Mañana Republic

THE OTHER DAY I wrote about a Finnish journalist, Jussi Konttinen, calling him a Russophile. It's just about the worst thing you can say about a Finn, and I'm happy to say it again. This time, I have something to back it up with. Earlier, I'd read only one article by Konttinen: an FSB-enhanced propaganda bash about the Operation Storm, in which Croatia took the Krajina from the Serbs, and the subsequent trial of Ante Gotovina, who was in charge of said operation. Gotovina was acquitted at the Appeals Court of the International Criminal Tribunal for the former Yugoslavia (ICTY), and Konttinen couldn't live with that. The Serbs had suffered so much! Already! Enough, he said. It had to stop.

True to his Zombie Marxist* ideology, Konttinen didn't wait for an unprecedented attack of creativity, as he went looking for the culprit. The Croats couldn't have achieved the acquittal by themselves. This had nothing to do with facts. You had to lay the blame on somebody bigger to preserve at least a shred of credibility... somebody a lot bigger than the four-million strong Croatia.

So, the United States had corrupted the ICTY, Konttinen wrote, extorting witnesses and bullying prosecutors and judges and just about everybody who had anything to do with the Gotovina trial.

Why, of course, Jussi. That wasn't enough, anyhow. Faithful to the Serb spirit he celebrates so vehemently, Konttinen launched another attack against the Croats just a week later. He writes for the Sunday edition, so he can't do this every day, as much as he wished.

Now the deputy chief of Croatia's Military Intelligence Agency had ordered his subordinates to spread dirt about the prosecution witnesses for the Gotovina case - all 113 [sic] of them, we were informed - the former Presidential candidate of Finland, Elisabeth Rehn, included!

We were, of course, dumbfounded as a nation. Elisabeth Rehn was the pride of Finland, the embodiment of a Swedish-style pathology, where every person and every nation is always equal, in war and peace, in innocence and in guilt. To stray from this trodden path was a gateway drug: at the end of that road lay a shotgun-toting beer-guzzling redneck from Texas or someplace, a member of the NRA, in short, an American. And, Herregud, we didn't want to wind up like THAT.

What caught my attention, however, in the midst of this superpower-sponsored conspiracy, was the fact that my outrageously irresponsible fabrication, that Slav Lover stamp on Jussi Konttinen's forehead, proved to be... like, accurate.

As my good friend and esteemed colleague S. Laurila has said:

Konttinen hates the Croats' guts, and worships the Russki... the Serbs as well, as a byproduct of that Slav fetish he has.

No. It can't be as simple as that.

Actually, it can. Read the latest effort by Konttinen, in which four pages of the Sunday edition of Helsingin Sanomat are trashed to shamelessly drool over Roman Rotenberg, a very rich Russian. And why? I'll be fucked if I know! Because Rotenberg bought a sports arena? Because Konttinen is gay?

No, sorry. That was uncalled for. My deepest apologies to all the LGBT people out there.

And the say the newspapers have fewer and fewer pages these days, because....

Let's just stop now, before I say something I'll regret. Lest I reveal that the Croats are Slavs, too. I suppose they wouldn't have much appreciation for Jussi's loving any more.


Being cock-happy** with the Slavs is no laughin' matter.

I want to make myself absolutely clear on this:
Nothing wrong in having the hots for Russian guys.
Masquerading that as journalism, there is.

Maybe I'm being harsh here. It must be hard to work your way up in the Putin Youth Network. They must have BOOT CAMPS.... Who knows what you have to do to become a member of the Nashi Press Corps? Konttinen does, but he won't tell.

His writings, then again, speak volumes about it, the cost of a little Nashi hazing to your brain and to your soul. They go bananas. You become a banana republic of one.

There's no known recovery for that yet. Scientist are working around the clock on five continents to find one. I don't think they will, in another 1 000 years or so. But, hey, we can always pray.

Mañana, maybe... Or, as the Muppets say it, "Mana Mana." Which was a Finnish Doom/Gloom band, but that's another story, and the singer killed himself.

Let's think some happy thoughts for a while, shall we?

"One question is..."

"One question, 'Who cares?'"  

"Oh. Okay."

"Maybe he'll buy our paper too, if you suck his set of pears some more!" 

"All right."

"Let's do it! You, I said, 'You.'"

[Man, I could write scenes like this all night, but it wouldn't be Good for me. So, buenas noches, everybody!]

Epiphany #1: The Sun and Srđ

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*) I wrote a book about Zombie Marxism. You can buy it the cheapest here.

**) Found the word "cock-happy" on a delightful site, here.

HVALA VANCE OVEN:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QNXtr7NwAio