It will be the fault of us viewers, so prone to boredom. On the 50th day of the war, the euphoria for the circus sample of talk shows – multi-headed professors, acrobatic philosophers, Bagonghi gentlemen, chained giants, ape men, bearded women – begins to fade. Then the most inexhaustible western market borders on the exotic and finds new goods: madames et messieurs, here is the Russian journalist. They have appeared in the last few days, and so after the Putinist negligent or willful, the Putinist forced arrives, that is the trumpeter of the Kremlin and if the trumpet does not sound as it should, they are fifteen years in prison. Complexity thickens. The search for truth scours unknown terrains.
When boredom has also swallowed the journalist employed by the satrap, we could move on to the armed clash in the studio, to be reviewed at the Var. This hybridization between horror and absurdity is the mold of our days, but luckily someone had the sound idea of to invite in connection Zoja Svetova, a Russian journalist too, but of a newspaper closed for treason: the Novaya Gazeta which belonged to Anna Politkovskaya, shot dead. And so at a certain point they ask her why Vladimir the Terrible continues to enjoy sensational polls, and Svetova staggers and says: but why, do you believe the polls made in Russia? In reality I don’t believe much in polls done everywhere, they are taken with caution, for what they are, but speaking of Russian polls and Putinist education, I remember one, commissioned to find out who was the sexiest man from St. Petersburg to Vladivostok. Yes, Putin won.