The group was organised in 1993. It is formed by the Northern, the Eastern, the Southern and the Western army groups. Last two years the group has slightly move in all directions, with some success, though seriously strengthening logistics and the memory line. The Party and the Government consider the group's activity as gaining no visible success.

List of the officers and curriculum vitae:

Smirnov Vassily Albertovich - Northern front Commander. Born in 1970. Graduated from the Military Academy In Memoriam 1905. 2,08 m high, fair hair with steaks of grey, always looks sulked.

Salautin Denis Vyacheslavovich - Western front Commander. Born in 1968. Graduated from the Military Academy In Memoriam 1905. 1,5 m high. Hair like hair, nothing special.

Smirnsky Anton Alexandrovich - Eastern front Commander. Born in 1970. Haven't graduated from the Military Academy In Memoriam 1905. 1,07 m high. Short haircut, moustaches; never tried drugs.

Fain Dmitry Yevgenyevich - Southern front Commander. Born in 1971. Haven't graduated from the Military Academy In Memoriam 1905. Fucked off from the country, spent some time abroad, came back and was immediately sent to take command of the Southern front. GIs call him "Marriage".

For now any active event at the aforementioned fronts are suspended until holiday parades and fireworks are held within a couple of days.

What could we say of the about the writer if we haven't read any of his works and even knowing nothing about how have lived this renowned among the renowned, whose name is put down in the literature Pantheon, and who rests in peace behind the glass at the bookshelves of our common heart. Could we even talk about anything, being ignorant of even the biographical dates of the creator, the writer, the man whose name starts with the capital BE.

Worrying with such idiotic reflexions for a long time, makes you swell as if you were pregnant with a giant question mark which once being too big for that loft full of trash, slips through a dormer into the fresh air, without suspicion it could initiate social space with idiotism... But being a careless substance it founds itself caught by a prompt bearded literature critic who has no intention to give it back to the owner but instead furtively pops it into the pocket and tries to sneak. Turning at the corner he feels as if escaped from our fixed look, and then relaxed gets himself two bottles of local brew beer to water up the expectation of a very critical analysis with bookmarks and footnotes at the margins that refer to the manuscripts of hoary colleagues who splutter over the others' love letters. So that's when we catch him by his neck-tie... Affected surprise, avoiding to answer "What's in the pocket?"... we pull the tie... he yells "POLICE!!! POLICE!!!"

... but police isn't coming, only Pan-Goo, the mythical man, rides his Alfa Romeo at the end of the street, and kids quietly bounce with ice-cream. A minute of tense silence passes, then the thief gives back what he's stolen.

That's it, the act of confiscation is done, justice restored, there comes confusion and then he murmurs pardon like "I thought that's nobody's thing... it seemed you might not need it..."

We can't but respond "What do you mean 'might not need'?? Do you take me for an idiot... Fuck you, I'm a serious person!!" So we get in quarrel, drink beer, buy some more. Later on our interlocutor restores his aspiration and, irritated, he cries; "What the hell do you know about it, you boy!!"

No it's our turn to get up and walk away in a hurry, like we were straightening the bound situation, leaving the squabbler alone, and having noticed that now he looks better with the six empty green bottles.

Though the question is not closed, but even defined more distinctly, so ignoring it after all what have happened would have appear absolutely kleptomaniac. Thus let's take the professional's indignation for blessing, as we didn't incline to disturb the giant's sleep, just wanted to blow away dust from the cover, then to open the book and reverently read:

OH, BAZAK!!

(The Complete Writings. Volume One)