Is the dacha doomed?

Comrade housekeeper Netochka Nezvanova without 

her iron head-thwacking skillet

By Comrade Editor Marienka

According to inside sources, dark doings have hit the dacha. Last Sunday, the fair urania’s beloved computer Diotima began to behave in a strange fashion. “One minute it was off, and the next it turned itself on. It started to speak in some unknown language that did not sound friendly,” reported Beloved. Comrade peasant Tatiana Chaucerova, crack computer expert and wife to the illustrious Comrade peasant Mstislov Chaucerov president of the Comrade Peasant Chaucerian Society, was called in to investigate. “Not good,” she said. I know immediately the computer it cursed. It erected own firewall.” 


This mysterious otherworldly firewall resisted all attempts by the world’s best hackers to breach. “This is no ordinary firewall,” commented Stephen J. Hacking, president of the Hacking Coughers, who worked closely with Comrade peasant Chaucerova. “It emits dangerous combinations of 0s and 1s that can only be described as diabolic foul play. No human wrote the code.”

At approximately 1:00 am on Tuesday morning, the computer gave a mighty belch and exploded. Thus far the mystery remains unsolved though local DC (Dacha Constabulary) officials have several suspects under surveillance.

On being informed of the tragedy, urania immediately rushed back from the Czech Republic to which she had decamped precipitously a few days earlier. Upon arrival, she rushed to Diotima (or what remained of her), shrieked and collapsed on her Soviet-issue fainting couch. Prostrate with grief, she has remained inconsolable despite the best efforts of Beloved and the Baron von Kindle to cheer her. Beloved, at great sacrifice to his bank account, has obtained a new computer for urania, but she can scarcely bring herself to look at it. “It does strange things,” she reported. “It demands I install demons in it. Who wants demons in one’s computer? Besides it does not even have a name, and if it did I fear the name would be ominous.”

Great Aunt Martha Mucus relic of the late Henry “Commodore” Mucus made a brief appearance to provide bracing, if unwanted, advice and company. “You spend entirely too much time on that fainting couch reading trashy literature. Now get up and install those demons right now or I shall thwack you with my reticule.” urania’s tears flowed harder and local comrade peasants had to be called in to play soothing balalaika music for her, while the Welsh terrorist howled in sympathy. In the ensuing noise, with the howling Welsh terrorists, the weeping urania, the soothing balalaika music, and one infuriating aunt, someone (we know not who) installed demons on the computer. Needless to say, urania is distraught.

Comrade housekeeper Netochka Nezvanova has remained stoic throughout the crisis. “Computer,” she said, “no worry. Computer explode always. I no believe conspiracy. And fowl play? That for chickens. I hit everybody over head with iron skillet if they no stop this noise.”

Today, the local comrade peasants held a funeral service for the dearly missed Diotima. They erected a large snow statue of Emma Goldman by the burial site and wrote in the snow the epitaph “Dance in peace Diotima.” Needless to say, urania wept through the entire service.

After the service, the wicked but seductive Baron von Kindle presented urania with two copies of Doctor Glas, one in English and the other in Swedish. On reading about the loathsome Gregorius and the perpetually gloomy Glas, urania rose from her fainting couch of woe and announced, “I shall never be happy again.”

A goat coming in from the cold

Snow crisis at dacha

By Comrade Guest Reporter Tatiana Chaucerova

If deaths, demons, and great aunts have not been enough, the temperature has plunged precipitously to depths unexpected even by local comrade peasants used to the cold. Early this morning it looked as if the local cattle might freeze in the field if not moved to warmer quarters, so the dacha has been turned into a temporary animal hostel. All the furniture has been moved to the lumber-room with the exception of urania’s Soviet-issue fainting couch, for which Beloved and the Baron have erected a platform. Although an efficacious solution for keeping away the cows, horse, and sheep, the goats keep climbing up on it and leaving unwanted presents on the couch. To make matters worse, the littlest goat, Mia Sofia ate urania’s copy of The Idiot, an event about which urania was not most pleased. Although Baron von Kindle promised her a new one, urania announced petulantly that she wanted her old one. “How can one even mourn properly with all these cattle,” she said and flounced off to lumber room locking the door behind her. Beloved was forced to stop reading Sheep and Goat Medicine and plead with her to come out lest she starve. Doctors are pessimistic about her health.

Prodigy toast chef Bob O'Lardy is not bitter

about tearoom riot.

Racous rioting temporarily closes tearoom

By Comrade Staff Person Anon.

The Prufrock Toast and Tea Room reopened today after a Wednesday morning fracas that resulted in shattered china, broken sugar bowls, and a very sticky floor. The damage occurred during an anti-Teaparty demonstration at the esteemed Soho tea establishment. “We were having a self-righteous time hurling china and sugar bowls when one of our members noted there were no copies of Ayn Rand in the establishment,” said Miniver Cheevy president, co-president, and chair of the Manhattan CATNIP Association (Citizens Against Teaparty Nattering in Public). “When I found a copy of T. S. Eliot’s The Wasteland on a table by the window, I knew we had the wrong place. No Teaparty member would stand in the same room with The Wasteland. They even get twitchy when copies of Ezra Pound poems are in the room. And how silly is that? We apologized to Bob and promised not to do it again. You know, sometimes we just have to weep that we were ever born,” Cheevy concluded.

Prufrock Toast and Tearoom proprietor and chef de toast Bob O’Lardy responded, “Actually the name is Rob, but I’m not bitter. What are a few china fragments shored against our ruin? Really I’m not bitter.” Anti-Teaparty demonstrators rallied round, spending the rest of the day moping floors, laundering tea clothes, and gluing china together. I think Bob will have to admit we did a bang-up job putting the place to rights,” said Cheevy.

“Well . . . the teacups are bit leaky, but they did send several nice pots of hyacinths,” said Bob. “And by the way my name is Rob, but I’m not bitter.” Bob later retired to the larder perhaps to eat a peach.

Vera Pol, an innocent Czech lass and frequent customer at the tearoom, said “I not like Teaparty people,” she said. They spoil parties by reading sections of U.S. Constitution. Not so bad if they understand what they read and not mispronounce words.” And all that ‘refudiating.’ What this ‘refudiate’? I not find world in OED. I write Natasha and see if she know word.” Natasha is Vera's lover over whom she spends much time weeping while dusting Tupperware at T. Septimus Glass, Soho's vintage Tupperware gallery.

We wish Bob the best of luck on the reopening of the Prufrock Toast and Tearoom.

Dark Tea Times book reviewer, Comrade 

Overcoat alleged perpetrator of missing 

person hoax

Horrible hoax exposed

By Comrade Staff Person Anon.

The Dark Tea Times is happy to announce the return of Comrade editor Davushka. It turns out his disappearance, the mysterious letter signed Vixen, and the letter from Odessa were all part of an elaborate hoax believed to have been carried out by Comrade Overcoat. In the interests of objectivity Comrade editors Marienka and Davushka declined to elaborate on the details of the alleged disappearance of Comrade editor Davusha. The DC is continuing its investigation, however. “The hoax, if hoax indeed it is, is far too elaborate for a man of Comrade reviewer Overcoat’s IQ. Obviously he had help, said DC official Pyotr Kopunkov. Comrade Overcoat denied all allegations. “I have been framed. Something is fishy about this investigation. What we need is total transparency, something I might add the Dark Tea Times is short on,” commented Comrade Overcoat upon leaving DC offices after questioning. “I will say no more. At the moment I am on the trail of a man named Copperfield, David Copperfield. I am also reading The Secret History of Moscow. I am convinced that all the clues to this mystery are there and that Comrade editor Davushka will be exposed for trafficking in fake Tupperware.”
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Sudden departure leaves all in tizzy

Jarek Nǎdra denies allegations of Kinkaid forgeries.

By Comrade Editor Marienka

Meanwhile back at the dacha, urania has been conspicuously absent. Semi-reliable witnesses reported last seeing her late this afternoon decamping in a troika shouting “Czech Republic or Bust.”  Exactly what she meant by this enigmatic comment was difficult to decipher.  Earlier in the day, she had been observed reading a treatise on “foundation” garments entitled The Corset: A Cultural History.  Has she become a purveyor of foundation garments?  True, her name has been linked with that of Jarek Ňadra, the famous Czech bra designer and rumored forger of Thomas Kincaid paintings, but close friends and longtime enemies resolutely denied urania would ever stoop to selling bras, no matter how bad the economy or how desperate her personal finances.  “I’ve known Ms Baggage since she was born,” said Mrs. Martha Mucus relic of the late Henry “Commodore” Mucus.  “She scandalized her entire family by burning her bras at boarding school.  As far as I know, she has not worn a bra since, not even when her sainted aunt Louise Pickens went down on her knees and promised that child a healthy trust fund if only she would please wear a bra.  Why that shameless little hussy said she would rather scrub toilets at Howard Johnson’s than ever wear a bra again.”  L’affaire remains a mystery.  The only clue . . . urania did take those intrepid Welsh terrorists Wilkie and Ceilidh with her.  For some time they have been perfecting the art of biting popes on the butt; however, the Vatican denied that any visits to the Czech Republic by His Royal Popeness have been planned. “Urania? We speak not to this Urania,” said Vatican spokesman Luigi Del Monte.

Will Cornikens survive another collapse?

Exploding eggs in Soho love nest

By Comrade Staff Person Anon.

Cornikens (Aloysius Balthazar Cornelius Mucus to his colleagues) has once again suffered a nervous collapse and has retired to the linen closet to read Real Live Boyfriends.  Alas, insiders say the book was not quite what he expected although Teddy Musus-Psmythe-Mucus, his long-time lover and co-owner of Soho's vintage Tupperware gallery T. Septimus Glass, was somewhat offended.  “He slam door when he come into shop,” said Vera Pol, the innocent Czech lass who works at T. Septimus Glass. “I think he no like this talk of boyfriends. I cry if Natasha start reading book Real Live Girl Friends.”  (Natasha is the lover Vera left behind in the Czech Republic.) Inside sources say Teddy has more on his mind than Corniken’s latest collapse.  The ATTA (American Tupperware and Tea Association) conference is just around the corner, and Teddy and the Throes (his nephew Ludovic's band) have not contacted him or shown up for rehearsal.

Nora Velvet, lead singer and didgeridoo player for ATTA Grrls is furious.  She has been pitching fits and leather panties for the last week.  How are we supposed to coordinate if this numbskull Dostoevsky-reading IDIOT refuses to show up for practice? What a nepotistical nitwit. And ‘nepotistical’ is too a word. So there ‘Mr. Ludovic Got-My-Nose-in-the-Air Mucus.’  I hope you drown.”  Teddy has been sighing a lot.  “I’m just going to go home and reread A Near Thing for Captain Najork and How Tom Beat Captain Najork and His Hired Sportsmen.  My brain needs a rest.”  “If that nepotistical uncle of ‘Mr. Ludovic Got-My-Nose-in-the-Air Mucus’ rests his brain any more he’ll be comatose,” retorted Nora Velvet. Apparently Teddy’s reading did not relax his brain as he absentmindedly stuck two eggs in the microwave and set the timer for five minutes.  Explosions followed.

 Oh dear, oh dear.  Will the ATTA Conference come off smoothly?  The situation looks darkly dire and unpromising at the moment.

Comrade Overcoat (right) drinking 

something other than tea from samovar.

Notes from the underground

By Comrade Staff Person Anon.

“I do not think Comrade editor Marienka is pleased with Comrade Davushka's absence,” said Comrade Overcoat.  She’s been slamming lots of doors lately and muttering about a certain comrade who needs to get his bohunkus back to Russia. Confidentially, I always suspected that Comrade editor in absentia Davushka was a bit too dazzled by oligarchs and crime lords.  And this André person?  It all sounds very suspicious and below board to me . . . underground in fact.  I shall shortly be taking notes.” Rumor has it that Comrade Overcoat is trying to assume sole editorship of the Dark Tea Times.  “Editor schmeditor,” Comrade housekeeper Natasha Nezvanova told the Dark Tea Times.  “I know idiot when I see idiot.  Comrade Overcoat he idiot.  And he need to wash overcoat.  It stink.  I hit over head with skillet and maybe sue.  I think hit over head with skillet better.”
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Burnt bottoms at dacha

Comrade peasant Tatiana Chaucerova 
expresses concern over dacha ruckus.

By Comrade Marienka

Home from Paris, urania celebrated Christmas with Beloved in a state of connubial bliss. Although there had been some concern beforehand that Beloved might repeat the birthday faux pas, all went smoothly.  “I tell Comrade Beloved, ‘No more fainting in house. I hit everybody over head with skillet if fainting happen,’” said Comrade housekeeper Netochka Nezvanova. Thanks to her flawless French and her former connection with Prince S. and Count B., Comrade Nezvanova was able to procure an appointment with the exclusive French couturier, Madame Urania Chanel de Newtoniere. 

“This is an unprecedented event,” announced Jarek Ňadra, urania’s personal spokesperson and sometime bra designer for the glitterati. Normally, Madame Chanel de Newtoniere does not grant appointments without three recommendations from the exclusive ranks of the rich and famous. It is quite an honor for Beloved.” Under the careful guidance of Madame Urania and Comrade Nezvanova, Beloved purchased a velvet opera coat and a pair of embroidered violet silk moiré shoes for urania, reported an anonymous seamstress who asked to remain anonymous for reasons of anonymity.

Despite the connubiality of the day, there were some faint rumblings of discord. On Christmas Eve, the Earl of Macintosh arrived unexpectedly.  Finding everyone asleep, he decided on a forced entry down the dacha chimney. “I thought they might be dead and need rescuing,” said the Earl defensively. “All I got for my concern was a burned bottom and a thwack on the head. I guess I just didn’t have the app for it.” Comrade housekeeper expressed doubt about the Earl’s story. “Dead people no need rescuing,” she said. “I know Don Juan when I see him.  This earl he Don Juan. I thwack over head with skillet.  Maybe I thwack again if he no go home.” 

The ruckus created by the Earl’s arrival had local comrade peasants diving for their bomb shelters. “It sound like how they say in United States, “Armageddon.” We not believe in Armageddon here. We believe in enlightened post-Marxist state,” said Comrade peasant Tatiana Chaucerova, wife of Mtislav Chaucerov president of the Comrade Peasant Chaucerian Society.  Comrade Chaucerova added, “The whole event was like a medieval morality play. First there came a great howling, then a mighty growling, followed by much thwacking and gruntling.”

As for urania, she understandably swooned.  Neither Beloved nor the Baron had much to say as they slept through the fracas. The Baron just twirled his mustache and muttered incomprehensibly under his breath. “Noise?” asked Beloved. “I heard a slight bump, but I thought it was probably just urania swooning again; otherwise, I slept like a log.”  Comrade Nezvanova responded tersely, “Comrade Beloved sometime he be log.  Then he need thwack and kick in bottom.  I do both maybe.”

Great Aunt Martha Mucus, who had descended on the dacha for Christmas, said dourly about urania, “That shameless little sauce-box swoons on purpose.  She’s been doing it since she was four, when she put little Carl Utterback-Mucus in a cardboard box and pushed him down a steep mountain.”

We at the Dark Tea Times confess this is the first time we have heard of the little Carl Utterback-Mucus debacle. Surely our fair urania would do nothing like that. “Of course she would. She did,” said Great Aunt Martha tartly. 

Who has been kissing under mistletoe?

By Comrade Staff Person Anon.

Illicit kisses?

On the fifth day of Christmas, rumor began hurtling recklessly round the dacha.  An anonymous member of the paparazzi snapped a photograph purportedly of urania kissing someone, who was not Santa Claus, under the mistletoe. Jarek Ňadra, urania’s personal spokesperson and sometime bra designer for the glitterati, hotly denied the rumors. “‘Purported’ is the key word,” he said. “The woman in the picture could be anyone.  Her face is obscured in the shadows.  This is all just so much tittle-tattle. Distressing, distasteful, and dubious.”  When confronted with the picture, urania fainted. Doctors are worried.  As for the man in question, some say he is the Earl of Macintosh.  The Earl has also hotly (a truly operative word in his case) denied the rumor.  “That couldn’t be I.  My bottom was severely injured four days ago. I still cannot sit down.  The demned doctors have said I may be sitting on a doughnut pillow for months.” Only time will tell. As for urania she wept copiously. “I don’t even own a dress like that one . . . although it is very nice.” After this brief comment, she understandably returned to her Soviet-issue fainting couch to nibble Belgian chocolates and read Somerset Maugham’s novel Cakes and Ale.

Missing pig while still unmissing

News flash . . .

An urgent letter has just arrived from the missing Comrade editor Davusha who was last seen while investigating a lead about a missing pig named Bella Ella. We have made the bold decision to print the letter in full:

Dear Comrade Editor Marienka,

I am writing to you from the Hotel Otrada in Odessa where I have been sequestered under heavy guard after being abducted from my home by two Russian thugs and a mysterious woman known only as “Vixen.” After being forced to drink a cup of drugged eggnog, I awoke three days later to find myself thousands of miles away in overly luxurious surroundings.

I soon learned from the two Russian bodyguards who are my keepers that I am in a suite in the Hotel Otrada, the only five-star hotel in Odessa, where Teddy and the Throes happen to be staying during their Ukrainian tour. Aunt Ida and Mrs. Whimpersnapple are here as well, having come along to chaperone the boys on the tour. Mrs. Whimpersnapple, who grew up in Odessa, is acting as an interpreter for the band.

It seems some Ukrainian oil tsar who calls himself Tamurlane is a big fan of Teddy and the Thoes’ song Cold Drizzle, which was a huge hit in the Ukraine. The band had intended to end their tour before the holidays and spend Christmas at the Mucus farm in Oklahoma. But their plans went awry. Instead the boys are being forced to do eight more performances.

According to a source I dare not name, I have been kidnapped because of my connection to the band. I have been “encouraged" to write reviews of the performances for the Ukrainian newspapers praising the band and the benevolence of its new “sponsor” Tamurlane. If the band misses a performance, I am to be shot immediately and thrown into the Black Sea. “They” say we will all be free to leave Odessa after the band completes its tour with a special New Year's Eve performance at Tamurlane's palatial estate outside Odessa.

One of my guards—André, as he calls himself (who knows what his real name is)—is a charming fellow, with a penchant for great literature. He has brought me many wonderful books to read during my imprisonment here. Currently I'm reading Marlowe's Tamburlaine in honor of our host.

Only the Throes, Aunt Ida, Mrs. Whimpersnapple, André, and I know that Teddy did not accompany the Throes on their Ukrainian tour. Tamurlane's people all think that Ludovic is Teddy because he is the front man for the group. I shudder to think what will to us all if Tamurlane finds out that Teddy is still in the states.

If anything happens, I hope I can depend on André. He is risking his life to get this letter to you. I must say goodbye now before the other guard Vlad returns. He is not at all friendly, and I am certain we would all be done for if he intercepts this letter.

Comrade Editor Davushka

Hotel Otrada

Odessa
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