Crisis

The creation of a government is being delayed. This is already becoming indecent and funny. Candidates, one after another, refuse to sign up for the buffoonish team of the unfortunate and dejected lawyer, knowing full well that the real management will be in the Kremlin, that at any moment the hodgepodge of nano-managers will be flushed down the toilet, under the obsequious, idiotic smile of Prime Minister Dima, whose maximum is to bring pieces of paper for signature Uncle Volodya.

This is already a real crisis, because even from its close-knit team, tied up in crimes and unheard of robbery, the tandem is not able to recruit three dozen people at least for the formal existence of the government. Nobody wants, everyone wants to remain in the shadows, like rats anticipating the death of the ship. This, and not the white ribbon festival, is the main achievement of the vertical. She has become disgusted even with herself, she anticipates her collapse and wants to be away at the moment of the main act of collapse.

They have always been like this: cynical and arrogant in their heyday, and cowardly and insignificant when they smelled kerosene. I'm not even surprised by their behavior. Nonentities cannot behave differently. There were never statesmen or patriots among them; there were always petty punks from the back alley, pimply and complexed, whose limit was to hang themselves in diamonds and put expensive outfits on stinking, unwashed bodies. But even the decorations could not hide the disgusting essence of the gang of scum who have been raping the country for ten years.

Crisis? Yes! Let the crisis strike more strongly, it is already too late.