Russia is finished! Oblivious was I, blinded by the ephemeral successes in Artsakh and Astana. In truth, Russia never existed after 1982. What hid in its place was a mere shell, a laughing skull, its essence long devoured. And better understand I now the monstrosity of the nest of Christendom, its wings of shadow spreading ever farther. The Dark Lord is poised to strike!
…All Checharian hope has been put into the chink in the armour – the downfall of the American economy. How will it happen now? Are they insane to believe Christendom to crack swifter than Russia? Russia is a vial – and soon, it will be drunk. This potion will revitilise the unholy innards of the demon – the machine of pollution will pluck another decade for itself out of the extinct bear’s carcass. They say the Russians can withhold their riches? What if the Occident comes and takes them by force?
What can be ascertained for certain? That Russia has not completed a single step conducive to it victory. That every action undertaken has been to sap whatever strength the parasite’s host had left. That with every wasted Russian missile, with every death of a seasoned Russian soldier, the end of this husk is drawing near.
This is what the death of the Oriental wing of the Aryan race looks like! Devoid of thought, bereft of sovereignty, put on the platter for Satan to consume. The feeble-minded are wary of the cadaver; the far-sighted are anticipating the body-snatcher hatch.
And after the fiery shadows thunder across Heartland, the weights will wait for the Mongoloids’ worth.