"Tell the Emperor that the English do not clean their muskets with crushed brick!”
—Nikolai Leskov, “The Tale of Cross-eyed Lefty from Tula and the Steel Flea" (1881)
“If it were done when 'tis done, then
'twere well / It were done quickly,”
Volod’ka II (Macbeth) admonishes
angrily at eagle fart in his Kremlin head,
recalling that, as he
calls her now, “neo-Nazi sow,”
Frau M*****, long ago telling him
Sir Winston Churchill, reporting
as First Lord of the Admiralty
on depth-charge trials at Scapa Flow,
informed MPs and subordinate officials
that: “Up from Davy Jones’ Locker below
a door came floating, don’t you know,
inscribed with my own initials!”
But even given notionally the go
by the great statesman’s noble rump,
Volod’ka II still can’t belay a dump.
From a privy in Ukraine's Tophet,
a victim of the bloody flux remits:
“How can a species take
itself so seriously that shits!!”
For the gut biome’s a congenial plant,
Ma Science insists. Catty-cornered
though his gang of gruesome gits,
Volod’ka I, the primo Bolshie prophet,
V. I. Ulyanov,* asked—didn’t he?
intent on faulting foreign feces:
“How can a nation that oppresses other nations be free? It can’t.”
*Lenin.
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