There can be little doubt that expatriate losers in Moscow are currently in the midst of a crisis.
If someone had told me a year ago that LifeStyle and element would fail to clear the 5-percent-readable-text barrier even by the low standards they set for themselves, I would have...well, to be honest I would have done nothing because I was high all the time a year ago, and when I wasn't high, I was crashing so hard all I wanted to do was get high again. Ah, those were wonderful times!
Today, the continued existence of those two English-language papers is still a reality, and like herpes, there will continue to be LifeStyle and element outbreaks with a kind of foreboding regularity that all of us must bear.
Whores now are demanding more and more money, offering fewer freebies, and the prices of restaurants are becoming unbearable. One-night stands with drunken sluts are a thing of the past. Speed is nearly impossible to find, Imovane is no longer for sale in kiosks and Tramal has essentially vanished.
In essence, we are witnessing nothing less than the eXhole's capitulation. This capitulation is not merely the eXile's fault, of course, but also the eXile's misfortune. The current expatriates' fear given Russia's brutal past has been coked up by the powerful taste for cheap easy snapper acquired in the 1990s; their servility is built in at the sexual level, as is their readiness to forget all about what losers they are in exchange for another serving of Ecstasy and Charlie. Moscow's eXpats were ever thus, and thus they remain.
The phrases "how much will it cost without a condom?", "here's 7 rubles for the metro, now get the fuck out, I'm sleepy," and "she's different from other dyevs, I think she really loves me" are rapidly turning into empty cliches.
At the same time, there is a new discourse -- the discourse of elitny dyevs who have sprouted in abundance on Moscow's elitny soil. These elitny dyevs encompass Vogue Cafe, Noa, Cabaret and Zima. Then there is the middle-class dyev who is no longer so desperate as to take a hairy-backed, hairy-assed, ageing loser's penis into her mouth simply in order to try to escape Russia. Instead, she believes she has options, so she takes the uncut unit of every Passat-driving Sergei into her mouth, in the hope that he will buy her a Skoda. Even sluts on the outer rings of Moscow have lost interest.
All of these dyevs speak of the collapse of the eXpat in Russia, though their words are usually insincere and uttered on command. For $100 dollars, many will still change their minds. They say that Russia has no need for the eXile. The eXile, they maintain, is extraneous to the goal of national suicide. Anyone who speaks about the eXile is, in their view, either a pervert or a Jew, which amounts to much the same thing.
In this context, President Vladimir Putin looks like eXhole number one. From the point of view of elitny dyevushki, his small chin, sexy high-heels and thinning hair are eminently preferable to that British expat guy who always sits at the Boar House corner stool watching TV and sipping a beer alone. When you get right down to it, Putin is probably neither an eXhole nor a Russian, but he is still more of an eXhole and Russian than 70 percent of the readers of the eXile. And it was Putin, after all, who met with Russia Journal publisher Ajay Goyal for a photo-op before the demise of that publication. In other words, only Vladimir Putin can protect us from Ajay Goyal.
It's all true. But eXholism in Russia cannot die all the same because the hunger for a foreign passport will always be one of the dyev's basic instincts -- be she from Moscow, St. Petersburg or Donetsk. Yes, the sweet word "eXhole" means many things, but its spirit is irrelevant and communicable: It is the spirit of body lice, which gave Kwell body shampoo to mankind; it is the spirit of Jesus Christ, who was killed by Mikhail Khodorkovsky's ancestors (and mine) just for the fuck of it.