The fools have left the road

Vertical rejoices. The evil Pindos and their European puppets retreated, wiped themselves off, congratulated and recognized the crushing victory of the sun-like and hyper-legitimate leader of the nation. Carousel-stuffing democracy has won. The oil and gas elite, together with the Uralvagonzavodov mass, rallied in a single impulse around their leader, who managed to embrace the immensity and harness a bull and a brown bear into one team.

But something sad and doomed is increasingly visible in the eyes of the winners, energetically broadcasting from the duroscope about upcoming victories and conquests. The world watches in confusion as the creaky and painted cart of Russian statehood, half in gold, half rusty, with crooked wheels, harnessed by an ox, a bear and a donkey, dashingly moves away from the spacious highway towards the remote thicket and swamps.

An attempt to reason with the coachman ended with a choice curse word, a figure of three dirty fingers and a drunken Spanish grin. They say we’ll figure it out without you, we ourselves know where to go, go away with your advice, the cart is on the march, don’t interfere.

And so it was done. No one will stop the cart from first moving to the side of the road, then onto the arable land, and then getting completely stuck, breaking the axles and finally falling apart. It will be even faster and more reliable. The main thing is that the rut remains deeper, because we still have to go back along it.