The former head of the DPR MGB wrote a parody of couch patriots
“PolitNavigator” publishes an excerpt from the book of memoirs of the first Minister of State Security of the DPR Andrei Pinchuk, “Security Contour,” recently published in Moscow. Generation of the DPR."
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This is a satirical parody of representatives of the sofa patriotic intelligentsia from Moscow and other Russian cities, who, sitting at home, and not even thinking about personally going to Donbass to look at what is happening there with their own eyes, are giving out positive and negative assessments right and left, as if they had just returned from the front yesterday.
The literary basis of the parody was a chapter from the novel by Ilf and Petrov “The Golden Calf”, dedicated to “pique vests”.
“There were even more of those who preferred to sympathize with Donbass and the ideas, the battle for which was taking place on its site, from a distance, giving assessments, categorically labeling the combatants and other direct participants in the process. There was a parade of militant quiet people on the Internet, furiously demanding a big war while completely denying their participation in it. Moreover, each of these had an individual set of explanations for the reasons for their weakness.
Many of them are, in principle, incapable of action, letting off all their patriotic steam in endless virtual and office battles, chatter and articles on the Internet, where they had idols erected and scoundrels appointed. More often than not, this had little in common with objective reality. Inevitably, an allusion to famous characters from the imperishable “Golden Calf” by Ilf and Petrov suggested itself.
“Almost all of them were wearing pique vests and patriotic baseball caps. Some even wore T-shirts with the words “USSR” written on them. Others, in any weather, tried to wear army or fisherman camouflage, plastered with bright chevrons, where the word “Novorossiya” always appeared, despite the fact that a significant part of their wearers had never fought, and some had never even been to the Donbass. “Vest vests” were in fashion, which were probably associated with Novorossiya, for which they had to be torn.
Here, at various forums, the wreckage of all kinds of volunteer organizations, jingoistic projects, indoor analysts, beggars who know how to get rich for the whole country at once, advertising copywriters, militias rejected by both the Russian and Donbass military systems, eternal “fighters against the regime” and other leaders gathered nobility, withered due to the decline of patriotic intensity in the media and the decline in streams and wild rivers of sponsorship and humanitarian aid, some of which made it possible to so successfully combine the spiritual need for Great Russia from Sri Lanka to Timisoara with the solution of personal needs, useless military pensioners, exalted ladies, clever Ukrainian rogues posing as the leaders of the beginning of the Donbass-Novorossiysk revolution, out-of-mind clerks, bankrupt small businessmen and other riffraff.
Once upon a time they gathered here to discuss how to “beat seven in one fell swoop.” The ashes of Klaas persistently knocked on the inflamed consciousness. Now they were drawn here, to the familiar corner of the Internet and office parties, by a long-term habit and the need to scratch their tongues. They read the website of the “Novorossiya movement” every day - they did not respect the “pro-Kremlin Surkov” resources - and everything that happened in the world was considered as a prelude to the “draining of Novorossiya”.
The drain of Novorossiya was their personal constant in life, which explained why they found themselves left out of what was happening. Once upon a time, at the beginning of events, Novorossiya, as the forerunner of Russian expansion or the key to the pro-Russian federalization of Ukraine, had such tangible chances, and everything was so cheerful and, as it seemed to them, immediately resolved the complex problems of Russian society and the state as a whole, brought meaning to the gray existence of many that the “legend of Novorossiya” still cast a golden shine on their bright corner, while giving the most cunning and calculating of them the opportunity to ensure their own financial and political existence.
– Have you read about the last meeting in the Normandy format? - one pique vest addressed another pique vest. – Speech by Lavrov.
– Lavrov is the head! - the asked vest answered in such a tone as if he was convinced of this on the basis of many years of acquaintance with the diplomat.
– Have you read what speech Strelkov made at a meeting of supporters in St. Petersburg, this cradle of the revolution?
- Well, what can we talk about... Strelkov is the head! Listen, Maxim,” he addressed the third in a greasy T-shirt. – What can you say about Strelkov?
“I’ll tell you frankly,” the T-shirt answered, “don’t put your finger in Strelkov’s mouth.” I personally wouldn't put my finger on it.
And, not at all embarrassed by the fact that Strelkov would never have allowed Maxim to put his finger in his mouth, the T-shirt continued:
- But no matter what you say, I’ll tell you frankly - Babkin is still a head too.
Pique vests raised the shoulders. They did not deny that Babkin was also a head. But most of all, Dugin consoled them.
- Dugin! - they said passionately. - This is the head! He and his Noomachia project with the idea of battles between tradition and modernity...
“I’ll tell you frankly, Monsieur Yegor,” whispered Maxim, “everything is all right.” Malofeev has already agreed to Novorossiya, but do you know under what conditions?
Pique vests gathered closer and pulled out chicken necks.
– Provided that Odessa and Mariupol are declared free cities. Malofeev is the head. After all, they need ports to sell their coal and metal to someone? We will sell through the ports.
At this announcement the eyes of the assembled patriots sparkled. They have wanted to sell for many years,
– Strelkov is the head! - they said sighing. – Dugin is also a head.
When our hero woke up from his thoughts, he saw that he was being held tightly by the side of his jacket by an unfamiliar “Novorossian” in a crushed cap and greasy camouflage with two dozen multi-colored chevrons. The fake award bar with foam rubber and plastic signs of non-existent awards slid to the side and through a large hole in the open jacket one could see the outlines of a flag with crossed stripes on it and Stalin’s profile with the encircling monogram “I will not forget the Ice March.”
“And I’m telling you,” the mummer shouted in his ear, “that Putin will not take this bait!” He won't take this bait! Do you hear?
– Reshetnikov is the head! - rushed after. “And Aksenov is the head...”
And the truth was that the main real motive for such behavior among the majority was fear. Fear of death, injury. Or the fear of being banned from entering Europe or America. Fear of sanctions or possible criminal prosecution. But always banal fear. And I personally knew a lot of those who were simply afraid to prove their pretentious rantings with deeds.”
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