Soviet Era Heavy Khemikles:2

October 3, 2008

For your first time:

     Over a breakfast of Siolo munching Snickers, me spazing out over bananas, Qx/Ds eating a strange meat combo, and the nuclear physicists laughing at us all, we collectively decided several things:  Ds/Qx would die cuddling in the Gobi, (Siolo wants the pictures, I want the cams), our hostel beds were stolen from an orphanage, tight red shorts must only be worn by attractive females, and the drinking of tap water straight from the faucet was not a good life choice that would most likely result in the Big D.  With these stunning revelations taken care of and thoroughly discussed we chose, as a nice warm up for the day, the abandoned structure across the street.  Meeting up with the Kiev Crew we gave it an hour in the abandoned hotel/apartment/office building, which was mostly unremarkable, except that it had a small bit of everything: pealing paint (for the noobs), graffiti  (for the artistically angst), fully furnished studio (for the 5 finger discount) and overflowing toilets (for those who need to feel hard core).  Concluding that this place was just too good to keep for ourselves, Qx/Ds were kind enough to share the goodness with the sexually/fashion confused proprietor of out hostel convincing him that chicks really dig hobo squats and dead pigeons.  Whatever they said worked and within 24 hours the confused youngster was clambering around in piles/puddles of stale crap/urine with a girl he’d only just recently met; laughing gleefully at the corrupting of yet another innocent, Ds/Qx, felt their evil deed for the week had been done and retreated, for the moment, into arguing with Siolo about the finer points of things NSFW.

 

Soviet Era Heavy Khemikle Plants

    With the promise of all sorts of drainage/outfall wetness/RCP/Diggers shenanigans once night fell, Siolo agreed to decaying topside fun and after several dodgy street crossings, a trip though the lovely Kiev metro and walking though a sadly decrepit bazaar of faucet products, faux Armani jeans and mysterious belt buckles, we arrived at a vast expanse of awfully gray, awfully ugly structures.  This was acres of industrial at its apocalyptic best, served raw, and bleak with a side of scruffy, crusty scrappers, and roaming dogs the size of small horses. Dodging cussing men, thugs in tinted window cars, and downtrodden workers  (who lounged outside gypsies wagons in Speedo style boxers) we made it through five or six factories, breathing in the leftovers of abandoned labs, khemikle mixers and experiments gone bad.  We saw it all, labs for producing a mutant form of humans, hulking machines for ripping, turbines to brew all sorts of nasssty soviet substances; it was the debris of a clash between humans, khemikles, money and ideals; debris that was beautiful in its mostly washed out hues of blue, grey, yellow and red. (If you ignored the smell, there was nothing beautiful about the smell)  Mid way through our posh VIP tour, we stumbled into a warehouse containing an entire armies worth of gas masks bursting out of stacked crates sitting in the middle of a powdery blue/green mess.  Tossing out any concern of death by powdery blue/green mystery substance, we did our best to stir up clouds of colorful dust while posing for pictures in equally dusty gas masks.  When the dust settled, everyone was 10 points more elite, and could now brag they’d run with the big dawgs and infiltrated the gas mask breading ground; somehow one of these masks jumped into my possession.  (Soviet Era Gas Masks: a bold way to yell IM F@*KING HARDCORE UBERELITE! Pick yours up now before the posers swipe em out from under your blue stained khemikle fingers.)

 

Learn the meaning of ‘Collector’ grasshopper; it’ll get you far in life:

         Tired from rotting our lungs the best we could on khimkiles, we took a few hours rest in the fire hazard hostel, carefully trying to not fall through rickety wooden bed slats that apparently were made to only hold130lbs and were approximately 5 inches too short for Siolo who had to assume the fetal position every night as he climbed…into the top bunk. (This is an elite maneuver that really only Siolo can execute with precision)

Fueled up on a few nasty energy drinks, and maybe a hit (or several) of vodka, we found ourselves in the outfall of one of the most popular drains in Kiev (at least according to the Diggers) with a dozen or so of drain/RCP/outfall/drop shaft/overflow/rickety ladder  loving individuals, AKA ‘Diggers’.  Siolo took one look at the crowd of slightly damp, slightly scruffy and mostly stylish Diggers and knew he was home; with mad abandon he talked ‘drains/cars/b00bies ‘in rapid succession, drawing, along with more vodka hits, a crowd of cheering/laughing friends who taught him that the proper word for Drain is ‘Collector!’ and Sewer is ‘Fecal Collector!”  At some point in the night, sitting on the outfall, Ds/Qx and I gave up, Siolo, bourn on the wings of fire water, outtalked, out BS’ed and out sang us by a good 2 hours and made more friends than any Aussie ever has (or ever will) in one night in the Ukraine.  Eventually we left, to cries of ‘COLLECTOR!’ (which had become, due to libations, the unifying cry for drain lovers across the world…or something like that), and wearily made our way back to the fire hazard hostel, where we appropriately pissed off the owner by our late 12 am arrival.

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7 Responses to “Soviet Era Heavy Khemikles:2”

  1. Brian said

    Damn. So I take it you’re having fun?

  2. mcmacdonald said

    yea, was having a blast, now its different sorts of fun bak in the AZ :-/

    what was the stir about the RNC? and that guy
    i tried the pile of crap known as UER but couldnt find anything worth the 20 min it took to load the page…

  3. Brian said

    I didn’t hear anything about the RNC really, I stayed away from MSP while that whole thing was going on. The city of Pig’s Eye has been welding manholes shut, etc., that’s about all I heard.

  4. Mike said

    Nothin’ much happened during the RNC, other than some guy from out of town trying to blow up something that starts with an “L” (and failing, natch), and Warchyld being outed as a long-term (3 years, at least) FBI informant. Some manholes got welded, and others got epoxied; the bomber got caught, War got mocked and made fun of; it was all mostly good.

    (By the way, can you let Siolo know he is or will soon be on the front cover of a magazine in the UK? (In a Trout Brook pic I took when he was in town once. As an itty-bitty silhouette, lol.) Oh, and he’s in a textbook somewhere, too. (also in Trout Brook, albeit in a different photo, and also in “silo”, as they say, appropriately enough.) If I ever find out what the magazine is, I’ll let you/him know. And, if you ever spot a photo of Siolo in Trout Brook anywhere, let me know…)

  5. S/// said

    khemikles! fuckin classic!

  6. mcmacdonald said

    Humm, now this i want to see, siolo in a mag!
    whats the name? a text book? WTF? “Drains/b00bs/Cars-Analysis and Research” 8-p i found a small bit in mens health about dsankt. ha ha give him shit for that!

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