SHVAK

After seeing a colourful poster on a wall in a downtown Moscow brothel, the young Shvak realised the airforce was the right career for him.

Being dim, the only reason he liked it was because he liked bright colours.
It was just a pity he could not read! If he could, his natural inclination towards cowardice would have sent him towards the Infantry. For the poster read ‘Head-on deliberate mid-air collision is a weapon of heroes. Glory to the Stalin's falcons, threat to the fascist predators!’

But alas Shvak the rudderless, illiterate moron that he was decided the airforce was the place to be.

Thinking for Shvak was hard work and as later commanders would find out, getting Shvak to read a briefing was harder than prying Ratnik off a Nun.

Lets face it Shvak was one of those guys you prayed you would meet playing poker, and prayed you would never fly with, he was just plain unlucky.

Even losing his virginity was no easy task for the luckless Shvak.

As a young man, he set his sights on a lovely young blonde from Kiev. So off, he went to the communal pharmacist.

He needed to buy some protection for his big old “Shvak.”
The pharmacist was a very large man with a moustache as large as the youngster’s arm. In all other respects, one would describe pharmacist as “built like a brick shit-house.” A man any sane person would fear.

However, I digress, back to the story.

The Pharmacist told the young Shvak condoms came in packs of 3, 9 or 12 and asks which the young man wanted.
"Well," said the boastful Shvak, "I've been seeing this girl for a while and she's really hot. I want the condoms because I think tonight's "the" night. We are having dinner with her parents, and then we are going out. And I've got a feeling I'm gonna get lucky after that."
"Once she's had me, she'll want me all the time, so you'd better give me the 12 pack."
The young Shvak made his purchase (No we will not talk about the size of the condoms, but let’s face it you do not get the nickname “Cannon” for nothing.).
Later that evening he sat down to dinner with his girlfriend and her parents. He asks if he might give the blessing and they agree. He began the prayer, but continued praying for several minutes.
The young nubile lass leant over to him and asked, "You never told me that you were such a religious person?"
Shvak replied in a whisper, "You never told me that your father was a pharmacist."

If you have read so far you will by now have gathered that Shvak (the large) is as stated before very, very unlucky.

When describing Shvak’s looks, the terms ruggedly perplexed come to mind.

A sledgehammer to the face from the aforementioned pharmacist took care of the rugged. And a knee to the groin by a very bearded lady, the pharmacist’s second cousin twice removed who was also the mother of his conquest to be took care of the perplexed.

Imagine if you will a hammer hitting you in the face as at the same time a knee re-arranges your bob and tackle…

If you can, then you now know what Shvak looks like. Basically, think of Shvak as a rodeo clown without the need to wear any make-up.

I could talk about Shvak’s childhood but then I would have to explain the twenty centimetre scar exactly where his left kidney was, I mean is.

I would also have to insist you suspend all belief in Darwin’s Theory of Evolution. Let’s face it Shvak is living proof that not all species evolve.

Okay I will indulge you in one piece of trivia from his youth. At the age of six, he won a state sponsored burping contest held at the local school by farting. Yes, you can read he farted.

Now for Shvak a fart was simply an expression of being Russian. To his classmates, teachers and the district committee on communicable diseases, Shvak’s farts were nothing short of a pungent reminder why nobody in their right mind eats cabbage. Naturally, Shvak was declared the winner to prevent any escalation in what would later be called the first purge.

Stalin a guest of honour at the school always fondly recalls the day Shvak let one rip. “Everyone feared that youngster as they now fear me.” (Extract from Stalin’s diary – Note to Marshal Zukhov, we must improve standard issue gas masks)

to be continued…