During the milennia, CCCP was governed by a collegial body named Politburo, or Politbureau. The main, and thoroughly hidden, tool of power was that very bureau. It was a portentous piece of furniture a la Louis XIV. In the one but lowest drawer, a secret sacred document, signed in Krupskaya's blood, was kept. Only united power of Hell and Heavens could break the spell, empowered by the scripture. A renegade christiano-judaistic priest, with two MBA degrees and the right to issue prescriptions and cancel USENET articles retroactively, was hired to secure the bureau days and nights. But he aged, and succumbed to heavy drinking. He wrote himself recepies of drug mixes and sapped overpurified alcohol. One day, the Gabriel of Hell entered silent night halls of Kremlin, leading his dark phalanxes over cold marble floors, between the pillars, through the moonlight spots, and satanic legions began the last bloody battle with special anti-spiritual CHEKA/OGPU/NKVD/KGB troops in the spiral corridors leading to the bureau. Silver bullets and preaching barrages, shamanic and incest rituals, vespers' digests and pagan oaths, serene oratorias and anathematization machines against sodomic apparatus and mind disposers handed the victory over back and forth many times. The angels of doom used their black lamp - anti-light, whose stream completely covers and hides its targets in the substance of hopelessness and panic. But perfect Latin broadcast and the noble Crucifixion Detachments of the Kremlin Guard stood tight. The last hope of the metaphysical offensive, Mr. Monroe, with his doctrine of open door, was commissioned by Athanail, the Commander of Doom, to subdue the priest. It was the last decisive moment in the glorious history of the Soviet Union. The document, silent for more than seventy years, granted supernatural fulfillment to its only first reader. Lenin cashed this scripture, granted to build the visional Potopia, with a cabbalic consortium of a Moronic rite, to pay the revolutionary expenses and ``вертушка'' bills on time. For this, the Morons obtained omission of protective formulas from the scripture. Now the Morons, who craved for the status of the Third Power, hoped that CCCP will fail to redeem the scripture. Indeed, until the last moment the sum in gold was not collected in full. At that moment, an old dying anti-moronic prophet pointed with his trembling index finger towards the Hindu Kush mountains. The block of moron-protected, ``бред''-resistant gold was there. The last chance to prevent Moronic hegemony over Hell, Heavens and the mortal kingdom was not to lose. Soviet tanks crossed the Tropic of Serenity and unterminably approached Nanga Parbat. That day, black archangel Gabriel, whose canned quasi-soul was stored in a moronic fridge under Geneva lake, was ordered to drill a hole in the cave and evacuate the golden block. But simple people of Afghanistan helped old Marshal Ustinov out to grab the block with his strong wrinkled hands. The war and politics was up to the military and diplomats now - he cared only about the morons, whose march to power he had to stop at any cost. From the breadths of the Urals, he was governed by a mysterious anti-moronic jewel, Socculturus. The block was lifted by a heavy Kamov copter and flew in the deep blue sky toward the Polar Circle. There, at Spitzbergen, Moronic controllers watched their chronometers, as the deadline closed on the world, ready to preempt the world government from old tired Jewish babushkas, violently resigned after reading too much bullshit on the USENET. The minute hands on the clocks entered the red sectors. Moronic Mission Control Center of the Fifty Seventh Right-Hand-Clockwise-by-Default Universe (that's ours) was one body, holding its breath, with the strongest last hope, with dead resolve, with unspoken expectation. Digital displays changed every second. Operators stood near the wall-size screens, watching the block of gold crossing Kola Fjord under the cover of all-weather interceptors. Powerful radar beams leashed them every minute. In a few minutes, they will be forced to accept the payback and give up the scripture. Then all young Russian and Jewish students will stay content and never submit to morons! No one will punch in moronic programs. The spirit of Ludd, freed from moronic annex of Hell'n'Heaven mutual-governed Jewish Autonomous Region, this Jar of freedom, this big hairy spirit will grab all the computers in hist fist and squeeze them together! All the brain-damaged will be cured with Moscow tea, and the cars making annoying noise when going backwards will be shot dead by the squads of inexhaustible T-80s! Thus, the Supreme Intra-Universe Higher Continuum Momentum-Preserving Headquarters of the Cosmic Morons took its last ace out of the sleeve...
Изменник поп поставлен партией
Хранить от дьявола бюро.
Часы бьют полночь.
С Венской хартией
К нему является Монро.
"Заткнись, Советское Правительство!" -
Звучит торжественно хорал.
Орган играет вид на жительство
Тем, кто еще не умирал...
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(Продолжение _не_ следует.)