The Fat Boy from Tbilisi! Chapter 2 - Friday Morning fiction

Second chapter of the story.
Audio at the bottom.

First Chapter
https://steemit.com/writing/@ralph.clayton/the-fat-boy-from-tbilisi-chapter-1-thursday-fiction

Chapter {2}
{Nobody Parties Like in The USSR}

This is my dream, psychedelic daydreaming like nowhere else. My disturbed and troubled mind needs some kind of peace, a place to rest. A place to sleep and enjoy life. Perhaps not…
I see a valley, I see the forest.
I see myself in an illusion.
There is a vast green meadow, surrounded by trees deep inside an enchanted birch forest. Ghostly and spooky white trees, stand tall and shiver with the harsh cold wind. Heavy rain pours down the wooden trunks as if the trees were weeping for autumn’s sake. The wind howls and cries, the chilling frost is coming.
The hollow voice says, find me.
Is this my conscience? Or just my imagination.
It’s both at the same time.
A huge landmass, full of wilderness and the beautiful unknown. This is the massive Russian countryside, where hungry bears can eat you if you don’t watch your back. The endless birch forest goes as far as the eye can see.
Loving, embracing and unforgiving true wilderness.
This is the place where I was born.
Mother Russia.
This is the land of infinite possibilities, where your dreams might just come true. Only if you’ve got the guts to forcefully grab destiny, with your own bare hands. Now it’s the time, with murderous intent to choke destiny into submission.
I’m just like him… The Fat Jew.
I have a dream and I’ll forcefully take it with my own two hands. I will fiercely choke destiny until it stops breathing. I will have to do what I must, in order to become something else.
Something new and unique.
In the Motherland, just like him.
Russia, this is the place where Abram Malinovsky made himself a king, The Fat Jew from Tbilisi. That Khachapuri eating Fatso created himself out of nothing.
He’s now a king, always ready to rule his kingdom high above in his castle. His empire was built from opportunistic backstabbing situations, and a lot of bribes. There is a very old saying here, that’s eternally true.
“There is nothing money can’t buy.”
This is the definition of this country in six words, everything has a price tag on it. Right now Mr. Abram is the richest man in the country, and among the top ten in the world. All that dirty oil sure keeps pouring out of Siberia like there’s no tomorrow.
Endless greedy wonderland.
Whoever said “Peak Oil” is real, has definitely not visited in person, the vast oilfields deep inside the Siberian Taiga. It’s an awe striking view of hundreds of oil wells being drilled. That dirty black gold, squirting out the ground, like mother’s milk gushing out of Siberia’s nipples.
Dirty business is just his thing. That greedy Fatso.
It’s quite amusing and ironic that he pretends to be a saint in public. In reality he’s dirty as a street hooker that’s been on crack for ages. His life, it’s all a big deceitful lie.
Nothing but a charade, an illusion of grandeur.
The Fatso’s huge industrial empire, consists mostly of oil and gas companies that operate in different regions of the country. Mostly Siberia and the far-east, where the land is almost lawless.
A free-for-all buffet that gets you all money can buy.
These companies literally rape and pillage the land for its resources. Wherever this company starts operating, ecological collapse and destruction in the area soon follows. It even seems that everything is done on purpose, with absolute intent to destroy.
To plunder for the sake of plundering.
Maybe it’s a business strategy? To destroy the competitors along with everything else around it. Like a nuclear explosion obliterating anything in its path. It seems that he could easily get a job in the Foreign Ministry of Defense. He’s got the attitude and the right state of mind.
Who knows, it’s all up for debate.
The headquarters of this evil and dirty company are based in the capital, Moscow city. Fairly recently, Abram decided to buy a skyscraper that has 111 floors. It’s located right next to the Mercury Tower, the tallest building in Europe.
Delusional megalomaniacs and their wet dreams.
It’s absolutely disgusting.
What’s next, is he going to buy himself an island? All that filthy money obtained from oil and gas exports, sure is being used in the right way. It doesn’t matter how much someone tries to bleach shit out of dirty shoes, it will never come off. Dirty money is always dirty money.
Just as shit is always shit.
The unscrupulous fat “Novi Ruskii,” knows how to party hard. Unfortunately for him, he really doesn’t have any style. He tries to compensate this major setback with expenditure. He believes, that the more money he spends, the less chances are that he might be wrong. Drop a million here and there.
It’s all peaches and cream.
So far, it’s worked well for him, but who knows. He can’t be that lucky forever, can he? One day he’ll wake up, pigs are flying and he’ll be in Siberian Alcatraz for treason and conspiracy. It might just happen anytime now.
I can almost envision it, him being taken away by the police while paparazzi ridicule him in public with gusto. This would probably be like torture, the Fatso’s public imagine is the only thing he cares about.
Although it’s very unlikely, his buddies in the government would never let this happen.
Hell might freeze sooner.
I’m now in his delightful mansion, it’s located in a very exclusive area in the outskirts of the capital. Rublevka, is a complex like a mega-fortification for the super-rich. This place was just created to keep away the hungry villagers and peasants of the land, and to protect the new overlords.
We are in medieval times again, and I’m the peasant.
Just, fuck. No other words to describe my luck.
He’s the king with his castle full of dirty gold and servants. Though luck for me, and everybody else.
It’s modern times and nothing changes. The rich will always be rich, and the poor will always be fucked. This fenced castle, it’s actually a very unique and reclusive place.
Rublevka is like a walled reservation in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by forest and covered in snow with a freezing weather of -30C in winter.
Piece of advice.
Don’t go out without your two heavily armed bodyguards, someone’s got to protect you from those pesky bears and vengeful peasants. Even in modern times, the resentful nobodies will still get you. Just like in medieval times, maybe with some pitchforks and torches? Delightful idea indeed.
Back to reality.
His mansion actually looks like an ancient Greek temple. How did he come up with that? The guy has absolutely no sense of style. From the entrance you can see tall marble pillars and arches, four floors high with intricately carved ancient patterns on the stone. Also a lush garden with exotic Mediterranean vegetation to go with the look.
Maybe he’s got Oedipus complex?
This place is actually nicknamed the “Parthenon.”
This is where I shall get a free luxurious lunch, or perhaps become one for that matter. The sausage making machine it’s right in the basement. I’m definitely not even looking that way.
I’m about ready to start having nightmares about Bavarian sausages. These big and tall human sized wieners are chasing me all around. They are trying to eat me, they want me to become one of them. This will not happen.
I have to fight for my life.
Dmitry and I are sitting in the studio, this place looks more like an old-school library. Bookshelves seven feet high, full of books in Russian. Classic literature written by 18th century masters, stories of majestic grandeur before the October revolution.
The Fatso has absolutely no class, but he sure likes to read. I wonder if it’s for real, or only to show off?
It’s a mystery indeed.
“Why is he making us wait for so long?” I ask Dmitry with a fidgety look on my face.
Dmitry is sitting on a black leather sofa, with legs crossed and both hands on his head. He seems to be enjoying a piece of the good life. He’s peacefully resting while he occasionally sips some 40 year old cognac.
Being the right-hand of the boss sure pays off.
“What’s the hurry Bratan? Just relax.” He replies while sipping his expensive drink.
“Enjoy a bit of the good life uh?” Dmitry says.
Unexpectedly, a series of loud bangs can be heard in the next room, along with some screams and people shouting. One sharp nagging voice, seems to be the cause of this ruckus.
“You call this a Tiramisu, bitch?” The nagging voice says.
Modern day slavery has many different forms across society today. From everyday white-collar workers, to house maids and butters. Like all those people in Chinese factories assembling your high-tech smart phones and gadgets.
They are your own personal gadget-making slaves.
Right at your service for one dollar an hour.
All for the sake of consumerism, the new masters are those with the green dollars and designer glasses.
Things never really change, the oppressors subjugating the poor and weak. It’s just that nowadays, the rich and wealthy can legally own you with a contract. This looks to me just like good old Rome, humans never learn.
That reminds me.
I think that Mr. Abram is the new Julius Caesar living in his Greek temple. I wonder if after taking a bath.
Does he go out wearing an old-school Toga?
I can just imagine, all his flabby skin coming out.
Absolutely hilarious, I’m about to burst into maniacal laughter. No can do, this is serious business I just can’t do that. My life depends on it.
“So what’s that noise? Who’s shouting at the maid?” I attentively ask Dmitry.
He looks at me with a serious face and replies. “Can you believe that the guy has two children?” Then he sips more cognac.
Blissful paradise in a glass.
The Fatso has two demons, spoilt and rotten to the core. They are 13 and 11 years old, Misha and Dima. Their favorite hobby is to punish maids for their lack of understanding in French bakery.
I’ve never quite understood, the process behind children becoming rotten to the core. Perhaps the lack of attention from their parents, or the abundance of money and things. It could even be the lack of love, it’s indeed a mystery.
Maybe the lack of a mother?
Misha and Dima both lost their mother approximately five years ago. They didn’t lose her to any disease, she also didn’t run away with a lover, no. In an instant they lost her forever, thanks to a messy divorce and a strict court order. The much needed motherly love and compassion that they badly needed, was lost forever.
All thanks to a corrupt and dirty judge.
Mr. Abramov has the best lawyers that money can buy, and subsequently he can legally do almost anything he wants. One day he suddenly decided that her longtime partner was no longer a desirable spouse.
The eternal question of the old flabby ass.
It’s time to go bye-bye, good old ex-wife.
First, he legally got rid of her by divorce, then he found a lustful young replacement. A 21 year old Ukrainian super model, with perfectly round firm breasts like two large grapefruits, and a tight round ass like no other. She’s the fantasy girl you see in those posters at the gym. A perfect ten.
Who can blame the old Fatso right? A man does what a man needs, it’s the law of the jungle. Or perhaps the law of men.
The divorce was a public and messy ordeal, the main excuse was that she was a dangerous alcoholic. Besides that being not true, in the most Machiavellian and cruel way, he just took the children away.
By his own heartless will, he took them away.
Then, just like nothing… he made her disappear.
The poor children, didn’t even say goodbye to her mother. One day, after the final court hearing, she just suddenly disappeared altogether from their life, and perhaps from the face of the earth. A victim of life and sorrow, who forever vanished in the blank pages of history. Never to be mentioned nor remembered ever again. It’s a sad fate that I do not wish anyone to experience. Even I feel pity for her.
Perhaps she was turned in to Bavarian sausages? I hope not.
Remembrance is just not for everybody.
Mr. Abram has the peculiar habit of collecting items that represent triumphant moments in his life. In this case, he has the front-page picture of his ex-wife being dragged away from the courtroom by police officers. He literally, deviously savored each little moment of shame and despair that the ex-wife had to go through.
This picture hangs on the wall in his studio, full color poster, matte print size 90x60 centimeters. Rich people and their masochistic pleasures, it’s just damn wrong.
“So, what are we waiting for? The King of Siberia to appear?” I ask Dmitry with a clever smirk.
Dmitry peacefully sips his luxury cognac while staring at the firm ass of one of the maids. He slowly scratches his beard, as if he was delightfully contemplating a masterful work of art.
“Can you see that?” He says. “That perfectly chiseled ass, a sculpture made by Russian Da Vinci.”
I laugh out loud and reply, “Well, indeed, we are in the Parthenon right? What better place to find ancient sculptures.” My playful smile shines bright.
Puns are my thing, even in thought times.
Dmitry raises the bottle of cognac to the air and says, “Let’s make a toast Bratan.”
“To Greek sculptures and their perfect behinds.”
I raise my cup and say, “Cheers.”
A butler slowly steps in to the room, he says, “Come this way please, he’s ready to see you now.” The butler slowly starts walking back the way he came. Dmitry and I abruptly stand up and conspicuously follow the man into the unknown depths of the mansion. As we walk by the halls I stare at the golden colored wallpapers and cut-crystal chandeliers hanging from the ceiling.
“This guy has no style whatsoever.” I mumble.
The hallways look like the inside of an abandoned temple full of material worship and debauchery. If he could make the walls out of gold, I’m sure he would do it. Maybe he’s trying to compensate for something?
Men and their big cars, big yachts, big mansions and big everything. I’d really like to have a word with this fat little man and ask him about his complexes.
We suddenly arrive at this huge wooden door made out of oak. A pleasant smell of pines and varnish reminiscent of museums holding renaissance paintings is in the air. The handle on the door has the shape of a gargoyle, claws and fangs out. The butler carefully places his hand on the door.
“Knock, Knock.”
“Dmitry is here to see you, sir.” The butler says.
An old male voice with a strong accent replies in English, “Davai, Come in.” The door opens.
I feel, like I’m standing in front of a fucking Christmas tree ready to open my presents. Inside the room, there he is, the King of Siberia. It’s funny indeed that the Siberian king lives in a mansion that looks like the Parthenon and is decorated with interior gothic design. This guy is absolutely tasteless. The fat little man, utterly annoys me.
Yet… he’s my one and only savior.
An obese figure sits in front of a big table, he is sitting on a very comfortable chair. There is a lamp on the table that is aimed directly at a miniature model railroad figure. Abram holds a silver locomotive inside his fat small hands as he clumsily tries to glue together some pieces.
The Fatso has a hobby.
“Greetings, I’m Abram Malinovsky” He says. “I’m the man who can change your world.” His fat face awkwardly smiles.
“Or perhaps turn you in to sausages.” He says with a serious face before bursting into mad laughter.
What have I got myself in to…?
This is where I end.
Please, someone feed my cat.