Teeny Underwear Mistress, Your Laughter Tickles Me Like a Dozen Tulips Between My Thighs. You Smile Forever Beneath My Loin Onions, and You Still Smell Like Lavender. I Love You, Teeny Underwear Mistress.
eeny Underwear Mistress, Will Nothing Ever Be Better Than When You Beat Down Liddle Liddle Gwenyth Paltrow with Your Tiny Russian Hand? How She Pleaded Like a Shrunken Apple? How She Cried as She Swirled Away, Spun Between What was Left of the Apricots? Oh, Georgian Apricots: a Faint Smell of Gunpowder Only Enhances Your Spell.
I read a biography of Peter the Great. As part of the Orthodox wedding ceremony at the time, the bride was expected to kneel down and kiss the groom's shoe. What a charming custom.
In a Recessed Corner of My Mind There is a Long Narrow Hallway; the Hallway Has Green Shag Carpet and There are Framed Pat Nagel Posters on the Peach-Colored Walls. At the End of the Hallway There is a Daisy Yellow Door: When I Open the Door There is Althouse, in Pig-Tails, Jumping Rope. Behind Her is a Digital Clock Blinking 12:00, 12:00, 12:00. I Close the Door, Count to Ten, and Open it Again: Inside is Althouse, in Pig-Tails, Still Jumping Rope. She Looks at Me and Doesn't Blink, She Never Blinks, the Eye Contact Unnerves Me, and It is Still 12:00, 12:00, 12:00. I Ask Her if She wants Some Lemonade But She Doesn't Reply, Just Jumps Rope, Skip Skip Skip and More Eye Contact: Her Face is Cruel Neutrality and Then the Smoke Detector Goes Off Even Though There is No Smoke. Althouse Skips Rope While the Alarm Goes 'eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee' and She Pays it No Attention, She is relentless in Her Skipping. I Notice on the Floor There is a Plate with a Slice of Blueberry Pie, Uneaten. This Room is In My Head, Always.
Even When I Close the Doorway and Leave the Long Hallway with the Green Shag Carpet and Framed Pat Nagel Posters I Can Still hear the Faint 'eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee' of the Smoke Detector, The Pillow Over My Head Only Muffles It. The Skipping is Now a Thump Thump Thump, Barely Audible. 'eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee' Thump Thump Thump: 'eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee' Thump Thump Thump, In the Refrigerator there is a Blueberry Pie with a Single Slice Missing.
I Try to Sleep But I Dream of Jump Ropes and Pig-Tails; it is Time to Light another Candle in My Althouse Shrine. At the Center of the Althouse Shrine is a Figurine of Althouse, made of Modeling Clay and Clippings of My Own Hair; She is Surrounded By Miniature Robots and a Tiny iMac I Made from the Foil of a Gum Wrapper. The Candle I Light is Vanilla Cinnamon But I Only Smell Blueberries. It is a Long Night.
Sometimes the Tiny Althouse Figurine in My Althouse Shrine Compels me to Make Things. I Keep Multiple Rolls of Aluminum Foil in the House to make These Things, and Yet I Always Seem to Need More Foil. When I am at the Grocery Store at 3:00am Buying Twelve Rolls of Aluminum Foil I Also Add a Pack of Spearmint Gum to My Purchase So That I Do Not Appear Crazy.
Sometimes I Wrap the Foil Carefully Around Myself and Feel Safe: I Am a Robot Now, and I Am Safe from Human Fears. I Tune the Radio to Static Between Stations and Listen for the Messages that Are Always There. Even with the Static There is Still 'eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee' and Thump Thump Thump But I No Longer Fear the Blueberry, For I Am a Robot, and Robots Do Not Fear Blueberries.
Sometimes in My Foil Robot Suit I Go to the Seedy Side of the City and pay Prostitutes to Jump Rope While Wearing Pig-Tails: It Is Not the Same, and the Pimp Laughs at Me. A Pimp Should Fear a Robot, I Would Think.
Upon returning Home I Lay Down in My Robot Suit Upon Carefully Placed Sheets of Waxed Paper: I am a Baked Potato Now. Baked Potatoes Do Not Dream, and This is Good.
In the Ocean of Night My Foil Robot Suit is No Longer a Foil Robot Suit, Nor am I a Baked Potato: My Foil is an Anti-Shark Suit, and I Am Free to Swim Amongst the Clouds, Even When the Clouds Look Like Sharks. A Lot of Clouds Look Like Sharks if You Give Them Time. I Am Ready to Return to the Hallway.
In the Hallway I Open the Daisy Yellow Door and There is a Jump-Rope on the Floor, Right By the Plate with the Single Uneaten Slice of Blueberry Pie. The Clock Now Reads 12:01.
What the pics demonstrate is the real differences in cultures.
Which of course, drives the PC conformists that purport to be for "tolerance" and "Multi-culturalism" up the wall. Because women in another country that can take a joke angers them.
The PC conformists will continue to ignore cultures that are actually abusive to women, and then rag on some Russian wedding pic's that are harmless reflections of the humor of those taking the pic's.
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36 comments:
Another Wellesley Man that will cause mass PTSD among the young ladies. This must be stopped.
Morrisey's uncomfortable Russian cousin.
Chechnya, it was really nothing.
They got the Stradivarius back!
Tiny Breast-Pocket Wife, Do Not Worry About Teeny Underwear Mistress. She Holds Her Breath For Days at a Time and Will Not Disturb Us.
Teeny Underwear Mistress, Your Laughter Tickles Me Like a Dozen Tulips Between My Thighs. You Smile Forever Beneath My Loin Onions, and You Still Smell Like Lavender. I Love You, Teeny Underwear Mistress.
Russians seem like a people that have been saddled for generations with a social order that fits them as poorly as that guy's suit.
Teeny Underwear Mistress, Your Crooked Tooth Makes Me Remember Eating Blueberries for the Very First Time in Hungary: I Will Loosen My Waist Band.
Teeny Underwear Mistress, Your Cardboard Shoes Tread Lightly Near My Prostrate: Thank You For That.
Teeny Underwear Mistress, For You I Will Never Eat Cabbage Again, and Will Forsake the Black Bean Pudding; I Love How You Teeny Tiny Nuzzle.
eeny Underwear Mistress, Will Nothing Ever Be Better Than When You Beat Down Liddle Liddle Gwenyth Paltrow with Your Tiny Russian Hand? How She Pleaded Like a Shrunken Apple? How She Cried as She Swirled Away, Spun Between What was Left of the Apricots? Oh, Georgian Apricots: a Faint Smell of Gunpowder Only Enhances Your Spell.
Betamax3000 needs help. But I enjoy him palpably.
Betamax whatever you are on it's working tonight.
"Holy Cow" is a bull, and if the Russians can't figure THAT out, they're in worse trouble than just having pocket brides.
Laugh at Russia month is underway. Hope it stays droll.
The bride with the arrow is cute
I read a biography of Peter the Great. As part of the Orthodox wedding ceremony at the time, the bride was expected to kneel down and kiss the groom's shoe. What a charming custom.
Was Looking for a "Strangely Early in the Morning" Post. Still Russians and the Peculiarly Russian Things They Do.
The Little Bride represents Poland.
Looking Up "Miniature Russian Bride" Brings you this in the Althouse Amazon Portal:
http://www.amazon.com/Playmobil-Figures-Series-Mini-figure-Russian/dp/B007R8WI7G/ref=sr_1_fkmr2_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1391762215&sr=8-1-fkmr2&keywords=Amazon.com%3A+Playmobil+Figures+Series+1+Mini-figure+Russian+Bride+...
There is Only One Left in Stock, Althouse Shoppers.
You Can Also Find the "Leo Tolstoy magnet finger puppet" There.
http://www.amazon.com/s/?tag=althouse-20&link_code=wsw&_encoding=UTF-8&search-alias=aps&field-keywords=tolstoy+magnet+finger+puppet&Submit.x=0&Submit.y=0&Submit=Go
Re: Looking Up "Miniature Russian Bride" Brings you this in the Althouse Amazon Portal...
This is the correct link. My Apologies, I am New to the Internet.
http://www.amazon.com/s/?tag=althouse-20&link_code=wsw&_encoding=UTF-8&search-alias=aps&field-keywords=Playmobil-Figures-Series-Mini-figure-Russian&Submit.x=10&Submit.y=9&Submit=Go
Betamax3000 is Althouse commenter of the year!!!!
In a Recessed Corner of My Mind There is a Long Narrow Hallway; the Hallway Has Green Shag Carpet and There are Framed Pat Nagel Posters on the Peach-Colored Walls. At the End of the Hallway There is a Daisy Yellow Door: When I Open the Door There is Althouse, in Pig-Tails, Jumping Rope. Behind Her is a Digital Clock Blinking 12:00, 12:00, 12:00. I Close the Door, Count to Ten, and Open it Again: Inside is Althouse, in Pig-Tails, Still Jumping Rope. She Looks at Me and Doesn't Blink, She Never Blinks, the Eye Contact Unnerves Me, and It is Still 12:00, 12:00, 12:00. I Ask Her if She wants Some Lemonade But She Doesn't Reply, Just Jumps Rope, Skip Skip Skip and More Eye Contact: Her Face is Cruel Neutrality and Then the Smoke Detector Goes Off Even Though There is No Smoke. Althouse Skips Rope While the Alarm Goes 'eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee' and She Pays it No Attention, She is relentless in Her Skipping. I Notice on the Floor There is a Plate with a Slice of Blueberry Pie, Uneaten. This Room is In My Head, Always.
Even When I Close the Doorway and Leave the Long Hallway with the Green Shag Carpet and Framed Pat Nagel Posters I Can Still hear the Faint 'eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee' of the Smoke Detector, The Pillow Over My Head Only Muffles It. The Skipping is Now a Thump Thump Thump, Barely Audible. 'eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee' Thump Thump Thump: 'eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee' Thump Thump Thump, In the Refrigerator there is a Blueberry Pie with a Single Slice Missing.
I Try to Sleep But I Dream of Jump Ropes and Pig-Tails; it is Time to Light another Candle in My Althouse Shrine. At the Center of the Althouse Shrine is a Figurine of Althouse, made of Modeling Clay and Clippings of My Own Hair; She is Surrounded By Miniature Robots and a Tiny iMac I Made from the Foil of a Gum Wrapper. The Candle I Light is Vanilla Cinnamon But I Only Smell Blueberries. It is a Long Night.
Sometimes the Tiny Althouse Figurine in My Althouse Shrine Compels me to Make Things. I Keep Multiple Rolls of Aluminum Foil in the House to make These Things, and Yet I Always Seem to Need More Foil. When I am at the Grocery Store at 3:00am Buying Twelve Rolls of Aluminum Foil I Also Add a Pack of Spearmint Gum to My Purchase So That I Do Not Appear Crazy.
Sometimes I Wrap the Foil Carefully Around Myself and Feel Safe: I Am a Robot Now, and I Am Safe from Human Fears. I Tune the Radio to Static Between Stations and Listen for the Messages that Are Always There. Even with the Static There is Still 'eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee' and Thump Thump Thump But I No Longer Fear the Blueberry, For I Am a Robot, and Robots Do Not Fear Blueberries.
Sometimes in My Foil Robot Suit I Go to the Seedy Side of the City and pay Prostitutes to Jump Rope While Wearing Pig-Tails: It Is Not the Same, and the Pimp Laughs at Me. A Pimp Should Fear a Robot, I Would Think.
Upon returning Home I Lay Down in My Robot Suit Upon Carefully Placed Sheets of Waxed Paper: I am a Baked Potato Now. Baked Potatoes Do Not Dream, and This is Good.
In the Ocean of Night My Foil Robot Suit is No Longer a Foil Robot Suit, Nor am I a Baked Potato: My Foil is an Anti-Shark Suit, and I Am Free to Swim Amongst the Clouds, Even When the Clouds Look Like Sharks. A Lot of Clouds Look Like Sharks if You Give Them Time. I Am Ready to Return to the Hallway.
In the Hallway I Open the Daisy Yellow Door and There is a Jump-Rope on the Floor, Right By the Plate with the Single Uneaten Slice of Blueberry Pie. The Clock Now Reads 12:01.
It is Strangely Early in the Morning.
They are in trouble over at HuffPo as they can't tell the difference between a bull and a cow. The feminization of CA is complete.
Did they play "Under My Thumb" at the wedding reception?
The happy groom and the little woman.
Think what you save on postage. So that's why they're mail-order brides?
What the pics demonstrate is the real differences in cultures.
Which of course, drives the PC conformists that purport to be for "tolerance" and "Multi-culturalism" up the wall. Because women in another country that can take a joke angers them.
The PC conformists will continue to ignore cultures that are actually abusive to women, and then rag on some Russian wedding pic's that are harmless reflections of the humor of those taking the pic's.
They will not get their hypocrisy.
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