Comrades, I must share with you a sad, sad story. I am a victim. I will never be the same. It’s Bush’s fault. The video version of this pathetic tale will be presented in a touching segment featuring me mumbling in a monotone about my catastrophe with a glassy eyed look of despair. I will be cast with half my face hidden in shadows, a brick wall in the background, and soft, plinking piano music will contribute to the somber air of the message.
But what happened, you ask? I alluded to this earlier in another post, and only now can I summon the strength to put it in print. One of my beachfront dachas is no more, and there’s no one, no one to buy me a new one! I am a victim and there may be no reparations!
How did I lose one of my beachfront dachas, you ask? It was last year during Earth Day when I and some of the other Inner Party firearms enthusiasts were gathering for a bit of innocent fun. I know, I know, some fundamentalist, moralizing Nazi out there is going to tell me, “Blogunov, you shouldn’t mix vodka and fully automatic weapons! That’s irresponsible!” Well, shut up! You’re being intolerant! You have your morals and I have mine, and I’m probably better armed which makes my morals better than your morals. But I digress. You see, we were doing our part to promote temperance among the People™ by selflessly consuming and diminishing the alcohol supply. As it is our solemn duty to protect the People™ from life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness, we voluntarily sacrificed our festivities to sharpen our skill at arms. We were having a great time picking off sea turtles and manatees with RPK
s when one little incident went horribly wrong. One comrade, who will remain nameless, wanted to have a go with an RPG
. Giggling uncontrollably, he stumbled just as he pulled the trigger while another comrade, whose remains are no longer identifiable, was testing a flamethrower on some mangroves that are within range from the third floor terrace of my humble dacha. The first comrade merely said, “Oopski!” and resumed giggling while the other comrade was compelled to sacrifice himself to the Greater Good™. Well, of course the resulting explosion caught the terrace on fire. But always alert to our sense of duty, we formed a bucket brigade and saved most of the vodka from certain destruction thus preserving the sacred property of the People™. And there we were, out on the sand gazing at the remains of my dacha with only a few lousy crates of People’s vodka to console us. To make matters worse, rain was forecast for the next day. Agonizing minutes passed until my fleet of humble limousines appeared to take us to my modest inland dacha which is so secluded that it has no view of the beach – none at all. You will pardon me, comrades, as I pause to wipe away the tears. This is emotionally very difficult for me, and the worst is yet to come. Yes, tragedy is followed by criminal callousness and abuse from the insurance agencies!
After this utterly unforeseen accident which resulted in the loss of one of my favorite beachfront dachas, and I only have a few of them, I called the insurance companies to collect what they owed me. I called the capitalist pig-dogs at one of the major insurance companies, and they had the audacity to ask if I already had a policy! I told them, “Duh, no! It’s not like I was expecting my house to burn down. Why would I get a policy unless I knew my house was going to burn down?” Writing down the name of this saboteur of the Revolution™ for “future reference” I then called another company. The other company said it wasn’t their “policy” to pay for property losses unless I had already been enrolled in their program! Slamming down my phone in disgust, I called yet another company that deceives the public by claiming to offer house insurance, and was told the same thing!
Comrades, it’s time for action! We must demand, DEMAND, that all house insurance companies be compelled to enroll the People™, especially humble Inner Party servants of the People™, without regard to “pre-existing conditions”. Until this injustice is corrected, losing my dacha means I have to pay for it myself with funds I was going to spend on a Bentley convertible. In the meantime, I am forced to drive in the Bentley I reserve for rainy days, so you see why I am despondent and depressed. So what if house insurance companies are driven out of business! The sooner, the better. The sooner they’re gone, the sooner Dear Leader will pay me out of his Secret Stash which is precisely why I voted for him. So what if taxes need to be raised to pay for my new dacha! Aren’t I worth it? Comrades, call, write, email, bribe, and threaten! Forget Healthcare
Reform! Congress must be compelled to pass Housecare Reform, and pass it now, and we need to stop worrying about what the Constitution says. The sooner we pass it, the sooner we can get the other legislative steps in place necessary to control the People™ and stabilize Guam™. Those of you who are not in the Inner Party, get back to work. You’re probably not paying your fair share of taxes yet, and we are watching you. We watch you because we care. Get used to it; it’s the price to pay to bring about the kind of collective we want.
Blogunov, your tragic loss has touched my heart much the same way Dr. Rahm Emanuel touched my prostate. If there is anyway we can help get you back on your drunken feet (like a cold shower, cup of coffee and maybe some crystal meth) just let us know.
Remember, the Inner Party is like family, albeit a dysfunctional one where we have sex with first cousins and such.
You're in luck regarding Dear Leader's secret stash, I just heard that he "made" $5.5 million last year. No word on exactly what he did to "make" that kinda money since he doesn't believe in vile capitalist gimmicks like stocks and bonds. Even so, in this market he'd have to have $70 million in principle to get a return like that. I guess it was mostly contributions from his friends at the SEIU. A gift if you will, for a job well done.
So drop him a line. I'm sure he could write you a check to make you whole again and it would be like chump change to him.