©2002 Author Leonid Kaganov, original russian text here
©2005 Translated by Dmitri Fomin
Vadim Petrovich took a new sheet of paper from the pack and raised his marker as if holding the knife. Paper laid on the desk ready for its fate. His liver aching, Vadim Petrovich tossed the marker, put his huge yellowish paw on the page, hesitated a bit then quickly crumpled the sheet and flicked it onto the floor. Several dozen white blobs were already there and Vadim Petrovich stared at them protractedly.
- Here! B-oo-tter! - finally exclaimed he in the total silence of his office, took out the handkerchief and gently wiped his bald head. - Bootter! Very good!
Again he armed himself with the marker, took another blank sheet but suddenly stopped.
- F*** that - he said - They won't understand. They need something Russian
- Need-need-need...- he hummed tapping with the marker. - "Cornflower"? Absurd... "Forest"! But why? "Meadow"! Oh, again.... Sh**... - with some effort he rubbed his ruddy pulsating temples. - We need something new! Oh! "New"!
In large letter he wrote "new" on the page. Thought some more. Crumpled the paper again and tossed it on the floor.
- "Evening". "Morning". "Meadow"... not again! Vicious circle! Butter "Vicious Circle"...?
His cell phone giggled loudly and with a buzz started to slide to the edge of the desk.
- I am listening, - said Vadim Petrovich.
- Hallo! Vadim Petrovich! This is Skvortsov! - oinked the receiver. - Here is the report... the first workshop is totally finished! There is kinda little problem with the second one. Sewer is not... in short... the pipes should be re-done properly. I kinda just talked to the sewer plant people...
- Stop! - roared Vadim Petrovich. - Do I have to listen to all of this?
- It's kinda report... - said the receiver. - Some unplanned stuff, kinda financial...
- Are you stealing money from me?
- No, of course not!! That's why I kinda...
- Then why are you stealing my time? Talking to me about every nail? Who's the director - you or me?
- That's me, Vadim Petrovich.
- Then why do I need this headache about your problems?
- I apologize, Vadim Petrovich... totally my fault...
- I told you hundred times already--I am not interested in all of this! I gave you the money, so when the factory is running, bring me the financial papers.
- My fault, Vadim Petrovich...
- OK, this is better - relented Vadim Petrovich. - Did you come up with the word?
- Vadim Petrovich, I kinda...
- Yes or no?
- Kinda... I was so busy... my wife tried and kinda came up with, well, like... "Sunny"...
- Sunny. Kinda...
- Sunny. Why?
- Well... - stumbled Skvortsov. - Butter is yellow like the sun, kinda... Right?
- Cretin! Butter is yellow only when it goes bad! Or has too much fat! I will have white butter! Four million euros invested! Yellow, huh! It's going to be f***ing great butter, got me?
- I got it, Vadim Petrovich.. I will think more... kinda...
- Bring me ten words before tonight! If you can't do it yourself, shake your wife or anybody else... shake sewer guys for that matter! Let everyone know - if anybody finds a good word, they'll get a bonus! Let them think about that while they assemble the equipment!
- That's difficult, Vadim Petrovich - said the receiver without conviction.
- Difficult to think?
- Kinda ... to come up with the word... that's difficult.
- You don't have to come up with a new one! They are all in the book already, for thousand years! There are million words in Russian language! Just take one, it's already there. Simple and clear! Verstehen?
- Verstehen, Vadim Petrovich. But I kinda don't know... if there were only three words in the language then no problem. We would sit together with you and choose one. With a million you kinda need a professional... kinda writer... or a poet, I guess...
- Poet? Do you know one poet in entire Schetinovka?
- Well... not in Schetinovka, I guess no... although with two hundred thousand population... but in Samara, definitely!
- You want me to abandon the business and go to Samara and hunt for poets?
Again his liver began to ache.
- Don't f*** my brains! - said Vadim Petrovich. - Ten words by tonight. Auf Wiedersehen! - and he closed the phone.
Again he took the marker, put another white sheet of paper before him, closed his eyes and tried to imagine a brick of good butter. That went perfectly. He could even see the writing on it. He squinted trying to see the word but it was illegible and had only three letters.
- "Ray"? "Pax"? - guessed he aloud.
With his eyes closed he really just wanted to go to sleep. He concentrated on the brick again but all of a sudden it sprouted thin legs and quickly ran away, lewdly shaking its behind at him.
- What a bitch! - swore Vadim Petrovich opening the eyes.
Ellochka peeked inside the office and asked:
- Glass of mineral water, Vadim Petrovich?
- Thought up a word?
- "Rose" what?
- Butter "Rose". Like a pretty flower, you know.
- Sh**... Ella, look...here... get me the numbers of some poets! I don't know...writers, maybe!
- Image marketing, PR?
- What? Yes, something like that.
Ellochka left the office.
- Sunny - said Vadim Petrovich. - Fresh. Healthy. Tasty. Easily spreadable. Weak!!!
Cell phone collapsed in a hysterical feat. Vadim Petrovich raised it to his ear.
- Vadim Petrovich! I kinda called my brother in Moscow and he said they have this fashion now to name vodkas and snacks with double f in the end...
- I don't have any Fs in my name.
- I have. I can give mine.. for the good cause...kinda.
- Butter "Skvortsoff"?
- Kinda... yes.
- Sounds like that, yeah... kinda...
- You think? And when I fire your F-f ass tomorrow and hire some other sap what are we going to do then, rename the butter? Reprint the packaging? F-f?
- Vadim Petrovich! Vadim Petrovich! You kinda misunderstood me! I didn't mean it like that!! I meant the opposite - use your name!
- My name? On the butter? Have you gone crazy, you moron?
- Well then maybe you should have manufactured something else...
- Now you are going to tell me what business I should be in? Or what to sell? Get lost!! Ten words by tonight!!
- I have kinda eight already! - eagerly replied Skvortsov.
- Twelve! - yelled Vadim Petrovich and slammed the phone into the desk.
Ellochka flew into the office with another sheet of paper.
- Here you are, Vadim Petrovich. Design and advertisement companies - one in Schetinovka and six in Samara.
Vadim Petrovich sullenly looked at the page.
- Danke schon.
Ellochka quietly left the office. Vadim Petrovich dialed number in Schetinovka and started to listen. First, the ether was simply knocking and clicking as if a bunch of woodpeckers were talking to each other but then finally came the rings, and somebody answered the call.
- Mass-teknology-konsultin-grupp, g'd day - with some sighing said a girl, skillfully infusing each word with a polite questioning attitude.
- Get me your boss - sullenly said Vadim Petrovich.
- Who should I say is calling? - chirped the girl.
- One minute, transferring - purred the girl, put her hand on the receiver and yelled out. - Vasya, take the call! Va-a-s-sya!!
- Hallo! - said high male voice - Is this about business cards? Not delivered yet, we expect them after lunch, try and call then.
- Stop! - bellowed Vadim Petrovich. - Are you the boss?
- Yes - with some uncertainty answered the voice. - And you...?
- Me too. - said Vadim Petrovich. - I have an offer. A new account.
- After lunch. You know the address, right? - and the voice started reciting quickly. - Partisan Gloukhar Street, #1. It's the only one there. Take bus number 4 from the railroad station till the end of the line, then onto the water tower, then over the ditch, by the garages, that's Red Barracks Street, and on your left...
- Stop. - said Vadim Petrovich. - I will be expecting you in my office in half hour. Labor Boulevard, municipal building, floor 4, "Folksbutter".
- Wow....- mumbled the phone.
- And have some ID with you. What's the name... for the security?
- Ehh...Tsutsykov... Vassily Tsutsykov.
- As you drive start thinking. Here is the deal. We need name for a new brand of butter. But not some simple stuff. The best! It's a new butter, it's f***ing great and it's made from best milk and cream so the name should represent... Got me?
- Later, then.
* * *
Vassily Tsutsykov turned out to be a really thin man about 35 years of age with a narrow face in golden specs. In his arms he nervously gripped purple leather folder, staring with surprise at the crumpled pieces of paper covering the floor of the office. His long hair were snapped with a rubber band behind his neck. "Fruitcake!" thought to himself Vadim Petrovich with upset. "Well who cares..." He nodded the guest into the vacant chair. Tsutsykov immediately opened the folder and produced a sheet of paper with ink scribbles. Vadim Petrovich stopped him with a silent gesture then yelled to Ellochka "Coffee for our guest" and in turn produced his business card which he threw across the desk. Tsutsykov took it with both hands and read reverentially aloud:
- Vadim Petrovich Kreamer... Such a long phone number, is that Moscow?
- It's a mobile - Vadim Petrovich indicated the cell phone. - Via Germany. Now listen carefully, I will not repeat this.
Tsutsykov moved his frame around in the chair, put his hands together and froze quietly.
- I am fifty-five, - began Vadim Petrovich thoughtfully, - I have this small castle in Germany, a wife, two mistresses, two daughters and son in America. I don't need anything anymore. Verstehen? I really don't! Can you imagine that?
Tsutsykov nodded a few times politely.
- When I left, I had so much money you haven't ever seen... even in a movie.
Tsutsykov nodded a few times politely.
- There were people after me who you will never see again.
Tsutsykov froze with a skewed smile.
- Not anymore, anyway. So many years passed, everything's changed. I came back to do business in Russia. Have you heard that we are building a butter factory here in Schetinovka?
- Of course! - Tsutsykov nodded energetically.
- I was in Belgium, at an exhibition. Bought the latest equipment, spent four million euros!
- So, in rubles, that would be... - Tsutsykov began to think, rubbing his forehead over the glasses.
Vadim Petrovich snapped his fingers, attracting attention.
- Four million euros, just the equipment! I built the factory! I raised and rebuilt fifty stables for cows! I will make butter! This f***ing great Russian butter! Germany doesn't have such butter! But Schetinovka will! Are you local? Where are you from?
- Born in Schetinovka! - nodded Tsutsykov. - Finished university in Samara, with honors!
- Local is good! - nodded Vadim Petrovich with satisfaction. - There is this small problem. We need a name. Not just any name. The best name for the best butter. We thought and thought... and we need fresh brains.
- I am ready! - Tsutsykov jerked his head upward and looked Vadim Petrovich in the eyes. - What's the deadline?
- Yesterday - said Vadim Petrovich.
- We are wrecking our brains over this for three weeks already. I am flying out tomorrow and we need to decide by tonight. Money is not an issue. I'll give whatever you ask. Hundred euros or three hundred or five hundred.
- Fifteen hundred... - squeaked Tsutsykov and fearfully shrunk back into his suit.
- Wha-a-at? - Vadim Petrovich slowly rose to his full height and bent over the desk. - For one measly word?
- That's the price - muttered Tsutsykov.
- One word!
- But that's the brand name!
- One word!!!?
- It's three thousand in Samara! Five grand in Moscow! I think...
- You are not in Moscow - bellowed Vadim Petrovich. Pain in the liver flared up again and he slowly lowered himself into the chair.
- Oh, what's the difference? Fifteen hundred is fine, just think up the name!
Tsutsykov fixed the glasses importantly. In came Ellochka and put before him a smoking cup. Vadim Petrovich was served with a bottle of mineral water and a glass. Vadim Petrovich hungrily poured the bottle.
- Read then! what do you have?
Tsutsykov elegantly raised the hand with a document. "Definitely a fruit" thought again Vadim Petrovich.
Vadim Petrovich shook his head with loathing.
- Don't give me this vulgarity! This... Soviet crap... activists, milkgirls, workers, red dawn... not that! Last century! This butter is new, f***ing great, I tell you, for simple Russian folks! Verstehen?
- Oh sh**...
- Again? This is dumb! This I could do myself! This is an ordinary name, and I need the best! You read the sticker and you are dumbfounded, shocked - here it is! That's my dream! Cannot let it pass you by! Verstehen?
"Yes, absolutely gay" - thought Vadim Petrovich and began gulping mineral water.
- Swallowed my butter?
- Like that toothpaste?
Vadim Petrovich choked and looked at Tsutsykov.
- Why on earth "Meadow"?
- Association. Cows on a meadow.
- But the meadow is covered with cow dung, not with butter! You ever been on a meadow?
- Thought about that one already. Look... what's your name?
- Vassily Tsutsykov.
- You see, Vassily, the name has got to be strong! Loud! Mighty! Powerful!
- Shut up! Listen, we had "Buter". That's butter in German. Discussed this and... doesn't fly. Why?
- Because that's like butter named "Butter". Buttery butter.
- Idiot! We just need a Russian name, you motherlover! Russian! Verstehen?
- "Swan Lake"?
Vadim Petrovich signed, ground his teeth together and moved his heavy stare to the glass. Nevertheless the glass withstood the stress without falling apart.
Vadim Petrovich deliberately fixed his eyes on the bubbles in the mineral water. "There were never any gays in Schetinovka", he thought to himself.
- Or maybe simply "Cock" - angrily interrupted him Vadim Petrovich.
- Not a bad idea - happily chimed in Tsutsykov.
- Get out of here!
- What? How? - Tsutsykov was lost.
- On foot! Get out of here you hairy faggot! Ella, show him out!
The door closed after Tsutsykov. Ellochka entered and took away untouched cup of coffee. Vadim Petrovich once again put down an empty sheet of paper. "Russian" wrote he down on it and again became lost in the thought.
- Listening - answered Vadim Petrovich.
- Hallo! This is Skvortsov, kinda... - said the phone. - "Nightingale"!
- Kinda... nightingale.
- Now my director is a faggot too. - sighed Vadim Petrovich. - What are you, a moron?
- Wife came up with it. And I thought, we could name it like the company, Folksbutter?
- Again! I told once already, name has to be a) strong, b) Russian, c) non-ordinary, d) f***ing great! Verstehen?
- Let us think some more, Vadim Petrovich. By the way, pipes are kinda OK. Nothing to fix there.
- So what were you nagging me about then! - Vadim Petrovich threw away the phone and again took up the marker.
- "Russian Bear" - exclaimed he after a long pause. - This is almost good. This is no nightingale. Or maybe, "Russian Troyka"!
He scribbled with the marker. Then re-read everything and tossed the page on the floor.
- No, this is old and boring! - declared he. - We need new ideas. Ella! Ella!
Ellochka looked inside the office.
- Ella, bring me some books, I guess. Or newspapers. Anything! Need ideas!
Ellochka disappeared. Phone rang.
- Listening - said Vadim Petrovich.
- Vadim Petrovich! This is Tsutsykov! Can I call you on the landline, not via Germany?
- Ok, ok! I came up with some Russian names!
- "Russian Troyka"!
- Oh, sh**...
- This is not all! - hurried Tsutsykov. - I got some better ones. Just what you need!
- Go ahead then, don't stall!
- "King's Butter"! - exclaimed Tsutsykov.
- Hmm... king's butter?
- I like it too! - enthusiastically joined Tsutsykov.
- This is something. Not bad, not bad at all. Hmm... could be the one. King's Butter! No... no go.
- Why? - Tsutsykov was audibly upset.
- Because there is a railroad stop Kings thirty kilometers from here. Everybody will think it's theirs. And this is our butter, from Schetinovka!
- Perhaps then, simply "Schetinovka"?
- No, that sounds rather unpleasant.
- "Out Butter"?
- "New Butter"?
- Not original. Old name for the new butter. What else you got?
- How's that?
- Well, in Moscow there is a Tzar-Cannon, Tzar-Bell, and we will have Tzar-Butter!
- Did you think about broads? How will they ask for it in the store? Give me a pack of "tzarbutter"? You ever think about our women?
- Butter "Beast"... or "Beast Butter".
- That's just bad. What else?
- That's basically all so far. Nothing there you liked?
- Keep on thinking. You are getting closer. Need it by tonight...
- Here! "Caesar's!" - interrupted him Tsutsykov - If you don't like Tzar then Caesar! Give me a pack of Caesar's! Huh?
- Come on - Vadim Petrovich made a face - Four million euros for just equipment! Caesar wouldn't even dream! No need for these kings and tzars! We don't need showoffs... "Beriozka", "Russian Bear", "Russian Field"... this is not an export gimmick! This is for the local consumer... for now... it's gotta be our own! Ours, new, f***ing great! We need something stunning, unexpected! Verstehen? Turn on your imagination! Try and reach for the impossible, don't be shy! And keep thinking about broads, OK?
Vadim Petrovich put the mobile away and sighed loudly. Ellochka gently entered the office carrying big pile of books and newspapers. "Here is the smart girl", thought Vadim Petrovich, "no matter she used to be Miss Samara!" Perhaps, "Ella"? Ellabutter? Gimme a pack of butterella...? Nah... f*** that. Vadim Petrovich looked through the stack. On the top there were several identically looking paperbacks with gaudy covers. Vadim Petrovich turned them to see the titles on the backs. Alexey Alexeyev... "Matter of Cavernosa", "Adventures of Cavernosa", "Cavernosa strikes back", "Enter Cavernosa", "Exit Cavernosa", "Cavernosa is back", "Guillotine For Cavernosa", "Identification of Cavernosa Corpse".
Vadim Petrovich furiously swept the volumes to the floor and randomly chose one of the more respectably looking books in the thick black cover. Opened it and put his finger between the pages, then looked at the page. "POLYP - that's how ancients called cuttlefish or octopus". He looked at the title. Of course that was a dictionary, Dal's Vocabulary, Volume 3. He stretched to get a newspaper. Local daily. "News of the day - outsider is caught with narcotics", "String-bags - bulk and retail sales", "Wonders of natural cures or how we made our peace with prostate".
- Shi-i-i-t! - grunted Vadim Petrovich, tossed "Star Of Schetinovka" and opened volume of Dal's again.
"CHILDISHNESS - that's what the old geezer has got, remembers nothing".
Sharp pain knifed the liver again. Vadim Petrovich swept away everything from the table. The tray made the dull sound, then the glass jingled falling into pieces. To hell with it all, thought Vadim Petrovich and smashed his fist into the desk.
- Ella! A shot!
Ellochka peeked into the door with frightened face.
- But Vadim Petrovich, you should not...
- Do what I say!
- Vadim Petrovich... - she was on the verge of tears.
- Now! - roared Vadim Petrovich.
Next minute there were a shot glass of vodka and a cheese sandwich in front of him. He tossed the contents of the shot glass into his mouth and closed his eyes in satisfaction. The mobile rang.
- This is Tsutsykov! - cried the receiver. - We are ready. Beautiful name!
- Butter "Aphrodite"!
- Who's that?
- Ancient goddess. Before Christ.
- We don't need any ancient stuff... our butter is new and fresh.
- Well she is really beautiful, naked, nice shapes, - Tsutsykov was noticeably disappointed.
- What does that have to do with butter?
- True. I have some other options! "Annushka", "Marusya", "Eugenia", "Sasha".
- You fag... - Vadim Petrovich's mouth twisted. - How many times do I need to tell you? Four million euros! Unheard of, f***ing great butter! Anything else?
- Well... how about "Rhino"?
- I don't follow.
- Butter "Rhino". Just like that. This is really just the last idea, you know. We got tired, I guess.
- So do I have to listen to this crap?
- Well, you told me yourself: don't be shy, reach for unexpected, for crazy even...
- Crazy ideas! Not moronic! Get the difference?
- I am sorry. Won't happen again.
- Is that all?
- No, I got some more. "Butter Lover".
- Butter "Butter Lover"?
- Or, butter "Sleek Life".
- Are you all there so tired, or is it just you got dropped on your head?
- Well there is this candy called "Sweet Life", so we thought that butter... Anyway, this is it. No more names. You don't like anything?
- Come to my office. - said Vadim Petrovich - we need a brainstorm.
Vadim Petrovich moved the phone away and started to roll the glass back and forth.
- Ella! Call everybody to the office. Call Skvortsov. And his wife. And that one, a dark-haired one...and.. - the glass slid from his palm, fell on the floor and briskly snapped. - Oh... to hell with them all! Don't call anybody! A bottle of vodka and some chow! Chicken! Pork! Fat one, too! With pepper! Go to the restaurant! Oh, let it all burn...
* * *
- Yo, Vassya... do you respect me, bud-dy? - kept asking Vadim Petrovich, bending over a small table into the very face of Tsutsykov in order to make his voice heard over the din of orchestra.
- I do, I re..r-re.. respect ya... Vam-Provich - answered sad Tsutsykov.
- Thirty years ago every kid here in Schetinovka knew who Vadik Kreamer was! Ya get me? Respect!
- Uh-huh... - nodded Tsutsykov. - Well, how about Folksbutter?
- Come on, hold it, Vassya, yo - winced Vadim Petrovich and shook Tsutsykov by the shoulder. - Everybody knew Vadik Kreamer! Even in Kings! Feared me! Even in Samara, yo!
- Uh-huh... - nodded Tsutsykov. - How about we remodel the factory to produce creamer?
- Mother...! - smashed his fist Vadim Petrovich. - Vassya, look! And then - perestroika! They knew me in Moscow! Every bitch in the country knew who Kreamer was! Kreamer could do anything! I solved all problems! But I can't think up this name. If I knew this was going to happen... I would never buy that equipment at that stupid exhibition!
- Uh-huh - nodded Tsutsykov.
- Never any fags in Schetinovka, since ages ago - suddenly remembered Vadim Petrovich with upset. - Why did you join them fags, Vassya?
- You are the fag! - cried out screechingly Tsutsykov.
- Hey, you are forgetting yourself! - Vadim Petrovich immediately became serious.
- I am married since I was seventeen! Three rugrats at home! Try to feed them all with those crappy business cards and paper ads! Our outfit is tiny - just me and Svetka! Profits... huh! - and he showed three-finger combination.
- Why don't you cut your hair then? - Vadim Petrovich was taken aback.
- Ok, ok, come on! - Vadim Petrovich magnanimously waved his yellow palm in the air and poured both of them another glass. - That's good you aren't a fag. Respect. Now just think me up a word, Vassya. Five grand, Vassya!
- I dunno... - Tsutsykov was shaking his head, and it seemed to Vadim Petrovich that he was about to cry.
They knocked the glasses together and drank vodka.
- Vassya, this is simple. Butter is... f***ing great! Customer needs to feel that with all of his soul! - Vadim Petrovich slapped his palm on his liver. - Verstehen?
- F***ing great butter! - with a suddenly sober voice said Tsutsykov.
- I don't follow...
- F***ing Great Butter! Stop looking, that's it!
- You can't do that! - stunned Vadim Petrovich shook his head.
- That's the only way!
- No, not like that - repeated Vadim Petrovich.
Tsutsykov made unexpectedly wild grimace.
- Kreamer can do anything, can solve anything! - taunted he, but Vadim Petrovich looked through him focusing on something far away.
- F***ing Great Butter. - he poured yet another shot and sent it into his mouth. - Well, Vas-sya! Genius! Real pro! Why the hell were you holding back before, bitch?
- Design is going be easy - said Tsutsykov immediately. - Nothing fancy, just white paper and black lettering.
Suddenly as if a giant hand took Vadim Petrovich's liver and squeezed, started turning inside his stomach as if trying to unscrew something out of there. Vomit rose in his throat. Restaurant hall began swirling around and flew away, yellowish darkness enclosed him from all sides.
- Vadim Petrovich! - cried out Tsutsykov.
* * *
In long white corridors of a hospital in Holdenstrau for the first time in his life Vadim Petrovich felt himself a hopelessly old man. Three surgeries within a year. Laser therapy, piles of pills on his bedstand. Sometimes wife would tell him news from Russia. Unparalleled popularity among the populace, gold medal at the Russian Food festival. Distribution contracts in Moscow. New addition to the factory was finished. Skvortsov became an honorary member of some club in London. State Duma continues to discuss an amendment to the bill on censorship for brandnames, but votes are divided once again. Folksbutter is suing a company named Welina from Schetinovka who started producing instant soup in packets called "F***ing Good Soup" but local court so far doesn't recognize that as a case of copyright infringement. First issue of a magazine called "Motherf***ing News" was released in Samara . In Moscow opened its doors a tourism center called "F***ing Great Service Inc.". In England somebody started to make a mosquito repellent called "F***Off". Vadim Petrovich didn't really care about all that anymore. So when Dr.Willder said that there was no hope he didn't feel any emotions. And when doctor suggested cryogenic storage in liquid nitrogen until physicians come up with a way to treat cirrhosis, Vadim Petrovich simply nodded his head in silence.
He awoke in a huge bright hall, sitting in some weirdly shaped chair. His conscience was turned on all at once. Vadim Petrovich looked at himself and saw that he was dressed in some strange salad-green suit. Then he heard the applause, which startled him and he saw before him a long line of respectably looking people in snug business suits. There were cameras all around them. Finally, one of the people stepped forward, extended his palm and exclaimed:
- Let me read, b***es, this f***ing great letter with all motherf***ing respect from our C***ing President Sh** of our f***ing great Union of World States! No sh**, we are so f***ing happy to meet the b***ing return to this motherf***ing life of the first man who with no c**ing problems spent seventy-five cool f***ing years in liquid nitrogen! Long live our f***ing medicine! No sh**, b***es!
And the entire hall exploded in deafening applause.
© Autor Leonid Kaganov, original russian text here
© Translated by Dmitri Fomin