It's a new year, and I'm beset with the same old Moscow problems: diarrhea and a sore penis. Readers of this column may have hoped that in a post-9/11 world, I might find a little range, break out of the old twin topics of bad sex and diarrhea in Moscow. Sorry folks, it ain't gonna happen.
I got the sour stomach, I tell myself, because the body needs to adjust to the Russian water supply's microbes. After eight months in Kentucky, my intestinal walls were crawling with Appalachian bacterium. Those Kentucky bacterium are mean rednecks, xenophobes to their core. Once the first Russian paramecia jelloed their way down my intestinal tract, every redneck microbe had his Remington cocked and ready. The firefight was bloody. You could hear the roar in my stomach. Hence, the diarrhea.
Then there was my "date" with Anna last Friday night. We'd met a month earlier at the vomit-and-whisky-drenched opening party at Real McCoy (one of the few great things to happen to Moscow's nightlife in the past year). I remembered Anna being very blond and fair-skinned, young and svelte. But I was blind drunk that night, behaving like a furloughed Uzbek on ketamine. I only managed to give her my telephone number, but no disease.
We spoke by phone a couple of times. The conversations were of the slut-courting variety, with the usual bragging about white countries she's visited.
Anna: I've been to Italy four times, I've been to London twice...
TRANSLATION: I'm not really a Third World barbarian.
Me: Really? Wow.
TRANSLATION: You're a Third World barbarian. Anna: ...I've been to Cyprus, Malta. I love Cyprus.
TRANSLATION: Those are the only countries west of Ukraine that will still give me a visa.
Me: Yeah, Cyprus is great.
TRANSLATION: How much money will I have to drop before I screw her...
Anna: And for New Year's, I'm going to Egypt.
Me: Be careful, Arab men love blond girls.
Anna: I know. I can't stand Arabs. Or Africans.
Anna: They smell awful.
Since I am part Moroccan (that part being my body odor and ass hair), this was bad news for me.
Me: How do you know Africans smell?
Anna: When they dance near me I can smell them, it's just awful.
Note to self: Don't dance with Anna.
Then I got annoyed, thinking, who the hell is a Russian, of all races, to badmouth how other people smell?!
I moved the subject to a neutral target, away from my ancestors.
Me: What about Asian men? Do they smell?
Anna: Phoo! Asian men, I would never even think being with one.
Anna: They all look like little monkeys.
This anti-Asian prejudice, so common among Russian girls, makes even less sense than the African odor prejudice, since real Europeans, even Pollacks, consider Russians to be Asians, while Asia's Mongols, during the two centuries or so that they ruled Russia, viewed Russians as nothing but feisty holes to stuff their cocks into.
Prejudice on the Eurasian continent always travels eastward, like the jet stream. I remember being shocked by that the first time I went to Poland in 1991. The friends I made in Warsaw were horrified that I wanted to travel to the then-Soviet Union, that I was a Russophile. "Russians aren't European," they told me. "They're Asians, barbarians. They're not like us, like Poles or Germans." Of course, Germans considered Poles to be sub-human apes and couldn't understand why anyone would want to go to Poland without a helmet and uniform on... And really, can you blame the Germans?
It's the old ghetto pecking order: no solidarity whatsoever. In truth, the real First World prejudice order works like this: Americans think that everyone else smells. That's it. Even as a child I remember hearing about how awful French people supposedly smelled, and that kept my interest in Europe at bay until my 20s, when it dawned on me that I smelled too, and that smelly foreigners might be easier to lay.