Dick Captured by KGB

In keeping with this week's (year's?) penis theme, here is another one for ya--painted on a drawbridge facing the windows of FSB (née KGB) headquarters by Russian art-warriors Voina.

The folks at Voina have also thrown cats at McDonald's employees, staged a pantomime orgy at the Biology Museum, and generally just given the Putin/Medvedev camp the finger as many times as possible, in front of as many people as possible. [Further reading from The Independent. -Ed.]

As a result, Voina are of course on the lam or being beaten by thugs in a damp prison somewhere, but you gotta hand it to them for their Extreme Creativity in the Face of Thinly-Veiled Totalitarianism, which should be an award category next year in one of those self-congratulatory pageants that happen all the time.

Now, I think it's important to clarify that I am not saying defacing public property or throwing cats at innocent people are good things to do in any situation; what I AM saying is that they are far from the worst things you can do to draw attention to the fact that hundreds of millions of your countrymen are getting fucked by the cigar-smoking, vodka-swilling, mother-nature-raping Russian oligarchy every second.

Carry on, comrades!

_

Nothing is Ever Easy

For those of you that have been in a coma for the last five weeks (you know who you are, I hope), please catch up on Nothing is Sacred Field Correspondent Fabio Sandrelli's "Operation Minsk" right here or none of the rest of this will make sense and you'll wind up calling the authorities on me and that just ain't cool. I'd much rather you just sat back, picked your teeth as you read a few stories, and delivered me a good steak, a case of wine, or something pretty for the wife. So, you know, put that in your pipe and smoke it.

Toodles,
GTC

Independence Day in Minsk looks like fun

19.02.2011 - OPERATION MINSK - DISPATCH 0003

Okay, readers, I guess this is going to be more of an "every three weeks" kinda thing, just to keep it sounding regular and not scare you away with its actual, frightening randomness.

I am trying my best over here, but things move slowly when you're poor. Seriously. The other day I watched a wrinkle form on a ladybug's cheek. I had been staring at her (him?) for a while and I guess it was a longer while than it should have been, in polite company, because I actually saw that otherwise-inconsequential insect age before my very eyes.

I couldn't help but notice the precise onset of world-weariness in a breathe-eat-shit-procreate-die mindless insect and I'm still talking about it. That's how much time I have on my hands. I'm fucked.

Needless to say, the ladybug experience (and several others like it) made an indelible impression and I have all the evidence I would ever need to conclude that time is not to be wasted, that life is precious, that things that must be said must be said no matter the cost.

As soon as I can save up for a servant with younger legs than toothless old Mikhail to run these illicit missives across the border without the need for a nap every fifteen minutes, I assure you I will keep better pace with both your expectations and my desires (a weekly column rich with charming insight?).

It's depressing to think I not only had to hire Mikhail--a gnarled old coot I found muttering to a pet dead bird inside a garbage can in the park where he was "staying warm"--but also some strange enterprising young woman in Vilnius--Vita K.--with internet access, discretion, and a dangerous desire for the finer things in life.

I haven't made a penny in six weeks and I never even had one to start with yet here I sit master of two dedicated servants helping me upload these letters to the Nothing is Sacred servers indefinitely in exchange for a pair of Levis each.

That's all! How desperate are these poor Belarusians? What does it say about their station that they are willing to risk so much for so little? Do they hear the footsteps of Lukashenko's hounds chasing me through the Minskian sewers? Will they do any and everything to silence those hounds once and for good and live like normal people for a change?

If so, they may be gravely disappointed when I sneak away as the road to freedom becomes more arduous; I am way too selfish to actually risk my life for anything other than the perfect croissant. I came over here on an adventure and I was rewarded with way more than I bargained. As soon as I can get out I will be out and I will never come back. If I see an officer of the law I will run as fast as I can and I will never think killing somebody is a good idea, even when it is.

Regardless of all this depressing bunk, though, this recent spate of involuntary internet silence due to my being the target of a relentless government-funded manhunt has been as bad for my general health and happiness as it has been for my porn consumption--i.e, the worst.

While out from behind my desk these past few weeks, floating knock-kneed through a pock-marked landscape reeking of the dark side of human resilience, virtually alone, I've been robbed, beaten, intimidated, and completely cut-off from my family and friends. If I have two coins to rub together before exchanging them for a shoeful of porridge it is only due to the kindness of peasants.

Life is never easy, I guess. Like they say. Except, of course, for the people in underwear and fragrance advertisements, whose pure enjoyment of the simplest things the world has to offer is always effortless and delightful. I'd say they were lucky if I didn't know they earned it; they are beautiful beyond reproach.

By the way, I saw legendary gymnast Vitaly Scherbo outside a gelateria the other day. He had some swooning young model on his arm and drove a glistening Audi A8 coupe. I drooled on myself a little and then a wave of embarrassment washed over me as I realized how vital he is at 39. Will I even live that long? Am I doomed to end my days frozen to a park bench in Gorky Park, my pants around my ankles?

Well, since I can't predict the future and I'm not sure what else to do right now, I think it's high time I finish this can of paint thinner, strip down to my finest suit, and paint the town naked like I just don't give a damn. I'm worth it.

Over and out,
Fab

FS/vk


FABIO SANDRELLI - FIELD CORRESPONDENT - NOTHING IS SACRED

_

Gwyneth Paltrow Finally Gets Her Due

Yes, she sometimes has a penis; she's that talented.

In a ceremony presided over by Her Royal Highness Queen Elizabeth II this morning in the throne room at Windsor Castle, everybody's favorite shining star Gwyneth Paltrow received what is heretofore considered the United Kingdom's highest honor--the title of 'Renaissance Woman.'

Since I know you are all wondering, yes--QEII was looking particularly fine in the early morning British fog, her devilishly toned flesh frustratingly obscured by a brown chenille Alexander McQueen muumuu that flew off the shelves at Harrod's by lunchtime.

Gwyneth even once mastered the art of pretending to use crutches in a photo

Flush from the thrill of receiving a meaningless honor she created for herself, Ms. Paltrow bubbled-over as she addressed legions of fans from atop the tall tower while twirling her lustrous blond locks and inadvertently calling to mind a much-more-beautiful, modern-day Rapunzel:

Call me crazy, but I think 'Dames' are so old-fashioned. I'm a modern woman! Who just happens to be a throwback to Leonardo Davinci because I work so much harder than everybody else and I'm blessed. This is fun for me, but mostly it's great to think that the whole world now has a decorated role model that doesn't smell like Judi Dench and exhibits mastery in everything she touches but isn't afraid to still giggle and fart.

At that, Ms. Paltrow began launching rice cakes into the rowdy throngs of worshippers below, occasionally posing for the paparazzi with a million-dollar smile (literally) as the starving masses at the base of the stone tower tore each other limb-from-limb for a taste of the good stuff.

Scotland Yard helps quell the ruthless rioters (Photo courtesy Reuters)

Nothing Is Sacred Editor-in-Chief Goodtime Charlie had the pleasure of sitting down with Her Paltrowness for a few moments today once Scotland Yard was able to sublimate the rioters and enforce a thousand-meter safe zone around a nearby Jamba Juice with three artillery battalions and a few studs on horseback.


Goodtime Charlie: My dear Gwyneth, you look ravishing--but you probably already knew that.

Gwyneth Paltrow: Haha. I did. But that doesn't mean it isn't still nice to hear. I love positive things, I just really love being positive.

What's Going on in Minsk These Days?

 (Photo courtesy Oleg Babinets)

Volume 1 of a new series concerning the various goings-on in Minsk, Belarus:

Sure we've all wanted to get lost in the new 22-story National Library built in 2006, attend a performance at the National Academic Big Opera and Ballet Theatre, explore the extensive trolleybus network, frolic in the vast primeval forest on a summer's day, and freeze our dicks/tits off in the winter while running naked in a vodka haze from discotheque to discotheque with a gang of troublesome local twentysomethings, but not all of us have the means or the stones to get to Belarus as often as we'd like.

Fortunately, Nothing Is Sacred correspondent Fabio Sandrelli generously volunteered to live in Minsk for a calendar year--on his own dime, naturally--in order to pen a weekly column that will bring the many-splendored highlights of living in Minsk to your bedroom when you need it most and where you won't be too far away from your favorite imperialist tidbits.

Please enjoy and keep reading!

-GTC

 

Fabio (right) receives his travel order from high command

11.01.2011 - OPERATION MINSK - DISPATCH 0001

Finally got my computer station set up in the houseboat. The satellite access along the Svislach River is either one of the worst I've encountered in my travels lately or I drank more vodka on the plane than I realized. Either way, I'm on the hook for at least a three-month rental of this Soviet-era icebreaker so I'll just have to make it work.

If I don't get a fire going soon I just might freeze to death tonight. As I step onto the aft deck to search for something to burn, the air hits me and appears to be on the sweeter side, while still bearing a slight trace of Mongols, Stalin, and Nazis, which are aparently a few of the more difficult scents to remove.

From what little I have seen of it so far (lunch outside the train station and a long cab ride to the boat yard), the city seems very proud of itself, of having risen where once there was nothing, of rebuilding time and time again after being ravaged by war.

Stout buildings of stone with labor-intensive architectural ornaments; grand boulevards crowded with automobiles and trams; monolithic museums, churches, and universities; smoke and noise, fur hats, hardy folk that don't talk too much and wear a lot of brown...I definitely need to improve my conversational Russian if I plan to enjoy myself here.

Anyway, nothing much seems to happening here for the time-being...wait--

I just translated the front page of a foreign newspaper in my head and it seems the government of "Europe's Last Dictator," Belarusian President Aleksandr Lukashenko, is threatening to assume legal guardianship of a three-year-old child of one of the leading opposition candidates for President. Lukashenko had the child's father and mother (a journalist) arrested during a raid in which government agents threw 7 of 9 opposition candidates in prison on trumped-up charges relating to a police riot against peaceful protesters and it appears he would like to ensure the child does a good long stretch in a state orphanage so that his parents get the message.

Russian Spy Acts Like a Spy, Authorities Shocked

You've heard about the Russian spies by now. You know enough about spies from watching movies and reading hardcover thrillers.

It's too bad you are not also the Chief of Police in little ole Cyprus, or this never would have happened:

Christopher Robert Metsos, the 11th suspect in the alleged Russian spy ring who was arrested in Cyprus yesterday, has gone missing, authorities said.

This Must Be What Russian Prostitutes Are Like

уговорено?

Judging from the snow, coats, and cold hands, I hope those are control-top pantyhose with limited-edition faux-mink lining on their legs...

_

Not-So-Talented Cats Manage to Entertain Young Children

Well, what would YOU do with yourself if you were that ugly?

Further reading about the middling adventures of a clown and his cats

_

The Problem with Republicans

Birthers, bankers, and ignorant health-care Hessians aside, the Republicans have a serious problem.

As many of you may have already heard, yesterday, Hillary Clinton compared Nigeria's corrupt elections with those of the United States in 2000. A bold move--and certainly an unexpected one--but not a claim wholly without merit.

The response back home:

"The Republicans eagerly jumped on [Clinton's] remarks last night, saying her trip had been full of gaffes and expressed hope she would go to Africa more often."

(courtesy guardian.co.uk)

During the eight long years George Bush was in power, his countless blunders and general stupidity left intelligent Americans shaking their heads, embarrassed by the actions of the ranking representative of our nation.

Don't believe we had a good reason to feel that way? For your consideration:



We knew we were stuck with a man we loathed, but it was salt in the wound every time he spoke in public. Our desire? To prevent him from ever going abroad; to prevent him from ever giving a speech. Silence was the only chance we had to assuage our embarrassment.

Now that, in their eyes, the tables are turned, what do the Republicans want? They want more.

Which brings us to the root of the problem:

Republicans seem only to view things politically, always searching for ammunition in an interminable war against their sworn enemies--their fellow legislators who favor informed discussion and governing over squabbling and graft.

They never react as humans, as Americans, as government officials; instead, they are Election Terminators programmed only to see RED in 2010 & 12. They hear Hillary Clinton said something that could be used against her and before they even stop to consider whether it is valid, they put on their best suit, take the Blackstone chopper to Fox studios, and put in campaign pit stop #5,004,337 in a career that consists of nothing but campaigning--for a position whose duties they never even attempt to fulfill.

The current Republican wet dream:

President Obama calls an emergency state meeting with the heads of Russia, wherein he throws his own feces at Dictator Putin and shouts for all to hear: "If you don't believe that our army is faggier and more communist than yours, then I challenge you to a war on two fronts--in the winter!" Obama immediately storms out into Red Square and is devoured on-camera by starving Russian peasants clothed in naught but layers of tattered Obama bumper stickers.

Sad but true. And you wonder why things are the way they are these days...

_

Mickey Rourke Is A Pile of Shit

First, The Wrestler:

I found the movie disappointing and supremely overrated. The existence and entire running time of the father-daughter subplot was frustratingly awful and bursting with bad cliches. His relationship with stone-cold fox Marisa Tomei did not seem believable; she was uninterested, wisely, and then suddenly in love at the end. Why? The direction was so heavy-handed, it seems director Darren Aronofsky was either way out of his element or regressing to bad film school ways.

As for Mickey's performance in the movie, it was okay. There were certainly moments I enjoyed, but, I mean, let's not forget that this guy's REAL LIFE is like this. He is a failed actor, failed boxer, twice-failed husband. He's depressed, riddled with drugs, friendless but for a dog (now dead), brain-damaged from boxing, and dresses like a retarded pimp.

Was he really acting that much in this movie? Or was he merely a great choice for the part? As much as I hate Sean Penn, I'm glad Mickey didn't win the Oscar this year.


And now, this.

Three hours? That's it? They didn't confiscate his sunglasses, jewelry, clothes...what is to be learned from this? I bet they didn't even give him a cellmate. What a fucking pointless poser.

Something tells me he wound up spending all three hours talking on his cell phone to a poodle breeder in Miami. Just a hunch...


If you still aren't convince, let's peruse his imdb entry:

- Walked off the set of Luck of the Draw (2000) when the producers refused to let him include his pet chihuahua in the movie.

- Arrested by the LAPD and charged with spousal abuse. [July 1994]

- "I thought my talent would transcend my outspokenness. I was wrong. I'm willing to give them 100 per cent this time. I just want a second chance at Hollywood." [1994]

- "I really only want to work with material that has integrity, and with actors and directors that I respect. You know, people like Tony Scott, Robert Rodriguez, Quentin Tarantino- there's a shortlist."

- Turned down Bruce Willis' role in Pulp Fiction (1994). Hmmmm...I guess a second chance at Hollywood, with Tarantino at the helm, somehow wasn't ideal? Was the money not there?

- "As long as I can work with people I'm excited about working with, it will be okay. I just can't work for the paycheck."

- Has admitted in interviews that he only did Harley Davidson and the Marlboro Man (1991) for the money.

- "Actors should shut up about politics, because they tend to be ill-informed finger-pointers who just cozy up to some flavor-of-the-month liberal, you know?"

- [on President George W. Bush] "George is doing a hell of a job during very difficult times, more power to him. Screw all them people who don't like him."

- [on what he wants in a woman] "It's like when I buy a horse. I don't want a thick neck and short legs."

- Kim Basinger once called him "The Human Ashtray".



Verdict?

_

Now I Remember Why I Didn't Apply for This Job

Because, for some reason I can't quite put my finger on, I figured just about any reasonably-attractive girl in a bikini would probably beat me out for the role of Video Blogger On A Tropical Beach.

More importantly, who cares if the Russian minx is a porn actress? Was that in the rules? Is it really a problem? Is American prudery overtaking the globe at breakneck pace?

Must not be a porn actress--we don't want some sexy woman prone to flaunting her body and generating unbelievable amounts of free publicity; that is not what this whole affair is about...

_