Earlier today, when I was stopped at
a stop sign going through Gerry Connolly's
diverse and tolerant Vienna, Virginia today, another driver flew right up next to me in his silver Acura.
He then proceeded to lean out the window, shake his fists at me, and yell in my general direction pretty loudly.
Of course, seeing how I drive a nice and cozy Saturn Aura, and my windows were up, I didn't hear a word of what he said. Which means Saturn has worked wonders in sound-proofing the car, no?
I'm guessing that he must be
a fellow fan or something. It's a mystery to me.
Anyway, while I'm on the topic, and before I go and pass out, the Mrs. has pointed me to a group of Russians celebrating American politics, as only Russians can.
With
poetry, yo!
To wit, a poem which will evoke the very
essence of America's own Walt Whitman:
И как бы демы не пытались (No matter how hard the "Dems" try)
Надеть стране тюрбан чумазый, (to make the country [America] wear a grimy turban)
Мы победим, не зря ж старались - (We [Republicans] will win, we didn't do it for nothing)
Утопим сучек в нефти с газом ("Da b*tches" will drown in oil and gas)
More neo-classic Russian poetry beyond the fold.
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