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The Fall of The eXile For all those wondering what the "Save The eXile Fundrasier" banner is all about, here it is as simply as it can be phrased: The eXile is shutting down.
June 11, 2008 in eXile Blog

War Nerd: War of the Babies in Taki's Magazine The War Nerd talks about babies, the greatest weapon of the 20th century.
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Kids, Meet Your President A website for Russian kids to learn all about President Medvedev's passion for school, sports and family.
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Cellphone Democracy Cam If this girl was exposed to Jeffersonian democracy...
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More Classy B&W Dyev Photos Yet another hot Russian babe imitating the Catpower look...
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Proof That Genetic Memory Is Real! Sure, the Ottomans shut down the Istanbul Slavic slave markets centuries ago...
May 15, 2008 in Face Control

Russia's Orthodox Church Youth Outreach Program The priest is going, "Father Sansei is very impressed with grasshopper Sasha’s...
May 15, 2008 in Face Control

More Classy B&W Club Photos w/Russian Dyevs We took the Pepsi Challenge here...
May 15, 2008 in Face Control

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Unfiled November 27, 2002
 
New eXile feature: Tales of a Russian Junkie
By Vlad Impaler Browse author
 
 
"They beat me some more when they got me out of the trunk in the forest. I`d been ordered to dig myself a grave. I did what they told me. And there I was: standing near my supposed final home and looking to the wrong side of the gun...."

It`s been a long time since I'm off smack, but I remember clearly all those suburbs of Moscow, St.Pete and London where I used to spend most of my time scorin, stealin, rippin off and getting ripped off by other junkies, militsia and coppers. eXile said they wanted "junk incidents" and I sure had a few back in the days...

At some point it all went downhill with speed of supernova express. In a couple of months it was all there: I lost money and my English girlfriend (no regrets about that daft bitch though) in August 1998, in September I lost my job in Ptyuch magazine, had to leave my apartment in October...

I stayed for a couple of weeks at my junkie pal's pad but had to move out too. I was thinking of swapping my CD player for a gram of Nigerian gray so that I could make a "golden hit"-final shot that would kill me when suddenly the telephone went. I picked up the blower and there was good news from some asshole whose name escapes me now: Sergey was back in town.

Sergei - a "businessman" from St. Petersburg. A flathead with a huge golden chain around fat neck, three cars, model looking wife - the whole works. They don't look so obviously criminal these days but five years ago that was normal for them to look like that for some unknown for me reasons. It's like saying to the authorities: "Hey, I'm a criminal and I've got the money, don't you want it?" When one of my friends introduced us at some party the guy asked me to help him with the book about himself. I said I'll think about it. I laughed my ass off when he left. The whole idea of writing and trying to find a publisher for some thug seemed ridiculous then. Did I really care a few months later? Like fuck I did. To me his name was Smack Heroinovich Opiumov at that moment, or even Speedballoff if I'm lucky and he picks up the phone himself. He did...

When I entered his apartment I smelled IT straight away. IT was cut in lines on big mirror table and what lines they were, man! He looked angry. "Do you have your journalist's credentials on you?" he asked me. "No. I mean I left it in my jacket at home. Why?" "I might need your help." Then he noticed what's going on. "Hey! Are you sick? Jesus! Look at yourself. You look like shit." And then, at last, "Go cook yourself a shot." ..."Whoa you cunt ya....Speedball!!!"

I nearly OD'ed that day and vaguely remember our conversation. Something about his car that was smashed up by his driver. Airbags were supposed to work but they didn't . Driver hospitalized. Couldn't care less. I was trippin outta my skull there on a cozy leather sofa.

On the next day I finally realized what this was all about: he wanted me to live in his fucked up "Mercedes 600" while his driver's in hospital. For that I'd be provided with smack, food, e.t.c. Do you really think I said no? You're right. No. I didn't.

For a month I'd been living in this German car, thinking of how lucky I was. Leather seats, music, books and free drugs. It was close to ideal life for me or so it seemed to me back then. At some point I felt like I need a shower and a new undies and socks. Since this car accident happened near his dacha I'd asked his wife, that long legged thing, who was delivering all the gear to me (the man was away for a few days) to let me use their bathroom. She was ok with it. All the way to dacha I was telling jokes and all I could see is those legs. She wasn't laughing. Then she asked me if I could translate some of Madonna's songs for her. No problem, love. As long as you wearing this miniskirt...The first shower for ages. I tried to wank for a bit but was interrupted by Sergei's wife who brought me clean towel. She looked at me and smiled for the first time...


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