Comrades, as you know, there are many duties in our compound that require the use of chainsaws - from whacking beets to deterring escapees. All of these duties necessitate a sturdy operating piece of equipment.

At some point - it may have been between a mandatory union nap underneath a forest tree that needed to be cut down, or perhaps it was in a vodka stupor - possibly both, I can't remember - my chainsaw unfortunately broke and I was unable to perform my union duties.

Typically, this is an unforgivable offense. But because I have always been a faithful party member, Dear Leader allowed me one chance to get a replacement. However, due to the metal shortage and rationing, there were no available chainsaws in my sector; only in the People's Republic of California.

I was sent there to get the new chainsaw, but under two conditions: My passport was to be held in a locked safe in the union office; and I was not to ask for another tour for at least three years. I thought this was a fair compromise.

The trip by cattle train took five days. While in the open train car, I plotted the most efficient route to the chainsaw factory, to make good with my superiors.

I was sketching a map with a stick on the dirt floor of the cattle car, when I drifted off to the deafening lull of the metal wheels and the manure-scented breeze of the union farm fields.

I dreamed of anvils... and shovels... and wheelbarrows... and wool uniforms... when I awoke to see a rat, nibbling a hole through my best cotton Lenin shirt! Well, this was no good. I would have to use my yearly shirt ration to purchase a new one as soon as I arrived in the People's Republic of California.

Once the train rolled by the industrial shipyard, I grabbed the large metal handle and leaped from the moving train car onto the gravel ground. With my hands smelling like rust, and desperately in need of a communal sink bath, I made my way to the state storehouse.

After maneuvering through the secure checkpoints, I discovered that the state storehouse also doubled as the gift shop of a historical Soviet submarine called the Scorpion.
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Inside was like nothing I'd ever seen. Red, glorious red, everywhere! Not only were there shirts, but there were hats, keychains, shotglasses, and beer koozies emblazoned with our glorious symbol. It was everything a progressive girl could want.

Comrades, I immediately pulled out my Polaroid camera and took this picture to show you. I would have taken more pictures of the expanse of red products, but the shopkeeper gave me side eye like he would report me to the secret police. Trust me, the place was full of it!

Amazingly, the items did not have any reference anywhere on them to being from the gift shop of the Scorpion submarine. They appeared to be authentic progressive items. No one would ever know that I got my shirt while on a tour! Only in the People's Republic of California would such a thing be possible.

I tell you this story as a public service that such a haven exists. I would imagine that even celebrities and many college students, who worship the progressive movement and are ignorant of its history, would enjoy wearing this attire with our symbol on it.

To make a long story short, I successfully spent my yearly shirt ration, returned with my chainsaw, did not get thrown in the gulag, and all is well. If I perform exceptionally for the Motherland, it is possible that I may get my next tour in 2.75 years instead of three! Can't wait.

Comrade Olga,

Was the shop keeper's name, Armenian Radio.?

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Olga... where'd you find him?!
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I must go to CA at once!!!! My Leninade supply is nearly depleted. How fortunate you found this place! Were you able to get the coordinates?

California seems to be a safer location for a Soviet submarine these days. Back in the Motherland they keep catching fire...

Russian Nuclear Submarine Goes Up in Flames

From the article: "...but there is no transparent mechanism to control state money and prevent theft."


Huh. There too.

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Olga... was Ivan for sale or was he pouting because you wouldn't buy him a Soviet era flask?

How'd he get up inside that display case?

How many times did you have to change him... ughhhh!

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Stakhanovets bobble-heads and action figures are collectors items...snag 'em when you see 'em!

Comrades, finding the People's Property in the hands of capitalists goes beyond the pale! To the Gulag, I say! And as if that wasn't bad enough, a young, evil American genius from the People's Republic of Pennsylvania has embarrassed the Collective! HE SOLVED A MULTICOLORED PEOPLES' CUBE IN FIVE MINUTES! We must do something--and quickly!

https://www.myfoxphilly.com/story/28903362/solve