See the corresponding chart...
This was it: site of the Eastern Front, the unchallenged Superbowl of European ethno-violence, where the big boys had it out not once, but twice, to see whether the concentration camps of the future would be decorated in black or red. Yessir: from the long hot summer of 1914 to the Spring of '45, the trains rolled across these endless plains, carrying the crosscurrents of a thousand village feuds with them. The big question mark here was what would happen when the Soviet oppressors repressed Easties' natural longing to kill their neighbors -- or at least poison their dog while nobody was watching.
Welp, when the Evil Empire was rolled back, and its repressive peace overthrown, it turned out that the Easties' deep genetic hatreds had survived intact! One of the first dividends of the new era of freedom was the sight of ordinary folks from Bratislava to Gdansk expressing themselves, demanding the renewal of ancient, revered blood-feuds. Viewers thrilled to hear minor tax disputes enlivened by old village war-cries like, "These Slovaks are drinking our blood!" or "Where a Ukrainian has passed, not even a Yid can find a crumb!"
Today ethnic hatred flourishes on the air, in the streets and along all the complicated borders of this colorful old madhouse we know as "the Big, Bad East."
See the corresponding chart...
"Have village, will burn." That's the ancient motto of the Balkans, where old habits die hard, and so do neighboring ethnic groups.
While the actual tally of dead in the innumerable Balkan wars pales in comparison to the rest of Europe, the per capita slaughter is unparalleled. The Serbs, for example, lost a quarter of their population in both world wars. The sheer savagery of the massacres, which tend to be "hand-made" rather than "factory-made" as in the rest of Europe, charm and delight with their primeval European authenticity.
Thanks to the Balkans, the rest of Europe feels itself to be pretty damned civilized, no matter how many tens of millions it's slaughtered.
The Balkan people, on the other hand, can take pride in the fact that they're the last Europeans to put their Kalashnikovs where their mouths are. While the rest of Europe's hatreds rarely result in anything more than drunken shouting matches, the Balkans still kill, rape and burn each other's villages every time a "lazy, stupid Bosnian" or a "thieving Albanina monkey" dares to accuse a Slav of being a "bloodthirsty Neanderthal." The only thing that has ever worked in the Balkans is stationing outside forces -- once the Turks, today NATO. But that's like putting a band-aid on a severed artery.
With conflicts still smoldering in Macedonia, Albania and Southern Serbia, we're willing to bet that there'll be village bonfires a-burnin in the Balkans until extermination do them part.
The Evolution of the Eurofag
It's easy to recoil in disgust at the sight of Eurofags (EF's) drifting like discarded restaurant coupons through the streets of once-great cities. But like the vulture and the liver fluke, the Eurofag has a place in Nature's great scheme. As a wise philosophe once said, "To understand is to forgive, within reason."
The next time you see a EF wavering along, remember that his strange habits and markings are only an attempt to mimic the vanished European upper class. Above all it is the slow, bored gait of the EF which ape the motions of the lost aristocracy. Aristocrats could afford to dawdle; peasants spurred by starvation and the knout, moved at a shambling trot. Thus the EF moves like a sloth through molasses and does his best to hide all emotions except a faked ennui -- unless the topic of beer and the merits of various national brands comes up, in whichcase the proletarian gene-base of the EF can become startlingly, even dangerously, clear. Observers are advised to leave the area if EF males begin discussing beer.