, and asked: "Little prison house! Who runs this cell?" "I do! Croaker the alias, and who're you?" "I'm the Mouse, doing five for sticking up a hole."

Then, for stealing a hair-comb, they threw in...

Nah, lads, there was no little rooster! Alright, fine, there was a little rooster, but they grilled him in interrogation and immediately sent him down the transit pipeline to another joint far away. Didn't even spend the night together.

Instead, they tossed a hedgehog into their cell. Not only was the hedgehog missing a head, he had no legs either. Man, what a world, right? Now they're locking up the handicapped!

And on top of that came safecrackers, the vixen—the "godmother," or rather the warden godfather locked the vixen up—dirty cops rolled in, and tons of other beasts, racking up a grand total of two hundred and fifty years of maximum security.

Nah, lads, who are we kidding with fairy tales! The joint ain't made of rubber!

And the moral is: Give 'em a jail cell, and they'll find a charge!

"NEW RUSSIAN" (WELL-FORGOTTEN OLD RUSSIAN) POETRY

Sanya Pushkin ("The Gun")

By the cove stands a green oak tree,
A golden chain upon that oak;
The tree itself is shady, sketchy,
Tricked-out slick in heavy smoke.
To the right—he revs his Benz,
On his cell phone talks away;
To the left he never roams,
In the office he will stay.
There, whoever can, wears leather,
Some were born inside that hide;
Chicken drumsticks sold together,
Stripped of any bird inside.
There they'll shake you down in full,
If you don't like how it goes,
Call the crew to pull the strings:
Thirty hulking street-brawler kings
Will sort it out on equal terms,
Led by their big-shot uncle firm.
In the front room weeps a princess,
Sucking up to bosses, senseless;
Baba Yaga's mortar flying,
Pimping out herself, hustling, lying;
Kashchey gets popped by a hitman's blast;
The "New Russian" scent is cast!

Another poem by "The Gun":

I recall that wondrous sight:
You appeared before my eyes,
Rolled up to the gang dispute,
Like an angel, purely fly.

Mikha Lermontov ("Lermont")
A lonely sail gleams white and pale
In the azure mist of the sea...
Who did he stiff, and for how much,
Since in his homeland he cannot be?
He's probably up to his neck in debt,
His dough is completely gone and spent,
Yet rebellious, he seeks out grief—
He'll catch plenty of grief. No problem.

Kolyan Nekrasov ("Nekras")
Once in a freezing winter season
I wasn't walking the woods like a chump,
In my Jeep I was driving uphill for a reason,
When suddenly — a cart full of brushwood! I hit the brakes with a thump!
Went over to sort it out. In solemn calm,
A peasant leads his horse by the rein,
He lightly scratched the side of my Jeep,
That scratched flank gave me quite a pain.
"You're in trouble, buddy!" "I was just passing by..."
"And you've got no cash, I can see with my eye!
Where's the wood from?" "The forest, of course..."
"Don't worry, I'll handle it slick, without force!
I won't squeeze a woodcutter dry to the bone!
No wages being paid? Big family at home?"
"A big family indeed. It has two people, see:
One of them is me, and the second is me!"
I tried to count up the family members,
Kept losing count, divided and multiplied,
That peasant bamboozled me and slipped away,
While like a fool, I just stood there and tried!

Serega Yesenin ("Sery")
My fallen maple tree,
Maple iced and chill,
You who borrowed dough from me
To start a business deal.
If you were born an oak,
And not a maple tree,
You'll go through life as just
A rookie punk to see.
And if you blow the dough,
You might as well be bold
And count yourself as fallen,
Iced over and stone cold.
All kinds of baobabs
Who try to rip me blind,
Get chopped right down at the root,
Leaving nothing behind.
So you'd better think twice
About who you're dealing with,
My fallen maple tree,
Iced over and chill.