Articles Archive for 21 June 2004
In some academic circles, I am considered an expert on early 20th century Russia (and by “some academic circles”, I mean “my apartment”).
Therefore, I know quite a bit about Rasputin, although I admit that’s the first time I’ve seen his penis (that is, that’s the first time I’ve seen it not in a dream).
But did you know that famous French designer Coco Chanel was at one time involved with (and possibly even married to) one of the men that murdered Rasputin, Grand Duke Dmitri Pavlovich? Yeah, swear to god. He and two others killed Rasputin, who was not only well-hung but also a tough mother fucker. The three originally poisoned him and left him in a basement to die. When they checked on him and saw he was alive, they beat him. Later while they were drinking upstairs, Rasputin crashed into the room and made a mad dash to escape. Dmitri and the others chased him down and shot him in the front yard of Yusupov Palace. After that, they took his body and wrapped in a sack and dumped it in the Malaya Nevka River.
When the body was found days later and the autopsy performed, it was discovered that Rasputin died not from the poison, beating, or gun shots, but rather by drowning.
The verdict: bad dude.
Anyway, Dmitri was never formally convicted or indicted for the murder, but his uncle sent him away in shame because all the whisperings that ran throughout the country, which was in for a pretty tough time for the next, oh, about 80+ years.
Dmitri eventually moved to France where he lived the life of a socialite, and before you know it, he was banging Coco Chanel. Some have even gone so far to say that Dmitri “inspired” the famous Chanel #5.
So there you go…a cosmetics empire built by the inspiration of a Russian Grand Duke who murdered Rasputin.
Now don’t ever say that this isn’t educational.
Bitches.
Therefore, I know quite a bit about Rasputin, although I admit that’s the first time I’ve seen his penis (that is, that’s the first time I’ve seen it not in a dream).
But did you know that famous French designer Coco Chanel was at one time involved with (and possibly even married to) one of the men that murdered Rasputin, Grand Duke Dmitri Pavlovich? Yeah, swear to god. He and two others killed Rasputin, who was not only well-hung but also a tough mother fucker. The three originally poisoned him and left him in a basement to die. When they checked on him and saw he was alive, they beat him. Later while they were drinking upstairs, Rasputin crashed into the room and made a mad dash to escape. Dmitri and the others chased him down and shot him in the front yard of Yusupov Palace. After that, they took his body and wrapped in a sack and dumped it in the Malaya Nevka River.
When the body was found days later and the autopsy performed, it was discovered that Rasputin died not from the poison, beating, or gun shots, but rather by drowning.
The verdict: bad dude.
Anyway, Dmitri was never formally convicted or indicted for the murder, but his uncle sent him away in shame because all the whisperings that ran throughout the country, which was in for a pretty tough time for the next, oh, about 80+ years.
Dmitri eventually moved to France where he lived the life of a socialite, and before you know it, he was banging Coco Chanel. Some have even gone so far to say that Dmitri “inspired” the famous Chanel #5.
So there you go…a cosmetics empire built by the inspiration of a Russian Grand Duke who murdered Rasputin.
Now don’t ever say that this isn’t educational.
Bitches.
This looks exactly like mine, but mine is about ten times smaller.
I mean, wow – the resemblance is freaking me out. Seriously – the same coloring and everything. Really weird.
I mean, wow – the resemblance is freaking me out. Seriously – the same coloring and everything. Really weird.
In an amazing show of self-control, I didn’t do anything this weekend. I talked it over with my accountant, and we decided that it would be better to take one for the team (read: bank account) and not spend my usual $300 on Budweiser and Ketel One.
The good thing is that I manage to get tons of sleep when I stay in (bear with me – I know nothing’s funnier than someone talking about how much they sleep). Friday night I went to bed at midnight, woke up at 11am, ate a gigantic breakfast burrito, then napped from 12:30pm until 3pm. Diagnosis: awesome.
But aside from getting sleep, the whole “staying in to save money” thing never works. This is because I’ll wake up refreshed and not hung over in the morning/afternoon, with no sign of pizza on my bedroom floor or half-finished cans of Natty Ice on my bathroom sink, and think, “Since I didn’t go out last night, I should go out and spend some money today.” One hour later, I’m at the guitar store with a banjo in one hand and a mandolin in the other, thinking, “Well, $400 isn’t a big deal. After all, I didn’t spend my usual $200 last night on booze, so that’s like getting a banjo and a mandolin for only $200! What a fucking bargain! I should probably go to Burger King and get a Hershey Sundae Pie to celebrate.”
Also, I have nothing good to say when I get the “how was your weekend?” question from friends, because dropping $50 on different jump ropes that I’ll never use at Modell’s isn’t very exciting.
So since I was a complete loser this weekend, I present a story from my roommate Brian, who went to his home in N. Jersey for the weekend. One important detail: long story short, Brian’s dad always sleep on the couch in the living room, much like I will someday.
The good thing is that I manage to get tons of sleep when I stay in (bear with me – I know nothing’s funnier than someone talking about how much they sleep). Friday night I went to bed at midnight, woke up at 11am, ate a gigantic breakfast burrito, then napped from 12:30pm until 3pm. Diagnosis: awesome.
But aside from getting sleep, the whole “staying in to save money” thing never works. This is because I’ll wake up refreshed and not hung over in the morning/afternoon, with no sign of pizza on my bedroom floor or half-finished cans of Natty Ice on my bathroom sink, and think, “Since I didn’t go out last night, I should go out and spend some money today.” One hour later, I’m at the guitar store with a banjo in one hand and a mandolin in the other, thinking, “Well, $400 isn’t a big deal. After all, I didn’t spend my usual $200 last night on booze, so that’s like getting a banjo and a mandolin for only $200! What a fucking bargain! I should probably go to Burger King and get a Hershey Sundae Pie to celebrate.”
Also, I have nothing good to say when I get the “how was your weekend?” question from friends, because dropping $50 on different jump ropes that I’ll never use at Modell’s isn’t very exciting.
So since I was a complete loser this weekend, I present a story from my roommate Brian, who went to his home in N. Jersey for the weekend. One important detail: long story short, Brian’s dad always sleep on the couch in the living room, much like I will someday.
On Saturday night, we started drinking at like 2 in the afternoon, so, needless to say, at the end of the night I was out of my mind. It didn’t help that I also smoked pot, so I was a complete mess. So my buddy drops me off at my house on Saturday, Father’s Day eve, and it’s like 4:30 in the morning. I stumble up my driveway and finally get to the door, and I’m having a major, major problem getting in. My keys are dangling, and I’m really struggling, poking them at the lock in vain, and I just know that I’m waking my dad up. Finally I get in, and he’s not up – or at least he’s not obviously awake.I can’t wait to have kids someday. Hopefully soon, because that means I’ll have to have sex. Nice.
I make it up to my room, when in my high state of mind, I think one thing: I need some sweets. So I head back downstairs, walking high as a kite through the living room where my dad is sleeping like three feet away, and I’m knocking over chairs and just a fucking mess. When I get to the kitchen, for some reason I decide that instead of turning on the light, I should use a flashlight. So it’s now almost five in the morning, I’m in my kitchen, all fucked up, knocking into things, and now I have a flashlight beaming through the house, while my dad is “asleep” ten feet away – tops. I definitely looked like a fucking burglar, but a really bad one.
I had to pull a chair over to stand on to get deep into the pantry, and I hear, “Brian?” Sure enough, it’s my dad. I’m like, “Yeah?” and he’s like, “What the hell are you doing?” Wasted, I think of my best excuse: “I just wanted to get a Devil Dog.” I hear him say something under his breath like “Jesus Christ”, and go back to sleep.
So Happy fucking Father’s Day, dad. I wake him up at 5 in the morning, probably scaring the shit out of him thinking I’m robbing the house, just because I was fucked up and wanted a fucking Devil Dog. What a great son I’ve become.