Моё судно на воздушной подушке полно угрей

I know- I'm slacking.

I'm just slacking on the website...
I've actually been busier than a vibrator in a women's prison here in Kazan.

Long days, and really short nights and some really redicking fuckulous conditions that I will expound upon later.

I can tell you that this is a place where you will find quite a bit of makeshift repairs and expediencies...

(Click for hugeness)
This widowmaker was a winner we found during setup...
Sean was moving one of our air conditioners and it almost bit him.

Another excellent example was a delivery UTE that arrived at the site when we were heading out one evening...

(click for bigness)
Yeah- that's the bottom of a water bottle, cut off and slapped over the neck of the fuel filler.
Oooo, I feel so safe in this place...

On a more festive note, we were celebrating the fact that we got moved to a hew hotel last night... There was a small tent serving beer and some kind of meat on a stick (we have found it's better not to ask) next to the new hotel.
We has just ordered up a round of drinks and put in our dinner order when an older gent at the table next to me leaned over and started to try to talk to me...
Through really broken Engrish, slurred Russian and hand gestures, he challenged me to an arm wrestling match.
Oh Ghod.
That last time this happened was in '97 in Miami during the Sony-Ericsson when we were arm wrestling at Hooters and broke one of their tables and were asked (nicely) to leave.
When I picked up the waitress and threw her over my shoulder and headed for the door, the "nice" demeanor of the management evaporated and there were police involved.
So, needless to say, I was hesitant to agree to this dude's request.
I had visions of the rather flimsy table getting destroyed and getting arrested for violence & mayhem, or the off chance that this guys was some kind of Tatarstan Arm-Wrestling savant and he knows some esoteric elbow-fu and could kick my ass blindfolded.
More likely, it would go the other way I wind up hurting him and waking up in a Gulag the next morning because I snapped some local politician's father's arm.

Trying to avoid this...

However...
Egged on by the entire bar, we did engage in one round of Bras de Fer...

Literally, the entire place was cheering (for him, I'm pretty sure), and the end result did not result in injury, damage or even hurt feelings...

Yeah, I beat him like a rented mule. Just because he's a drunk old guy, I'm still a benevolent and patriotic American and I don't care if it harelips the Pope, the Roosky is going down.
'Merica! Fuck Yeah!

And, of course, to the winner belongs the spoils.
Sometimes it's good to be The Big Guy...

TBG- ΜΟΛΩΝ ΛΑΒE