juzy (juzy) wrote,

За всю хуйню (первая московская сказка)

Rastaman folk tales: About all the shit (first Moscow tale)

There was in Russia a dude named Kuntello. You would say who cares: one is Othello, another one is Kuntello; but I tell ya, life ain't easy for a boy named "Kuntello". Everybody bullied him in the kindergarten, everybody bullied him in the school, and what's more - he was rejected during the army draft because of his name. They told him: "Here is an army, not a motherfucking circus, and we don't need any clowns. Change your name ASAP and come back to the enlistment office." In fact, he didn't fucking want to serve so he jibbed at their offer, refused to change his name and didn't have to serve. He tried to apply for a job but all HR guys are falling down rolling on the floor laughing and saying: "Fuck off, fuck off, fuck off, dude with such a name." Finally, he found a job at the shit-pumping station, married and changed his name to Vasya Petrov. And he started to live normal life. Yep.

Then the financial crisis happened, shit mysteriously disappeared from all the country, three of four units of the shit-pumping station was stopped and all the potheads was laid off first, including Vasya. Not just because he liked to smoke pot - well, in fact, he did, so what? Pot is not a drug; it doesn't impede but even improve one's work performance. He was laid off not for that but because of being young and lacking seniority, so the union refused to help and he was kicked out like a piece of shit.

He thought: "Oh shit, I am screwed! I need to find a fucking job." He sat on a bench near the shit-pumping station, lighted up a cig and concentrated. Suddenly, somebody told: "Hi, Kuntello, long time - no see!" He answered automatically: "I am not a Kuntello, but the Vasya Petrov." The voice rejoined: "You might be a Vasya Petrov for somebody else but for me you are Kuntello. I'm your school bench buddy." Vasya lifted his head and saw that it's really his school buddy with whom he sat at one bench. He stands there looking so well-off, like rich and cool and even like some kind of nouveau riche. Wait: he even not stands but leans out of his car, from a Merce - phew! You would even say - in a Versace suit! It's just an urban legend - Mercedeses, Versace suits, satellite phones and all this bullshit. Dude, the real life is not that sketchy, the real life is much more diverse - so, the guy is leaning out of some motherfucking cool imported car and says: "Hi, Kuntello, how's your life?" Vasya answered: "Life is shit - I'm fired and broken, wife is bitch, kids are fappers. I'm totally messed up." The buddy offered: "I'll give you a job in my company. You'll be a traffic signs officer. The salary is decent."

What is a traffic signs officer? It's, like, they give you a table of proper traffic signs and drive you to your area. You go along the road and mark all improper traffic signs grown up the last night. Then, you whistleblow to the special team which cuts them off. Indeed, it is a very important and useful work. So, Vasya is walking down the road and checks the traffic signs. It's not an easy job - there are no easy jobs, every job has its own quirks. For example, this particular sign looks totally legit: one car overtakes another one; but for some reason one car is painted upside down and the second one looks totally weird. This issue needs to be investigated - should this sign stand here or not; maybe, it's totally misplaced because the guy who painted it had a hangover and daubed such an ugly crap. Or, vice versa, everything is painted properly, but the sign is obviously misplaced, like, standing in the middle of the road and people are always hitting it with their foreheads. No instruction can provide for this kind of shit, you have to have a common sense, man! So, this is kind of job you can't excel not being high. Vasya hid behind a proper traffic sign, rolled up a joint, smoked it up and went further.

He's going and going, and suddenly sees a sign with a spoon, a fork and a shotgun in between. "300 M" is also written on it. He came 300 more metres and saw a shawarma place, some kind of Middle-Eastern-looking wagon. He came in and saw a table with a spoon and a fork on it. He sat at the table, took the spoon into one hand and the fork into another hand. A Middle Eastern guy came and asked: "Why are you sitting here?" Vasya answers: "Uhm, you see... Well, I saw a road sign with spoon, fork and shotgun. I came and checked: all is correct. Here is the spoon. Here is the fork. How about a phat shotgun for me?"

The Arab became very serious and told: "Come here." And went somewhere behind a curtain. Vasya stood up and also went behind the curtain. There is a long corridor with many doors out there, and the Arab walks already somewhere far-far away and sings some scary song in Arabic. Vasya stood and thought: "Why the fuck should I catch up with him?" So he came to the first open door. There is a big inflatable bike, an iron horse and a wooden skillet. Vasya mounted the bike and started to ride around all those corridors. A traffic officer stopped him and told: "Who the fuck are you?" Vasya answered him boldly: "You who the fuck are? You are a fucking officer - and I am an officer." The traffic officer answered: "What are you telling, man? It's just a load of bull. You are not digging it, man. Your bike is inflatable and you are a dickhead from a shit-pumping station yourself. And you are still asking: LINGERIE, LINGERIE! Suck my dick instead, no darn lingerie for you!"

Vasya gently kicked his butt with a bike and told: "Dude, try to listen to your own bullshit! What the lingerie you are talking about? You'd better tell me, what your poison is and who's pushing it?" The officer answered: "Over there, behind the corner." Vasya mounted the bike again and rode behind the corner, - and there, indeed, all the shit and a shitload of all other stuff. But we are not looking at all this shit but daringly race thru and level up. There we are getting rubber boots, huge shit-thrower and a lot of shit to boot. And we are going to pwn the monsters. But monsters are running from us like sissies because they are immune to bullets and to flame but not to shit! Now we understand where all shit disappeared and why our shit-pumping station was closed. We boldly complete this level, pick up some magick phat lewt and become real munchkins. But it is not the end of the story yet...

Indeed, it doesn't look like the end of the story. Vasya goes further, he goes and goes, he goes and goes, he goes and goes and finally comes to another tale. About an institution for special children. So, there was retarded children of retarded parents. Retarded educators and retarded nurses watched them over in a residential school. One retarded child had name Kuntello, and all retards bullied him and told: "Wow, you are a real retard. You, retard, should exchange your stupid name to less stupid one." But it was just bullshit, because nobody wanted to exchange his own name with him. So, Kuntello stole the name Fokin from another retard and he fucked everything up immediately. Then, he changed his name to Alaindelon and became an alaindelon. Then he changed it to Petrov-Vodkin and became a gorbachev. The perestroika was started, vodka was banned and ganja was legalized. But Vasya told: "Why the fuck to ban anything? Let's legalize everything and let people decide by themselves." But he was answered: "YOU CUNT TELL THAT, KUNTELLO!!!"

Finally, he realized what his fault was: he snatched the new name but grudged to throw away the old one. Why to grudge at all: if you don't need something, throw it away immediately, not cache it in your stash so they could bust you when you expecting it the least. Disappointed Vasya sat on a tree stump smoking his reefer then he heard the whistle blow and I had to go into the forest. It was forest inhabitants there and they were the ones who told him about all the shit. He returned to the people wise and enlightened, came to his buddy-former-boss and told: "It ain't easy to police traffic signs, because I'm getting wasted all the time. But I heroically overcame this thing and now I know more than you about all the shit but I can not teach you because you won't dig it, man." The boss understood that he's in a real trouble and made Vasya his sidekick. Later, Vasya made his own way in the world and became a bigwig in this mysterious country and even outside its borders.

Source: http://rastaman.tales.ru/index.php?page=3&menu1=1&menu2=4&smenu1=3&inctext=3

Original Russian text: (c) HighDuke
English translation: (c) juzy
Tags: rastaman folk tales, растаманские народные сказки

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