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Limonov Files February 23, 2007
Itís Me, Daddy: Limonov On Fatherhood
By Edward Limonov Browse author

On the great day of Russian Great Revolution I have driven my pregnant wife to the First Birth-House of Moscow. House is located on very North-West of our beloved capital between metro station Planernoye and Alioshkinski forest. We decided that our son will be born near Alioshkinski forest on the street called Vilis Lacis Street not because we are attracted by forest or Vilis Lacis. I even don't know who the hell is Valis Lacis. Is he famous Tchekist, friend of Felix Djerjinski? Not it seems to me that Velis was a Latwian writer, I suppose so, because near Lacis Street on the map one can see also Yanis Rainis Street and Salomea Neris Street. Yanis, I remember well, was a Latwian writer, so that the place is swarming with dead Latwians. I mean place where my son was born. Because Katia's doctor recommended First House.

Katia was ready to go. We brought all the things necessary for bringing babies home from birth-houses: diapers, pampers, babies clothes. Some of the things were made in Germany, some in Rostov-Sur-Don. Some even in Tadjikistan. We have a few plastic bags containing things for our baby. We started at 9 in the morning. We were four of us plus old Cadillak (Mark Ames once called it "Jewish canoe." We looked really exotical people. The driver  Maxim Kalashnikov was wearing full length leather coat with woolf fur around neck and cap like Zirinowski's cap. He was from Siberian city of Irkutsk, but arrested for participation at NBP action in Moscow, released, so waited to be judged. He was on parole. Then it was Dmitry, football hooligan, one of my bodyguards, looking like a skinhead, bluejeans, sneakers, you know how they look, those boys. Dimitri is from Belorussia, he always voting for Lukashenko, for "Latka". Katka was wearing mink coat, lips red with lipstick, lady-like. And finally I was looking like crazy Doctor Faust, you know me, beard, moustaches, glasses, plus leather coat, short one.

Near the First-Birth-House Katia said :I feel cool, why we came here today? Let us go back home, maybe? I don't feel any pain...

-No, I said. You should be shown to the doctors, because it is the fortieth week of pregnancy.

-OK, she said, maybe they will send me home after. And we proceeded to sit and wait among few pregnant women and their relatives in reception room. I had hope that doctors will keep Katia, because I had to go to manifestation celebrating October Revolution what happened 89 years ago. National-Bolsheviks always commemorate Revolution together with Communist Party of Russia. Other reason for my hope was a great distance between Katia's place in the centre of Moscow and Visa Lacis Street. In addition, Leningradskoye shosse (highway) was under construction, I didn't want to be stuck in traffic jam with a pregnant wife screaming out of pain.

Katia's friend called her to tell her that she gave birth to a daughter few days ago. And I, said Katia, I am seating in Birth House reception room and feeling nothing. I think I will give a birth next week. Then Katia was admitted to First Birth House. We went out to buy her some mineral water and some juice. We went back, Katia appeared in the entry, smiling as charming actress, she was wearing First Birth House Gown. She took water and juice, she gave us mink coat and her dresses. She said she will call after the doctors and we promised to come and take her back if necessary. The we left, smiling, free men, liberty wind was caressing our skin. Maksim Kalashnikov, I forgot to mention, had a red Scandanavian beard plus all his Siberian charms. Militia never stopped "Cadillak" when he was at driver's place.

Limonov's movie-star babe wife, Katia

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Save The eXile: The War Nerd Calls Mayday
The future of The eXile is in your hands! We're holding a fundraiser to save the paper, and your soul. Tune in to Gary Brecher's urgent request for reinforcements and donate as much as you can. If you don't, we'll be overrun and wiped off the face of the earth, forever.

Scanning Moscowís Traffic Cops
Automotive Section
We’re happy to introduce a new column in which we publish Moscow’s raw radio communications, courtesy of a Russian amateur radio enthusiast. This issue, eXile readers are given a peek into the secret conversations of Moscow’s traffic police, the notorious "GAIshniki."

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Everybody complains about celebrities, but nobody does anything about them. People, it’s time to stop fretting about whether we’re a celebrity-obsessed culture—we are, we have been, we’re going to be—and instead take practical steps to clean up the celebrity-obsessed culture we’ve got...


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