Date: Thursday, May 11, 1995  11:57pm                          Forum: Classic
From: wired child                                                Msg#: 344897
  To: ** ALL **
  Re: Allow me to retort!
      (Copy by Cosmo)                                               (1 reply)

wC's Witty Whapsodies
(a liberal antipode to Cosmo's conservative Turks)
==================================================

Ivan Chelloveck And The Date From Hell
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Ivan Alexei Chelloveck was a minor collective farmer from Magnitogorsk,
in the Soviet Ukraine. Actually, he was a pretty good farmer. He brought
in a good deal more grain from the fields than most. Sadly, this WAS the
USSR, and mostly the only reward he got for this were some shiny medals
from the State Commission On Planning Small To Medium Latrine Production
and the occasional beating. However, Ivan was a simple sort, and
harvesting grain was about all he was good at (well, that and the
occasional cheese sculpture) so he continued at his labors.

Ivan was also a bit of a rogue, and one day he struck up the
acquaintance of a burly peasant girl from the neighboring city of
Vitebsk. Now, travelling to see her was against the state farm rules,
since no collective farmer had travel passes out of the city. (Got to
keep them down on the farm, y'know.) However, the neighborhood ruffians
often travelled the railway between the two cities without benefit of
passes (or tickets, for that matter) so Ivan figured that he'd never be
caught in the shuffle. Of course a grown man and famed wheat farmer
would never have been mistaken for a teenage roughneck, but then again
Ivan had also had a spot of vodka to juice up his courage. (He didn't
date very much, since the women on the farm tended to be over the age of
70 and missing most of their teeth.)

The militia caught Ivan, and hauled him over to the farm's assistant
chairman, Georgiy Tzagushvilli. Unbeknownst to poor Ivan, Georgiy had
disliked him for a while, since Ivan's steady wheat intake was screwing
up the quotas from Moscow, some of the other farmers had requested
transfers to other collectives, and Georgiy didn't have nearly as many
cool medals from the State Commission On Planning Small To Medium
Latrine Production. Georgiy sneered at Ivan a bit, then cranked up the
collective's speaker system and made the following announcement:

"Attention, workers and peasants of Glorious Red October Labor of Stalin
Collective Farm and Tractor Works Number Twenty Seven! It is my duty and
pleasure to announce that Ivan Alexei Chelloveck, known troublemaker and
sometime wheat farmer, has been found disobeying laws of the State and of
his collective! Accordingly, I sentence him to three days hard labor at
the potato masher! That is all, comrades!"

"Holy Lenin", mumbled Ivan, still a little tipsy. "Now the boys over in
Large Crowbar Wielding are gonna kick my butt."

Meanwhile, Black Pyotr, who often drank vodka with Ivan at his sturdy
peasant hut, came forward and told Georgiy that it was probably his
fault that Ivan went on his train ride since Georgiy didn't like him
anyway. Georgiy shrugged, told Ivan he had a day at the potato masher,
and so did Pyotr.

Pyotr said "Fine! I just gave the collective a tractor; this is what I
get for my trouble!" and stormed out. Ivan moaned again.

Georgiy looked up from some paperwork and said "You still here
...comrade?"

"Look," Ivan said, trying to sound reasonable. (From outside, a hapless
serf cried "Help! I just lost my tractor! Anyone know what happened to
the phone jack in my sturdy peasant hut?") "I didn't know you had a
problem with me, but why did you have to announce it to the whole farm?
You've never done that to anyone else. Now everyone's going to make fun
of me and I'll never get first dibs on the beet soup."

Georgiy Ahrugged. "Soviet perogative. Take it up with the Chairman.
He'll just overrule me anyway. He always gives you special
consideration." (As an aside, Ivan convienently forgot that Georgiy
often announced such sentences, especally in the case of the habitual
foulup Makhbetchko, who once somehow took one pig and through creative
accounting convinced Moscow that he had bred 9,650,403 more pigs to try
to qualify for a free trip to Sebastopol.)

At this Ivan bristled. He had often shared a shot of vodka with the
Chairman of the collective, true, but never once had he traded on it for
any sort of favors or unusual treatment. He was content to merely pull the
wheat off the stalks, day after day. True, the Chairman often remarked
"Gee, that Ivan Alexei sure is a swell fellow.", but then again the
Chairman said that about almost everyone. (The Chairman was a likeable
young fellow from Stavropol named Mikhail Gorbachev.)

Just as Ivan was about to say this, Yangovich, the rather intense man
who lived in Ivan's sturdy peasant hut (and don't think any funny
business was going on... Yangovich snuck nightly over to the hut of
sultry Natalia Not-Gomich) ran in and shouted at Georgiy, "I heard what
you did to Black Pyotr! I demand a day at the potato masher in
solidarity with my comrade!"

"Done.", shrugged Georgiy and assigned HIM a day at the potato masher.
He then looked at Ivan. "Gee, you lucked out, ...comrade. You only get
one day at the masher thanks to your loyal friends."

Ivan would have said something, but then he convienently remembered that
he had to testify at the trial of the Kiev Black Widow next week so
toddled off and worked his day at the potato masher.

MORAL OF THE STORY: The USSR eventually crumbled into a messy heap.

Tovarishch wK