In 1856 Europe & Me funded an expedition to Yakutia in search of the shaman Morozka. We rode in some of the harshest conditions on Earth, overcoming insurmountable issues such as unfavourable weather, vodka and imbeciles wanting to trade fur every 2000 km. In hindsight, we should have taken that fur as this might have prevented the perishing of most of our team members, as well as the faith of the remaining ones who succumbed to lunacy.
Notwithstanding the fight with the elements, we finally managed to track down the shaman in question. We found him perched on a tree branch cooing at the wind like a nocturnal bird. He did not even acknowledge our presence until a few hours later, when the alcohol started easing its grip on his sour mind. After exchanging intense glances, Morozka accepted us in his abode, a remodeled outhouse, where we sat down around the hole in the ground to talk.
The shaman said he did not know much about forecasting, but had a parchment, given to him by a fellow mystic from India, which he was just planning to use as an ass wipe.
We named what we were after: a fairly certain prediction of what will happen to Europe in the next couple of centuries. Some of our sponsors back then were into betting, and they had sent their best journalists to get hold of the deepest esoteric knowledge. The shaman, hitherto a relatively composed individual, burst into laughter. He said that Europe is a shithole and Russia will sooner or later smash it as a soft cow turd, everyone knew that.
The shaman said he did not know much about forecasting, but had a parchment, given to him by a fellow mystic from India, which he was just planning to use as an ass wipe. Morozka explained that the text contained something about the future of Earth, but it was not possible to understand it, as it was written in gibberish. Europe is part of Earth, he argued, so there must be something about it in there too. Initially, the shaman did not want to sell the parchment, claiming that this was his most valued artefact after his night pot, but there is nothing a decent amount of samogon cannot buy.
Decades have passed since, with Europe & Me spending a copious amount of cash in the meantime on decoding the script, which was apparently written by some five-year-old. All these efforts were to no avail. Until last Thursday when out of the blue the text suddenly revealed its full meaning like a mermaid coming out of a clam. The script contains priceless recipes for tikka masala, some observations on the neighbour’s wife and the visions of a retarded poet who was apparently viewed as a clairvoyant. These visions cover a large spectrum of non-sense, but there are a few sound prophecies we can use, some of which indeed concerning Europe.
E&M has picked several excerpts from the writings, given below, which we wish to draw your attention to:
“…the worst of these wretched lands, Europa, will fall so many times that counting them may indeed induce slight seizures in untrained minds … approach with caution … will fall from stupidity, war, ignorance, war, greed, and did I mention war?… shall even try to prevent war by creating a forum for all the noblemen to discuss their vices, which will help them but none of the others … (piss stain) … shall rise again and again, like the undead … the population dimmer and the leaders viler with each coming … only possibility to break the cycle … 2020, year of the falcon, of the raving donkey and the constipated dragon … (burned) … a new Father will be born to collect all the lamb and straighten their rows … marching and exalted … dull, but fair … shall bring the empire to its former glory … where slaves and migrants know their places … and the whitest among men rule again … so said the prophet over an assortment of wines and araks”
How to interpret this complex prophecy?
Obviously, 2020 will be a hell of a year if you are sane, reasonable, balanced or not a fan of white supremacy lore. We know this might come as a shock. But there is a silver lining – lamb kebab will be as abundant as it always was and well charred too.
Waiting for а third coming.