Long flight, wodka help

You know vhat is good literature? Eugene Onegin. So I decide to visit location where Eugene Onegin vas born: Eugene, Onegin. Long flight, but I make it with help of old comrade: wodka.

My favorite wodka: Stalingradya. Remind me of favorite, how you say, rule model: Yosef Stalin. Good man. And thorough. Leafed no house unturned when it come to matter of national pride. He say, “You no have pride, we have many doctor in Moscow have skill with castration.” Good quote. Pride is good. In Mother Russia, we have many national pride parade.

Stupid pilot take wrong turn and end up in Portland, Onegin, not Eugene, Onegin. I tell him he a disgrace to Russian literature. I tell him if I have more time, I challenge him to duel. But I have no more time, so no duel.

Portland full of peasant

In Portland, Onegin, I see no national pride parade. Make sense. Nothing to be proud of here. Only many people wearing clothes of the peasant. If America so good, why so many peasants, eh? Portland peasants eating no part of the animal, only part of the vegetable. Wearing old clothes with hole. And riding bicycle. “Where did plane fly? Red China? Ha. Ha. Ha.” My mate, Dmitri Medvedev, laugh too. Good man. Very thorough. Very good oral delivery.

Siberia not so bad. Make your own candle.

Dmitri give good oral delivery at local restaurant, get us lot of good food. Restaurant is “farm-to-table”. Why American want to bring farm to table? Stupid American. Farm smell like shit. Like peasant. Like people of Portland. Go take bath, people of Portland. This not Siberia. If I am President here, I send all peasants of Portland to Siberia.

“Not so bad,” I tell these peasant before train ride to Siberia. “Everything is organic. Make your own candle. It will be very good.”

Portland almost Poland, no? Only difference, RT. Portland more ReTweeted.

Why they call a dough-not? Stupid Portland peasant

Dmitri hand me bread.

“Why this bread is sticky?” I ask.

“Just put in your mouth,” Dmitri says.

“It sweet.”

“Called doughnut.”

Why stupid Portland peasant call cake a dough-not? Should be called cake-yes, not dough-not. It is baked already, no? Cake is baked, dough not baked. Stupid peasant. At lust it have belly of pig on it. How you call it. Bay-con. Bay-con dough-not.

Portland Aereola Tram

Dmitri convince me with good oral delivery to go on Portland Aereola Tram. Stupid train. Like sagging breast go up and down cable wire.

“What kind of machine this is? Slower than babushka with no leg. Ukranian pig crawl faster than this machine.”

Ugly Portland peasant look at me, afraid I ready to kill pig. Why you scared, Portland? You have no pig to kill. All you eat is stupid vegetable. If I wanted potato, I go to Russian countryside. Men need hot, bloody steak. Men who no eat steak have no testicle. No pride. And Comrade Stalin say, “no more testicle.”

After Aereola Tram, we get on street car. Everyone wear glasses. Peasant with poor vision. See, little peasant? You eat only vegetable, it kill your vision. Ha. Ha. Ha. I laugh.

Tiny Brewery

Dmitri want to go to, how you say, tiny beer maker. Micro something. I can’t remember. Rhyme with Jewry. Micro Prury. There no place to sit. Everyone stand. Why everyone stand? You want to drink beer or you want to protest? You must pick.

Lovely little flower pour first beer. Great chest. Only she pour glass half empty.

“Why you not pour full glass,” I say. “Vladimir do not like tease. In Russia, a man who is teased can punish woman as he choose.”

“That’s just our policy. We like to give everyone a chance to taste all our beers.”

I sniff the beer. It smell like pig farm. Dmitri already done with first glass. He like it. I taste my beer and spit it out.

“I’m sorry, but you can’t spit over the bar. This isn’t a winery,” little flower say.

“I thought you say this beer. Taste like garden. I order beer or perfume? You try to poison me, eh?”

“That’s our IPA. India Pale Ale. It’s one or our hoppier beers, with notes of geranium.”

“India and Germany in your beer, eh? No wonder it reek. Ha. Ha. Ha. India and Germany a joke. Where your wodka. Give me that.”

“We don’t have any vodka sir. But you might like our lighter hefeweizen.”

I smell new beer. It smell like meat.

“Now this, I like.”

I leave Tiny Micro Drury with no drunk at all. Weak beer. Like weak American. I invade Crimea whenever I want. “Crimea River,” they say. “No, not just River. I invade whole peninsulin! Ha. Ha. Ha.” I laugh.

Portland Braille Taser

That night, we go to professional basketball match, Portland Braille Taser. Good team, even blind people enjoy.

“Good decision to go to game, Dmitri,” I say to Dmitri.

“I thought you would enjoy it, comrade.”

“This where Arvydis Sabonis play, no?”

“Yes. He played for them.”

“Good. Good team. Russian player. Very good.”

“I believe he originated in Lithuania, comrade.”

“What you say? You say he not Russian? Add to my list. Lithuania. Prepare troop. I take her back, the old hag. Lithuania. Puh. Think she get away with freedom for eternal. Not when Vladdy Daddy return. But for now, we drink wodka and watch Portland Braille Taser.”

Portland lose. Team made of stupid peasant. No honor. How you lose to the Jazz Music? Jazz music for man with no testicle. Heavy metal. Now there is good music. Remind me of Iron Fist. Iron Curtain. Man of Steel. Yosef Stalin. Russia make great metal. Long live Mother Russia.

No more ballet, only exotic dance

After game, we go to club. Many beautiful women. Few clothes. Good. Sexy. I am man.

“Dmitri, get out the money,” I say.

Dmitri get out the money. Ten thousand dollar bill. Worthless currency. But buy many dance. Dancer too stupid to know United State Dollar worthless. Long live Russia ruble. Long live Mother Russia. All dancer know I am man by end of night. One named Tanya ask me to marry her. I tell her, “put away your stupid emotion. Never show them again.”

“Dmitri. Add to my list. When we return, we ban ballet dance. Only exotic dance permitted in Mother Russia. Ballet for man with no testicle. We send them all to Poland.”

Tomorrow day, we leave. Long flight home. Good, though. You stay in Portland, you become weak. When last time Portland Braille Taser win championship? When last time Onegin conquer Washington? Long time. All the vegetable they eat. No wonder Eugene Onegin leave Portland and move to Mother Russia. At lust we have wodka.

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