I found something that is supposed to be a mixture of urban legends and Soviet Russia jokes.
I check into small hotel a few kilometers from Kiev. It is late. I am tired. I tell woman at desk I want a room. She tells me room number and give key. "But one more thing comrade; there is one room without number and always lock. Don't even peek in there." I take key and go to room to sleep.
Night comes and I hear trickling of water. It comes from the room across. I cannot sleep so I open door. It is coming from room with no number. I pound on door. No response. I look in keyhole. I see nothing except red.
Water still trickling. I go down to front desk to complain. "By the way who is in that room?" She look at me and begin to tell story.
There was woman in there. Murdered by her husband. Skin all white, except her eyes, which were red.
I tell her I don't give a crap. Stop the water trickling or give me refund. She gave me 100 ruble credit and free breakfast.
Such is life in Moscow
Mother and father got a little tired from building Communism, so they want to go to Moscow to buy vodka. They call their most trusted babysitter. When the babysitter arrives, children already sleep in beds. Babysitter just sits around and make sure everything good with children. Later that night, babysitter gets bored and goes to read Marx, but she can't read it downstairs because there's no electricity (the parents didn't want children reading Marx all night long).
So, she calls them and asks if she can get candles to read Marx in their room. Of course, the parents say it's okay, but the babysitter has one final request... she asked if she could cover up the Lenin statue outside the bedroom window with a blanket or cloth, because it maeks her nervous.
The phone line is silent for a moment, and the father who says, "Take the children and get out of the house... we will call milita. We do not have an Lenin statue."
The militia found all three of the house occupants dead because KGB killed them for trying to cover Lenin's statue. And militia arrested parents for not having a Lenin statue.
Such is life in Moscow.
You are home to watch Pravda on televisir about degenerate murderer who is on the loose. You look out the window door to beet field, and you notice Man standing in the snow. He look like foto on televisir and he smile at you. You gulp vodka, picking up fone to your right and dialing Local Militia Precinct Commissar. Back out the glass you look, pressing fone to ear. Notice he now closer to you. You drop vodka in shock.
No footprints in snow. It was reflection. You dullard!
Your apartment is bulldozed down to make way for glorious tractor factory.
Walking home one night, you notice all the candles in personal shack are lit.
You finish vodka bottle as you approach your door.
House is empty, and you made sure not to feed guard dog, but candles still go out.
You check your pocket watch, small hand on 4, big hand on 1. You relise you'll be late for unpaid community service.
At service, you find letter on floor. It's signed to you, from you. You open the letter, confused.
Inside reads "the out for watch watch"
You look at pocket watch. big hand on 4, little hand on one. You look at note again, it appears the 4th and 1st words have swapped places.
"Watch out for the watch."
You look at pocket watch again.
You realise watch is broken, and decide you must get it fixed. You also decide to cut back on vodka, so as to not send letters to yourself anymore.
Such is life in mother Russia.
I can get more later.
