My name is Alexei Korovin. I live in Russia, the country in which I was born. I am a product of the once-proud city of Leningrad, which my joke of a government tries to tell me is now called “Saint Petersburg”. I have seen many things in my lifetime. I have seen a butterfly land on a baby’s forehead. I have seen my father die. I have walked in on my grown son pleasuring himself to pictures of naked men. But the most horrible thing I have ever witnessed in my lifetime was seeing the fall of communism and the dissolution of the Soviet Union.
“But what is this?” you say. “Are you not happy to live in a free and democratic land?” No, stupid Americans, I am not.
Only very recently has it gotten to the point where the Russian people are beginning to claw themselves out of abject poverty and corruption. Not that any of you would notice, since you are too busy killing brown people and worrying about icebergs and determining whether you can dance. But I am getting away from my larger point: We need communism again.
Of course it could never happen now. Our bloated leaders and organized crime lords have suckled the sweet teat of capitalism and would never allow a return to a solidified Soviet state, even if it would mean raising the standard of living across the board. Shortly after the Berlin Wall fell, our glorious nation was reduced to a shambles. Food shortages, rampant homelessness, everyone dressing like Charlie Chaplin hobos.
I do not blame Gorbachev for the dissolution of the might Soviet Union. I do not blame the ridiculous outpouring of American sympathy in the 1980s in films like “Russkies” and “Moscow On the Hudson” and television specials like “Kermit Sees the Kremlin” and “Mickey visits the Godless Russian wasteland”. My hatred and resentment is reserved entirely for one individual. What follows is a look at this insidious man and his manifesto.
I have never hated anyone or anything as much as I hate this grinning embodiment of everything that has ruined my homeland. At night when I toss and turn on my cot I see his devil’s grin and those cold, grey eyes taunting me. “Come join us in our embracing democracy,” he hisses through his terrifyingly straight teeth. I wake with a start and curse his name.
Oh yes, his name. I have it on good authority that this “Yakov Smirnoff”, this so-called “Russian” is in actuality a Ukrainian by the name of Yakov Naumovich Pokhis. A Ukrainian is about as Russian as a matryoshka doll is fun. Also he is a Jew.
POINT ONE: YAKOV SMIRNOFF IS A LIAR
The duplicitous and deceitful nature of Mister “Smirnoff” can be observed simply by flipping over this six-dollar paperback and taking a look at the rear cover.
Yes this all looks terribly straightforward. Just a typical Russian surfboarding to America while carrying his luggage, wearing a fur hat and a shirt emblazoned with his catchphrase. Do not believe this doctored photograph, friends. Although his feet and legs appear to be wet, I have consulted the internet and I do not believe it is possible to heft a suitcase of that size while “shooting the curl”.
Although this son of a bitch has managed to pull the wool over the eyes of all of America for the past thirty years and generated disastrous goodwill between the US and USSR, he is not to be believed, trusted, or supported. I have created a “tee-shirt” that I have been selling to friends and colleagues in order to help raise awareness and create solidarity among those of us who long for a better time:
I am hoping to have a Cafepress store up soon so keep an eye out for that.
Okay, moving on to the book itself. This is nothing but pure propaganda, schlocky jokes at the expense of honest, hardworking Communists who had no idea that half a world away this traitorous beardo was chipping away at their way of life.
But let us move on to the book proper, such as it is.
Awp! Things are fishy right off the bat, as this image lies just beyond the title page:
Oh so the great Yakov Smirnoff needed the assistance of two other beardos in order to write this book? Hmm, so you’re saying that this book was the work of a collective? I don’t know how they do things in the Ukraine, my friend, but around here, we call that “Communism”.
This is the type of prose that apparently takes three Russian-haters to create:
“After taking the oath, I looked around at the smiling faces of all the immigrants near me, and only one thought came to mind: “I hate those goddamn foreigners who come over here and take our jobs!” I’m kidding, of course. Actually, my first thoughts were about how my life would change now that I was an American. Would I lose my accent? I hoped not, because then I wouldn’t qualify to manage a 7-Eleven store or win the California Lottery.”
And then it goes on exactly like that for 124 pages. Practically every chapter ends with the words “America. What a country!” The phrase “what a country” appears no less than three times in each chapter. This asshole has less material than the baby on the first season of Full House. His catchphrase should instead be “What a cunt!” because he is a cunt.
POINT TWO: YAKOV SMIRNOFF IS NOT FUNNY
Each “chapter”, such as it is, begins with a “humorous” picture and caption. In order to get an idea of the scope of my hatred, I feel it is important to share these with you. Attempt to not smash your own face through your computer screen in frustration. I know it will be difficult.
Okay, this first one is not so bad. This hackneyed joke serves the purpose of setting up Russians/Soviets as being dullards who cannot distinguish between a cheap piece of memorabilia and a massive statue in the Atlantic Ocean weighing several hundred tons. Yakov’s characterization of the Russian people is racism in its purest form. It is like an updated version of blackface. “Beardface.”
Each chapter has a title and an alternate, “cutesy” title, like an episode of your popular cartoon “Rocky and Bullwinkle” (another instance of Soviet hatred).
Many of these alternate titles are terrible puns on song titles that were popular in 1987, when this book was written. Also apparently popular at the time was homophobia.
“When someone told me that the last ferry was leaving, I said, “Good, let him go.” I missed the boat, then realized I had no way to get off the island. I suddenly knew how Gilligan must have felt.”
Oh really, Mister Yakov? Did Gilligan feel like a bigot? BECAUSE THAT IS WHAT YOU ARE.
I AM OBSERVING WHAT HAS TRANSPIRED IN THIS INSTANCE
The second chapter is about finding a place to live, and the hilarious misunderstandings that we Russians experience when encountered with such radical concepts as “one and a half bathrooms”. Oh you are so funny, Mister Yakov. Well you are not the only one who can make jokes. Here are a couple that I have written just off the top of my head:
Man on street: Why did the chicken cross the road?
Myself: To get away from the crippling effects of capitalism on a country that is ill-suited and ill-prepared to be clutched to is suffocating bosom.
Man in doctor’s office: Doctor who was that lady I saw you with last night?
Myself: Democracy is shit.
POINT THREE: YAKOV SMIRNOFF IS AN IDIOT
In this photograph we see Mister Dimwit displaying appropriate dress attire for single men at the time. A brief glance through your “MySpace” shows me that there is a certain type of young American who will still wear their shirt collars like this in public, intentionally. From this I can only conclude one thing.
POINT FOUR: YAKOV SMIRNOFF IS A DOUCHEBAG
LOOK OUT AMERICAN BUTCHER’S STORE IT IS SADDAM HUSSEIN
This chapter is on dating and features a lot of hatred towards our beautiful Russian women. All of the standards stereotypes are represented: our women have beards, our women are fat, our women are cruel. OH SO SORRY OUR BEARDED GIANTESSES ARE NOT UP TO YOUR STANDARDS YOU SWARTHY CARDIGAN-WEARER.
POINT FIVE: YAKOV SMIRNOFF IS A MISOGYNIST
LOOK OUT AMERICAN PIGEONS IT IS CHE GUEVARA
Honestly, if you know what “Pidgin English” is, you know enough to not have to make this joke. I am once again forced to make an assumption about this intrepid author.
POINT SIX: YAKOV SMIRNOFF IS RETARDED
Hey.
Hey Yakov.
Fuck you.
This is the most accurate picture in the entire book, because as previously mentioned, Yakov Smirnoff is full of douche.
What the fuck.
We are halfway through the book and we have already established that a Russian circa 1987 is foolish enough to believe that an aluminum can with the letters “Dr” printed on the side could diagnose a rotator cuff injury. Thanks for all your groundbreaking work in international diplomacy, Mister Yakov. PERHAPS YOU WILL BE KNIGHTED BY THE BURGER KING
LOOK OUT AMERICAN WOMEN IT IS A DATE RAPIST
Oh good, this book did not even have a sizeable enough budget to make the picture match the caption. Not even the loosest definition would consider a handheld Casio keyboard to be an organ. Well I am sure that his hilarious observations about hospitals in this chapter will
are you fucking kidding me
Allow me to pause in order to rub my temples in exasperation. The chapter with the picture where he is comparing a frankfurter to a penis (ho ho, THAT has never been done before Mister Yakov. OH YOU ARE SO CLEVER) is about food. The picture with him buying a cartload of pads for his bleeding vagina is for a chapter about products and consumerism. Suddenly he is holding a keyboard outside of a hospital and the chapter is about our driver’s license? What is wrong, Mister Yakov? Was the Department of Motor Vehicles too difficult a target to make a visual joke about? Even young Corey Haim and Corey Feldman managed to accomplish such a feat. Here, I will help you out and stage an appropriate picture for you:
[Scene: Yakov Smirnoff standing in a very long line. A sign above his head reads “American Department of Motor Vehicles”.]
Yakov Smirnoff: This circus has some decent lines, but I can’t wait to see the tigers!
Hm. That’s interesting. I wonder what this chapter will be about. The snow, perhaps? Semen? Or have they run out of budget altogether?
=-O
>:o
:-(
Well, fuck you too, you traitorous swine.
Oh good a Russian roulette joke. Say, Mister Yakov, in Soviet Russia does roulette play YOU? Too bad it did not, if you see my meaning behind that statement.
I guess I would be remiss if I did not talk a bit about “Russian Reversal”. Yakov Smirnoff pioneered a type of “comedy” poking fun at certain things in America that are the opposite of things in “Soviet Russia”. For example, in America your money says “In God We Trust”. In Soviet Russia, we have no money!
Well at least democracy has brought us reruns of King of the Hill, if nothing else.
If one of those cars had just hit him my life would be so much simpler. I hope you are all beginning to understand that THIS is the reason why the Soviet Union fell. This “Jack-Off” Smirnoff (ha ha, Mister Yakov, who is the clever one now?) lulled the Americans into a false sense of security, reducing the Russian people to nothing more than a glorified minstrel show. He became a shucking and jiving stereotype of a well-meaning, idiotic simpleton. Do you not see the damage that was done?
Oh, never mind, it is no use talking to you, you will never understand. Let us just see what is happening in this chapter about music.
Oh, now what the hell. That is barely even a pun. What in God’s name does that have to do with music? Is Douchebag Douchenoff insulting the Russian people yet again by implying that we are nothing but warmongers always thinking of causing harm and destruction? Why would he ridicule his own people so mercilessly, making us something to be laughed at rather than feared?
Wait, I did not mean “feared”. What I meant was…
My God, is that how you Americans saw us? Is that how things were during the Cold War? Were we the looming threat in the night? Were we the savages on the other side of the globe who might strike at any time? I know that we were certainly fearful of all of you, but we were just trying to live our lives and…
Perhaps Mister Yakov was right to take the edge off of us just a bit. Perhaps there was a larger plan behind his horribly cheap shtick. Maybe his comedy wasn’t horrible enough to destroy an entire nation. I can’t believe I would ever hear myself say this, but maybe Yakov Smirnoff does not deserve the animosity that I
FUCK YOU YOU GOD DAMNED TRAITOR I HATE YOU WITH EVERY OUNCE OF MY BEING