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Greatings, comrades, and welcome to the eastern border.

You see, a lot of people like to talk about a psychologically important mark in this rotten,

fucked-up world of ours. Usually it's the price of a battle of oil, or that twitchy

over-c caffeinated, maybe sometimes even drugged up, or who am I kidding, always cocaineed-up

Nasdaq Index, a pure clean number that triggers the lizard brain on Wall Street.

But out there in the mud and the manic glare on the front, it's a whole different kind of number that triggers the lizard brain on Wall Street. But out there in the mud and the manic glare on the front,

it's a whole different kind of number that makes the spine shiver.

And, well, for weeks now, I've been waiting through the digital swamp of the Zed channels,

a cesspool of raw screaming video and texts that angers me more than usual lately

about this whole subject. Where will

they finally break? And currently, you know, we see the consequences of the meat assaults, those

utterly depraved soulless rushes across the battlefield that chews up men and spits out

soulless fragments of them. You've all seen the videos, haven't you? The endless loop of an armored column turning

into a spectacular bonfire, short of some goddamn village called Malat Tochmacha, a place with maybe

a hundred people now a charnel house in the Russian military, which the Russian army has been

hammering out for months. And then you get to the truly inhinged footage.

The neo-Nazis of the Desherga Roussich, yeah. Those scumbags, they toss up a clip filmed in a forest. It's not a film, really. It's more of a ledger of the dead. A Russian grunt walking,

and for every step he takes, there are one, maybe two corpses, sometimes three, an absolute pile of human wreckage.

...