Cellon without a silencer

There was such a wonderful children's story about Maria Alexandrovna Ulyanov, our Mother of God. When all the children of the unbending Mary ended up in Kyiv prisons and her mother got down from their feet, spreading the programs, on the reproaches of the head of the police department - what do you have, mother, for the offspring - she answered proudly and confidently: I am proud of my children! And who would not be proud?

Vladimir Vladimirovich, of course, is not yet the Virgin, but already close. After all, being proud of your friends in difficult circumstances is much more difficult than children. Children are blood, where is it without them. And it seems that you can refuse friends when such a panama. But Putin - he, as you know, does not pass his own. And why take it out if you can be proud.

To be proud of the people's artist Roldugin, of course, is more difficult than the People’s Intercessor Ulyanov. The former inhabitant of the Putin apartments was a very real figure - so real that even after a century what was left from him could not be taken out of the mausoleum. And Roldugin is a phantom. Few people heard his game on the cello, even fewer people are aware of his outstanding organizational abilities, but now the whole world knows that he has two billion and these two billion are not his. And now we also know that there is a person who is proud of Roldugin. Who sets him as an example. Which would like him to have more such Roldugins. But there are many Roldugins.

Not because a person has little money, but because he has few friends. After all, not for everyone you write down the blood. And not everyone you can write down, without shoulder straps and readily rewrite musical instruments to the state.

If Roldugin did not exist, Putin would have to invent him as some second lieutenant Kiezhe. Not just a national artist, but a faithful friend. And not just a faithful friend, but the brother of a long-time classmate-chekist. Own, yes with a violin! Tested from the very day as the reckless Vovka rolled him on the night Leningrad on the "Zaporozhets" without a muffler. Without a muffler! Let’s bring it to the rustle, Sery?

Imagine what eyes the passengers of the Zaporozhets who reached the final stop look at all these billions, at all these palaces, throughout this country without a muffler, turning into one endless gold mine for our lucky ones. Why then we must be surprised that at the mention of Roldugin, Putin's eyes are warming, and all intonations, all movements give out one-only thought: never “Cossacks” again. Life was a success! I was a success, Seryoga!

I'm proud of you.