The Rascally Romance (in a single helluva-long letter about a flicking-short life) - Сергей Николаевич Огольцов

fucking wrong, as always. Because every-fucking-thing one way or another clicks and tags on some other this or that thing and if you can’t see how all the thingamabob hooks on and in and out it’s what we have Political Study Classes in the army for. Fuck… Hey, you, sitting over there by the last koobrik with that your brazen visage. Which draft? ‘73?… A-ha! Sumy, khokhols. You think that ‘73 is a bolide fucked year ‘cause that’s when they raked you up to do your hitch and you don’t get it in any way that in that same year in behind-the-hill they pressed out the Thomas Pynchon’s book about Gravity’s Rainbow and while you, numskulls, don’t even know such words they, over there, pulled it off.

In short, the book is about Them. By Thomas, They are almost immortal, invisible, dwell on the other Side and never lose. And that’s all what he leaked about Them in about 800 pages but you, ‘suckers, should know the book turned out as good as a fucking eager slut, you read it and want more and more…Who mumbled “a behind-the-hill paranoid fool-driver”? Wanna get rotten with fatigues till your last day in the hitch? The masters of Pynchon’s caliber are not the stuff to call in question you have to only check out their handwork and draw your illiterate conclusions. Like about those ballet dancers by Degas which he was drawing till got blind. When they watched the dancers’ skirts long enough and at the right angle, they discovered a whole heap of benzolidol rings of the most cool synthetics because everything click-hook-tags in and out it’s only that you have to know the right dosage to get touched the right way… check out the root! And you’ll see even more than that. OK, it’s not Chemistry break in classes for you here, so now we’ll pull Them out in the clear in a politically refined way.

We’ll start ab ovo… Stop scratching your balls, mudaks, in Latin it means “from the very beginning”. Everything’s started from a fresh leaf after a big washing. The flotsam Noah had 3 sons – Shem, Ham, and Japheth. In regard of his Dad, Ham once behaved as a mean cad and Shem started reasoning that it’s not right. Yet Japheth didn’t waste words, came up and knocked Ham out. Noah watched all that bedlam and he sez, “Shut up you all! Listen to me only!” However, Dad was not for ever and ever and after his R.I.P. someone still had to maintain the order that’s where from originated the byword “Dad is dead! Long live Dad!”. Noah’s successor was named State as all his next in line and so as not to fumble with the in-family handles he just classified them all. Japheth and his heirs became Class 1, aristocrats thanks to the timely punch, Shem who sold himself for being so conversed in morals secured Class 2 for his descendants, Ham and his litter became plowmen. D’you follow? In the beginning, ab ovo, there were 3 Classes and 1 State, one for all. That’s where class struggle takes its roots from.

Gradually, little by little, there sprung out towns too whose populace gemmated from plowmen and became a separate class of town-dwellers named bourgeois, excuse my French. And town slickers are sworn swindlers, you know and, as always, they fucked up country hicks and became Class 3, pushing plowmen into Class 4. Now, we have 4 classes but that’s not for long because there hatched up already Class 5 in those towns-cities who also were drudgers like plowmen but not on land already. For the sake of shortness, they were named proletarians. Ha! They are 5 now! Get lost? Look at you hand, how many fingers? Which is also why you’re here, non-combatant pricks…

So, the classes live on while learning the methods of class struggle. Each one has its place and function under State: Japhethoviches fight, Hamoviches plow, Shemoviches… well, morale check-ups and connection to Almighty is their responsibility, when not busy with the capital problem – how to proliferate under celibacy? Proletarians work, work hard, though without conveyor yet. Bourgeois, those town sons of a gun, who jumped the queue to become Class 3, open factories and look for sales markets both locally and overseas….

The workload grows vertically and horizontally, State gets it there’s the need for an additional, the most necessary for State, class of managers and clerks. Class 6 do not produce, discover or invent anything, no, they are in charge of dividing and distributing of what was produced, discovered or invented. Now, how many classes do we have? How many fingers in your hand? So add to them the offshoot your fingers grab at each day more than once.

Now, leave them Classes alone… Let’s turn to State. The critter’s not too complicated, it can be, basically, one of 2 sorts, either concentrated on keeping the innards in good order or trying to expand its order, as is, beyond its limits up to becoming the owner of the known world. This inflation aiming at world domination turns State into Imperialistic State which does not have fail-back. Empire does not control itself, it just fulfills its designation, without the growth it gets busted – either devoured by the outside critters of the like feather or burst from inside because of unwisely swallowed fodder… Besides, State might have to live thru revolutions, which are periods when the ruling Class hands over its prerogatives to another Class as it happened, for instance, in France.

At first, State there was ruled by Class 1, as the most belligerent of classes, they were not clever enough for anything else besides warring which trade narrows you outlook. Yet, they were fans of dynasty games, liked the glitter of dangling trifles in their tunics, and between the battles got toned up by hopping in minuets. That way minueted themselves to guillotine. “Monsieur Executioner, so this is the Apparatus? Wow, what mighty looks!