City of Krovograd

Welcome, to the beautiful city of Krovograd, lately a popular tourist destination and Dubai of the Balkans.

 

Its glory, you should know, started when Radko Mladic, a local Transsiberian oil baron, decided to make a city. So he had it built with Gulag labour in like three years.

 

The problem is, the fucker really wanted it to be like Barcelona, so it's a shithole swarming with fat Woody Allen wannabees who want to make deep and meaningful movies about American tourists charmed by the local fauna.

 

The problem is, said wannabees most often don't have funding to film said movies. But in Krovograd, there is a solution present: you approach a corpse lying in a street, take a wallet out of its pocket, and voila, money.

 

That's what it looks like, but the street is in reality the Krovograd municipal hospital and the corpses are patients. Doesn't matter though, you just have to pay a plunder tax to the moustached nurse, she won't give a fuck then.

 

There is also, of course, a beach. Better than Italian ones, you get to see the corpses that get washed ashore because they only clean them up in the evening. You still have to look, because while in Italy you get plenty of immigrants, in Krovograd it's pretty much only fuckers who wanted to get out but couldn't swim.

 

Another essential part of the picture is the omnipresence of underage Ukrainian whores. They completely outcompeted the local ones, even though it's a place where you go to the market in the morning to get back your kidney(Krovograd's merchants have really nice discounts for owners of the merchandise). Well, these days even Princess Celestia gets her whores from the Ukraine. That's how globalisation works, kids.

 

Speaking of locals, they mostly keep it to themselves. Serbs breaking into Bosnian houses and commencing ethnic cleansing through HIV-boosted rape is a nice thing to watch from the quite adorable exterior of Café Tito(it looks quite like the one in Inception). And even though you know it's staged – it's not like each of those Bosnians doesn't have twelve siblings per conceivable gender -  you can't help but shed a lone tear and pull out a tenner when a Serb with an accordion approaches you, points to the slaughter(at that point they usually fire at the place from some tank, kids love it)and politely asks for Queen Elizabeth money.

 

Charming place.