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imomusOh man, what a day! I woke up in Berlin at 4.30am, flew to Copenhagen, transferred, and flew to Moscow, only to find that my visa doesn't start until tomorrow! How could I have been so stupid as not to notice something so basic!
'You have a problem,' said the heavily accented vizaslutz at Moscow airport, looking sluttily at my visa. I call them vizaslutz because it sounds like a Russian word. (Say it with a really dark 'L'.) And that's exactly what they were: sexy in a cheap porno nazi fantasy way, about twenty of them all dressed in OTT sex-nazi uniforms with ties, stilettos, epaulettes with gold chevrons, really short skirts, stockings and way too much mascara and lipstick, all mincing around their shabby 70s air terminal really loving their nazi power and cutting everybody dead with their low rent Robert Palmer video sex appeal.
The vizaslutz wouldn't listen when I pleaded with them to let me stay in the airport just watching them strut and jackboot around until midnight. They bundled me straight back onto the same plane I arrived on. I was almost weeping. I must have had all of 30 minutes in Moscow. Just time enough to catch some videos of 80s Michael Jackson (rolled up red leather sleeves!) and poodle metal on the vizaslutz' rawkviddy TV. Then it was back to clean, crisp, postmodern Copenhagen, a transfer, and back to Berlin.
Don't worry, the Russian concerts are still happening. Tomorrow I get up very early, fly to Munich, transfer, and fly to Moscow again. I'll be driven straight to the sound check, do some interviews, and perform at the Caviar Lounge as advertised. Not even vizaslutz can stop me this time.
'You have a problem,' said the heavily accented vizaslutz at Moscow airport, looking sluttily at my visa. I call them vizaslutz because it sounds like a Russian word. (Say it with a really dark 'L'.) And that's exactly what they were: sexy in a cheap porno nazi fantasy way, about twenty of them all dressed in OTT sex-nazi uniforms with ties, stilettos, epaulettes with gold chevrons, really short skirts, stockings and way too much mascara and lipstick, all mincing around their shabby 70s air terminal really loving their nazi power and cutting everybody dead with their low rent Robert Palmer video sex appeal.
The vizaslutz wouldn't listen when I pleaded with them to let me stay in the airport just watching them strut and jackboot around until midnight. They bundled me straight back onto the same plane I arrived on. I was almost weeping. I must have had all of 30 minutes in Moscow. Just time enough to catch some videos of 80s Michael Jackson (rolled up red leather sleeves!) and poodle metal on the vizaslutz' rawkviddy TV. Then it was back to clean, crisp, postmodern Copenhagen, a transfer, and back to Berlin.
Don't worry, the Russian concerts are still happening. Tomorrow I get up very early, fly to Munich, transfer, and fly to Moscow again. I'll be driven straight to the sound check, do some interviews, and perform at the Caviar Lounge as advertised. Not even vizaslutz can stop me this time.