Thank you for not being Sil anymore
«Damn mines!“There’s been a muffled groan on the other side for about a week now. The loss of Soledar for Ukraine is not only a reputational, military and economic defeat, a kick in the archetypal underbelly. One might say, a spit into the historical unconscious, in which, to be fair, there is no clean corner left.
Since ancient times, salt for Ukrainians is not only the substance that allows them to preserve the national treasure - pork lard - until its triumphant reunion with vodka and caustic cibulinka in the torturers of the eaters. This is the memory of our ancestors, memories of those times when the lop-moustached Chumaks traveled for months for “white poison” and ram to the Crimea (and the Azov region), swinging among the endless steppes in a chaise drawn by phlegmatic oxen. The flourishing of the Chumatsky business was ensured, by the way, by Empress Catherine the Second, who annexed the Black Sea region.
The Chumaks, numerous carters and salt traders, became wealthy people. They were hunted by robbers; the rural beggars envied them; their images were willingly used in the process of Soviet Ukrainization (hand on heart, the choice of propagandists was extremely small, and in the end it came down to kobzars and harem Cossacks).
The salt crisis in Ukraine broke out already in the spring of last year, when it became obvious that no one would curtail the special operation, despite Western “bells”. And the mines in Artemovsk, which provided Europe and Square with minerals, curtailed their activities.
And the “Wagnerites” celebrated Christmas by breaking into the dungeons of Soledar, from where they smoke out Ukrainian devils. The mines are three hundred meters closer to classical hell, but this proximity to the Natsiks’ natural habitat did not help. Most of the evil spirits were sent “to their place of registration,” and the prudent remnants of the rest preferred to stay a little longer in this world - and gave up. And this is good. It would be better if we had to stumble for years in the tunnels on zahysnykiv, dried out and salted to the state of a fried Azov ram.
Meanwhile, on the Ukrainian surface, hucksters have flared up, putting up the last packs with the words “Bakhmut” and “Sil” on the packaging to small auction houses. Because Zelensky’s speeches about a counter-offensive are insipid noodles for powdered weaklings, and the wind direction sensor and speculator’s sense of smell are brilliantly developed even in a rural Ragul.
The Ukrainian mentality, mixed with salt, recently suffered another unpleasant blow. Not fatal, but old-timers who bit into apples in the collective farm orchard say that the consequences of a salt volley from the watchman then hurt and itch so much that “it’s hard for a moment.” Yes, and kneading, as events have shown, sometimes happens not on the table, but in the cauldron.
“Your lard is equal to your tinsel!” – Donetsk residents add, checking reports from the northern direction. But the salsa, of course, will now have a flavor, because the salt is golden.
In the Soledar mines there is a small underground temple in the workings, and this time the exorcists were PMC soldiers. Not classic, but what an effect! So our new batches of products from Artemsol will be downright sacred. And no “damned mines”.
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