Tuesday, July 17, 2007

Send Lawyers, Guns and Money, Dad; The Shit has Hit the Fan


Happy birthday, Kalashnikov! And many happy returns! Have some cake. You’ll love it; it’s filled with blood of millions! You look great at sixty. Seriously, you look like in are in your thirties. You still catch the eye of revolutionaries, religious extremists, drug war lords, and other filth. And of course, your biggest suitor is right over there, the United States.

I hear mother Russia threw a party for you. Nice. I hope you kept your bliny down. Those Ruskies pour on the vodka shots, eh? Like at any good party, people complained. I heard that Russia is not getting all the money owed to her through your sales. It seems the gun factories that the Kremlin built in satellite nations (since freed from her iron grip) are popping out cheap knockoffs of you at half the price. You should talk to Versace; they feel your pain.

If only the United States would buy directly from Russia. Then the Iraq army would have most glorious machine gun instead of a Hungarian knockoff. But I’m sure the Iraqi families can hardly tell which is the better gun—the guns that destroyed their family all look the same. Maybe Russia should keep her guns. When the oil money runs out, not much is going to keep her afloat.

Ahh, why be gloomy? Happy birthday! Tommy, Uzi, Sten, M16, and Maschinengewehr all wish you the best.

1 comment:

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