What did People Expect Sochi to be, Paris?

Sochi

I think perhaps our expectations were collectively a bit too high. Does Sochi appear to be a back water shithole from the ugly Soviet days that has no business hosting a low rent bachelor party, let alone an international competition? Absolutely. Should the world have been expecting something better? Absolutely not. Look up Sochi on a Google map. It is down there in the bowels of Russia, just a couple of clicks north west of Georgia. I’ve never been to Georgia but I’ve met a couple of fellows from there and I can tell you this without a shadow of doubt: They’re fucking crazy. We’re talking rat in a tin shit house on a hot day level crazy. When I was in high school, for a brief year an exchange “student” from Georgia ran in our circle. Livan Moukbaniani. I’m unsure if I spelled that correctly but then again I’m unsure if it was even a real name. He came here to drink some beer and drink some beer, and I’m pretty sure he never ran out. Zero interest in “classes” or “learning”. He originally was stationed with an ultra religious family in town. That didn’t work out so well. To avoid the exchange student version of a deportation a much cooler family took him in. They lived to regret that but while under their roof his many hi-jinx began. We never did figure out what exactly his dad back in Georgia did, but through various stories it seemed that he had cornered the local Nike shoe market. I don’t want to go down a long and winding “Man, we were so zany in high school” road during this current topic, but suffice it to say the Winter Olympics have no earthly business taking place a short Soviet Greyhound bus ride from this nation of loose cannons.

I’ve heard a lot of people on the street asking “How in the hell did the Olympics end up in a shithole like Sochi?”. The answer is simple: Vladimir Putin would go to any length, up to and including murdering people in public, to prove out his “Russia is back!” delusion. All votes to determine a host city for the Olympics are for sale. The voting bloc within the IOC is among the most corrupt, contemptible scum we have to offer here on earth. These are the types of people who would willingly send their 13-year-old daughters to a hot tub party at Roman Polanski’s house if there was a free meal at Le Meurice in it for them. A collection of pirates, ne’er do wells, cutthroats and outright scoundrels. I will not say pimps because pimps are more honest about their intentions and there is honor in pimping. Pimps actually work. These assholes are like high-ranking college football bowl chairmen. Such as that one dick they found who chairs something on the Rose Bowl, makes more than a million per year for it, and works approximately 50 hours……per year. If you can get the work by all means, take it. But don’t tell me you make Sundance caliber indie films when we all know damn well you produce scat movies in the shed behind your garage. Essen mein Scheisser! The IOC loves nothing more than to be wined, dined and sixty-nined.

Enter Vlad Putin and the Oligarchs. When the former Soviet Union collapsed in the early 90′s it created a power vacuum. The void was largely filled by gangster types who by force took what they wanted. Many of these men have cornered certain markets or necessities, such as Mikhail Prokhorov who owns the Brooklyn Nets. His fortune now encompasses many goods, namely precious metals. It was founded on acid washed jeans. Yes, Mikhail Prokhorov cornered the Soviet acid washed jeans market shortly after the wall came tumbling down. From acid washed denim to private jets full of beautiful hookers, and there are plenty of other stories just like his. When you “found” one of the thousands of nuclear missiles which were “lost” when the Union dissolved, you command respect. Roman Abramovich, owner of Chelsea Football Club in England is another shining example of what can happen when your country goes Mad Max of sorts, and you have large balls and small to no conscience. Fast forward to the IOC’s host city vote for the 2014 Winter Olympics. Gifts of all sorts are being rained down upon the voting members in every conceivable form. For the ladies we’ve got expensive lunches in Michelin starred restaurants parlayed into an afternoon of shopping spree extravagance that would make Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman jealous. Oh so sorry ma’am, you don’t like those Jimmy Choo boots in that color? Here is the same pair made with endangered black rhino foreskin. For the fellas we’ve got wine-drenched dinners at the same Michelin starred restaurants leading to all-you-can-cum buffets at the very best brothels in the city. All courtesy of Pyeongchang and Salzburg tax payer money. And this is on top of the envelopes of money arriving anonymously at their door. Ol’ Vlad Putin knows how the system works so he goes to a couple of oligarch pals and says “You want tax rate on uranium theft business stay at 0.00%? You make Sochi vote winners or tax rate go to 0.5%”. Even the dumbest of oligarchs know that a one-time grease to some voting officials of 20,000,000 is better than annual tax payments of 0.5% on 50 billion, so they don’t even blink.  “Heh voting lady, you vants villa south of France, no monies? Vants some slaves on villa? You haves. Don’t looks under cellar, previous owners dead in dare. Don’t looks in cellar. Here are keys. Ello meester voting man. You likes makes some fuck with 10 year old boy? Wants boy hairless? From Malaysia? Sveeden? You wants hairless Sveedish boy make some fuck with? On yacht in ocean? You haves. If you kills dee boy when you make dah fuck we sends somebodies for dat, good? Okay. We has deal? Sochi vins? Good, we removes dah snipers in case you had said no. HAHA! We sees you in Sochi, you want to make fuck with 11 year old skaters practicing for 2018 Olympics while you veezits, you has.” Bingo-bango, the world watches the most low rent Olympics possible in a half-built city that has been forced to hire dog poisoning death squads to help with the feral dog population which thrives in Sochi.

The Olympics once was a gathering of the greatest athletes to compete and see who was truly the best at running, jumping, throwing, naked oil wrasslin’ with other naked oiled up dudes, and swimming. There was even a time when a black man from Cleveland, Ohio told the Nazis to eat a bag of dicks. Now the Olympics are about getting’ paid bitch. Nothing more, nothing less. It does not matter to the IOC voters if the Olympics is taking place in a city that can reasonably accommodate them, or a city where there aren’t enough manhole covers and the visiting Canadians CAN’T EVEN GET DRUNK ENOUGH IN RUSSIA. What does matter to these human remoras is that they are wearing Jimmy Choo riding boots made of the penis skin of endangered dinosaurs to walk the perimeter of their new villa in Nice, where in the distance of the glittering Mediterranean you can faintly hear what sounds like, but certainly could not be, the wails of buggered hairless Swedish boys. It is The Kardashians concealed beneath a veil of respectability. So kick back and enjoy the splendid grandeur that is Sochi, and get ready for the Summer Olympics 2024 in beautiful Youngstown, Ohio.

 

About Zach

Male homo sapien. Warrior poet. I live in Chicago with one wife, one offspring, and Scout the dog. I enjoy various stuff. Besides skinny skiing and going to bullfights on acid, I also enjoy running, reading, drinking, eating and procrastinating on many things, such as starting this blog. I have a mom, a dad, and a younger brother who recently produced a sister-in-law. I'm the only person in my family, sister-in-law included, who doesn't have a post-graduate degree. I guess that makes me special. I grew up in a small to medium sized town in the middle of Ohio. In fact the even smaller town next door has a sign which reads "The Geographic Center of Ohio". Given this is what they choose to boast you can only imagine how exciting that town is. My town is infinitely cooler. For example on weekend nights people from my town and the surrounding villages and hamlets converge on the public square to "cruise" in their souped-up mini trucks, some bearing Confederate flags, despite growing up and living rather safely north of the Mason-Dixon line. This is high-minded stuff we're talking about here. I graduated sometime during the Clinton presidency from the local high school where I played football and participated in absolutely nothing else. This strategy paid huge dividends when I applied to numerous colleges on the eastern seaboard which were highly selective. When you show up to the admissions table with "HIgh School Football and Nothing Else" on your application, you get respect. After graduating from Ohio University with a degree in Economics that I've used for absolutely nothing, I moved to Boston. Boston is a lovely city. I was doing things I'm not proud of for beer money and I left after 16 months. My next move was to Chicago and 10+ years later there I still reside. I write this blog for therapeutic reasons. Much like some people paint to relax or smoke crack to unwind after a stressful day, I record my thoughts on Al Gore's World Wide Web for 9 friends, 4 family members, 1 person who accidentally clicked through after an unsuccessful Google search for something else, and a guy named Patriot1 who lives in a silver Air Stream in the Nevada desert and broadcasts his own radio show. Is there a point to all of this? I doubt it. Years ago and in a galaxy far, far away (College Park, Maryland, then Athens, Ohio) I was toying with the idea of being a journalism major. I enjoyed writing so it seemed the obvious fit. Then I attended career day and learned that journalism majors could look forward to a salary of $EA,TSH.IT per year with the promise of a fatal heart attack at 47 years of age. I'm not falling for that trick, I told them (them being no one, and told being saying it in my own mind in the shower). Approximately 15 years later here I sit declared the big winner in that battle: I never made any money doing anything else and now I'm writing entirely for free. So suck balls, journalism career day. The views expressed in this website are mine and mine entirely. I don't wish to be an even bigger black eye to my family than I probably already am. As a result of this I will never be able to run for public office and I accept that reality. But this website is a very dignified, well-dressed skeleton full of witty retorts and honorable deeds compared to the disheveled, stenching, staggering and loud skeletons who would come marching out of the closet to White Zombie's "Thunderkiss '65" if they ever unearthed the college years. So enjoy your train ride, your hangover day at work, your AA meeting or your dump. I'm here to serve.
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