Friday, December 04, 2009
I must now write you to express greatest disappointment in what has occurred. Ever since degenerate blogger Pat McLean revealed the truth at site run by the one they call Lowetide, the talk has continued and continued, so typical of these lazy Westerners, who have nothing better to do then to gossip like old women lining up for black bread and salted meat in freezing cold.
It is most discouraging that it was McLean who revealed your secret. He is a disgraceful example of spoiled Canadian man, raised to be fat and happy, talking only of consuming alcohol and drugs, sleeping with young women and masturbating into sandwich bags. He is perfect example of why Comrade Brezhnev failed so badly when he did not roll tanks into Europe. The West is soft and corrupt, they would have rolled over like Kyle Wellwood looking for jelly donut in his sheets.
Unfortunately Leonid saw film Red Dawn and was convinced that attack would be suicide. He was also frightened by Rocky film with Ivan Drago. I tell him it is fiction. Stallone is size of Oilers' forward, it is only mirrors and smoke, the Hollywood starmaking machine. As if he could defeat Dolph Lundgren with his excellent flattop haircut. Impossible! I shouted but Breshnev was old man and he was easily frightened. I had much anger for many years after that. Victory would have been ours but for Patrick Swayze and C. Thomas Howell. Ah for a man like Stalin again.
Forgive me comrade. Where was I? Oh yes, it is quite frustrating that out best laid plans are looking to fail because of these bloggers. I have utmost respect, I must admit, for this old man, Lowetide, as they call him. I imagine him with his gigantic bearskin hat, likely he killed the bear with his bare hands, as befits a hero of the great patriotic war and one who knew vicious Canadian thug player Eddie Shore. Yes I must think that if I were to sit across table from Lowetide I would drink much vodka with him, despite his being capitalist running dog who has sold his soul for the almighty greenback like all of his compatriots. Still I wonder if he was in Murmansk in 1944. I imagine him as naval man.
But the rest of them! Bah! Sitting in their parents' basements, masturbating to disgusting pornography, their weak sperm splattering on their Superman pajamas, orange with the dust of Cheezies or Cheetos or whatever it is that they stuff their fat faces with.
And these ones are our undoing! After all of these years, all of the work that we put in. Your sly impersonation of Canadian grinder, earning the coach MacTavish's trust, pushing your way to prominence but slowly, never overplaying your hand. Then with Comrade Samsonov your club team almost raising the Stanley Cup, you still playing the hardworking grunt. Hah! If Oiler fans only knew you could have crushed Hurricanes with tiny display of skill taught by glorious sports' schools of Mother Russia. But it was not yet time. Still I must admit I was worried when you toyed with Thornton, then I thought that perhaps the facade might crack, even though any child skating on frozen Volga could outplay lazy surfer boy, typical example of entitled millionaire athlete in decadent West. But you were good soldier as befits Captain in Red Army and held back just enough, firing pucks into sievelike Cam Ward's chest. Hah!
Yet even then I wondered sometimes if your heart was truly still on frozen steppes of Caucasus instead of in rugged Canadian Shield of Sudbury or great frozen prairie of Winnipeg or windswept hill in St. John's. You played with distinct Canadian qualities of heart and grit, throwing yourself in front of shot with face first. That is not typical of Russian player. Most often they are slightly cowardly, like the soldiers who run from the Germans in that movie Enemy At The Gates, forcing their government to shoot them. You know the movie, comrade? With Jude Law? He is balding now, he was such a big heartthrob but he is getting fat and ugly and soon he will be like Val Kilmer or any of the Baldwin brothers or Marlon Brando, fat and redfaced, begging for lackeys to throw him a double cheeseburger over the fence of his compound.
And of course Rachel Weisz, ahh, she looked so hot even in Russian peasant garb. Of course once again this is silly Hollywood, Russian peasants have ankles as thick as Gordie Howe's forearms, and they are big and hairy like apes, they do not look like Rachel Weisz. Yet one cannot complain, movie about great victory at Stalingrad and also gratutious nudity when they have shot of her beautiful heart shaped ass. Of course it was nothing like Stealing Beauty where she is laying on lounge chair, her beautiful breasts, its not full frontal as I think the debauched Westerners call it, but my God she is lovely, it reminds me of the time I was at dacha in Crimea.
Just a moment comrade.
Ah, I am back, I needed to just, um, relieve myself. I was suddenly very tense.
Anyhow, back to point, as they say. I must say that the plan, as I conceived it, was brilliant. Have you rise through Canadian hockey ranks slowly but surely. We knew that there was no chance they would be stupid like in Torino, selecting players like Bertuzzi for team. No, at home they would need to win, they would pick best players. And so we have been making plans for years. To beat Canada in Canada would be devastating to them and reestablish Soviet, er, Russian superiority at hockey game. Oh sure they have won seven of eleven best on best competitions while we have won but one, same as effete Swedes, depraved Americans and the wicked Czechs. It does not matter. The Canadians worry constantly about hockey and how good they are. It is strange. They invent hockey and crush all comers yet always hear footsteps, like Joffrey Lupul going into the corner. Meanwhile English win World Cup once and act as if they have won every one.
I do not understand the West.
In any case plans were going well comrade. In Oilers run in 2006 you established yourself as excellent two way player and then in 2008, even better, you showed that you could score many goals, as befits boy taken from parents at age three and coached by only the very best that glorious and infallible party could provide. Our plan was working to perfection. You would certainly have been picked for Olympic team and then you would have been our mole, our ace in the hole, or to mix metaphors, our mole digging in a hole, as the dissolute Irish singer Bono, would say.
And then you injured your shoulder. Let me say, comrade, that I am very disappointed in you. I realize that you were trying to prove by test of strength that you are more powerful than lazy giant Penner. Even though he is fat from eating many cheeseburgers from excellent Scottish joint, as they call it, McDonalds, he is gigantic like bear in Ural mountains. You should have known when he injured the shoulder of the Big Sexy in arm wrestling match that perhaps you should swallow your pride. But you could not and you had to try and prove bigger manhood.
And that was beginning of end. We hoped that things might improve but instead that fool Lowe traded all of the good players on team. Now you play with O'Sullivan and Jacques when you once played with Hemsky and Smyth. How the hell can you succeed with Jacques on the left wing? He should be on fourth line, banging bodies and bringing energy. Instead on this shitshow of a team he is considered option on shutdown line. How fucking depressing!
And again you have hurt your shoulder! First Hemsky and then you! When will you dumbkoffs learn?! Stop trying to armwrestle Penner. He is enormous. He could hold Comrie in his bare hand and then close his fist and he would disappear, that fucking midget!
Forgive me comrade, I am quite agitated. That was a foolish thing to say. I realize Penner could not hold Comrie in his hand. That is impossible with Comrie in iron lung, quite impossible.
Still I am disappointed in you. I know Hemsky put you up to it. The Czechs hate our guts ever since 1968. They really do. I think that we have been outmanouvred. Even with Hemsky they have no chance but they know without sabotage we also have no chance with our D and goaltending. Who the hell is going to play in net for us? Khabibulin? Jesus. So they know that they have little chance anyways and so they bring us down with them, the dirty bastards!
Argh, I hate the Czechs.
Ah well, Comrade, I know you have enjoyed riches of capitalism, drinking their whiskey and sleeping with their fine women, but I think that it is time that you came home. We will make sure that you have comfortable retirement as befits hero of Soviet Union, er, Mother Russia. We will set you up with two bedroom apartment in Kiev with television and Lada.
Damn I forgot we no longer run Ukraine. Stupid Gorbachev!
Argh, I hate the Ukranians.
Before you come back though, please to fire puck at Lowe's head next time you see him. If he had kept Smyth and not signed Penner you would not have been tempted to prove bigger manhood and on top of that you would have had better counting numbers as well as underlying numbers that basement dwelling bloggers love because Smyth is still a terrific player and outscorer, even in his dotage. And likely the Oilers might have playoffs once or twice instead of being on four years without, which is frankly disgraceful if you ask me. Of course there are fans who think Lowe is great GM because he won six Stanley Cups. Which is like saying that Japanese guy who wins hot dog eating contests can run Oscar Mayer. Decadent westerners think that hockey guy can run very rich corporation because he was good at playing his man, cutting off angles and blocking shots, as well as clearing zone.
That is why we will prevail in the end, Comrade Horcov. Because in the end the entire rotten West will collapse in mess of cheeseburgers and Cokes, we will see the cheese dust rise to the heavens from the glorious motherland. Lowe and his lackey lapdog Tambellini are proof that they just too dumb to survive. Even though the degenerate bloggers have let the cat out of the box, as they say, and blown your cover, victory will be ours.
Posted by Black Dog at 10:10 PM