UN Binding Resolution

Solid Snake x Nadya Riot — UN Blue Helmets in the Snow

[Somewhere cold. A safehouse with cracked windows. Snow hisses against the glass. A blue UN armband lies on the table.]

Solid Snake:
So… UN-monitored election. Ballot boxes instead of bullets. That’s new.

Nadya Riot:
Don’t get sentimental, Snake. Bullets are still invited. They’re just waiting outside, smoking.

Snake:
Figures. Power never leaves quietly. It pretends it’s democratic while hiding a knife under the table.

Nadya:
Putin built a system where the table is the knife. Courts, media, security—stacked like nesting dolls. You open one, there’s another inside.

Snake:
That’s why the UN’s here. Observers, peacekeepers, cameras everywhere. Sunlight makes cockroaches nervous.

Nadya (smirks):
Unless the cockroaches own the power grid.

Snake:
Fair point. Still—monitors change the math. You can’t fake turnout when the world’s counting heads instead of slogans.

Nadya:
People are scared. They whisper in voting booths like God is bugged. Years of fear don’t evaporate because someone wears a blue helmet.

Snake:
Fear’s a weapon. But it dulls with use. Eventually people realize it’s heavier than freedom.

Nadya:
You sound like you believe this could actually work.

Snake:
I’ve seen worse odds. Shadow wars. Nuclear brinkmanship. AI colonels making kill lists.
An honest vote? That’s almost quaint.

Nadya:
Quaint gets you killed here.

Snake:
So does doing nothing.

[A distant helicopter thumps. UN markings flash past the window.]

Nadya:
They say the election is about stability. About “continuity.”

Snake:
Every strongman loves that word. Stability—for them.
Democracy’s unstable. It argues. It changes its mind. That’s the point.

Nadya:
If he loses, he won’t just walk away.

Snake:
No. But he won’t be able to disappear the loss either. Not with witnesses. Not with receipts.

Nadya:
And if he wins?

Snake:
Then at least the question was asked out loud. Sometimes the first victory is forcing the truth into daylight.

Nadya (quiet):
People are lining up already. Old women. Students. Factory guys who’ve never voted before.
They’re shaking—but they’re showing up.

Snake:
That’s the real battlefield. Courage beats propaganda every time. It just takes longer.

Nadya:
You staying through election day?

Snake:
Yeah. Someone has to make sure the lights stay on… and the boxes don’t walk away.

Nadya (half-smile):
Welcome to democracy, Snake. It’s messy. Loud. And fragile as glass.

Snake:
Glass can cut.

[They share a look. Outside, the snow keeps falling—but people keep lining up.]

What do you think of this post?
  • Awesome (0)
  • Interesting (0)
  • Useful (0)
  • Boring (0)
  • Sucks (0)

Run Riot: Putin

Red Son Superman stands on a quiet Adriatic cliff at dawn. The sea below Split is calm, ancient, indifferent to empires. His red cape hangs heavy—not with wind, but with history.

Pussy Riot approach, bright balaclavas against the pale stone, guitars slung like contraband truth.

Pussy Riot (Nadya):
So even you leave Moscow.

Red Son Superman:
I did not leave the people. I left the palace. There is a difference.

Pussy Riot (Masha):
Kasparov said the same thing. Chess grandmaster, poisoned board. You can’t play fair when the king flips the table.

Red Son Superman:
In the Soviet Union, I was raised to believe the state could be moral. That power could be clean.
(pauses)
Putin cured me of that illusion.

Pussy Riot (Olga):
Croatia, then? Adriatic air instead of Novichok?

Red Son Superman:
Empires rot inland. Coasts remember trade, movement, escape. Dalmatia has survived Rome, Venice, Vienna, Belgrade. It knows how to wait out tyrants.

Pussy Riot (Nadya):
And you? The strongest man alive—afraid of poison?

Red Son Superman (softly):
I am not afraid for myself. I am afraid of becoming a symbol they can murder and weaponize. Martyrs are useful to dictators.

Pussy Riot (Masha):
So you choose exile over a state funeral.

Red Son Superman:
I choose time. Time to speak without a handler. Time to let truth arrive without sirens.

Pussy Riot (Olga):
From Croatia, what do you do?

Red Son Superman:
The same thing Kasparov does. The same thing you do.
I tell the truth loudly enough that silence becomes suspicious.

Pussy Riot (Nadya):
(smiles)
Welcome to the Balkans, Comrade Superman. Everyone here knows empires lie.

Red Son Superman looks out over the sea. For the first time, the red on his chest does not belong to a flag.

Red Son Superman:
Then maybe… this is where a man raised by propaganda finally learns freedom.

The guitars strike a discordant chord. The sun rises. No anthem plays.

What do you think of this post?
  • Awesome (0)
  • Interesting (0)
  • Useful (0)
  • Boring (0)
  • Sucks (0)

The Madness of Kings

The Madness of Kings: Trump, Putin, and the Pathology of Power

By Nadya of Pussy Riot

If a monkey hoarded more bananas than it could eat, while most of the other monkeys starved, scientists would study that monkey to see what is wrong with it. When humans exhibit this same behavior, we put them on the cover of Forbes magazine. This quote exposes the sickness at the heart of modern power structures, where wealth, control, and narcissism are mistaken for strength and leadership. Nowhere is this pathology more evident than in the rule of Donald Trump and Vladimir Putin—two men whose personal insecurities and mental instabilities shape global events and destroy lives.

Psychologists define narcissistic personality disorder (NPD) as an inflated sense of self-importance, a deep need for admiration, and a lack of empathy. Both Trump and Putin exhibit these traits to an extreme. Trump, with his gold-plated towers and obsession with ratings, cannot function without constant praise. His fragile ego depends on rallies filled with chanting followers, social media adoration, and the illusion that he is a genius businessman—despite multiple bankruptcies and scams like Trump University. Like the hypothetical monkey hoarding bananas, Trump hoards wealth, attention, and power while millions of Americans suffer in poverty. His detachment from reality was most grotesquely revealed during the COVID-19 pandemic when he suggested injecting bleach as a cure—an act of deadly stupidity masked as leadership.

Putin, on the other hand, presents a more calculated and sinister form of narcissism. Unlike Trump’s buffoonish incompetence, Putin’s madness is that of a KGB operative who sees enemies everywhere, including in his own people. He hoards not just wealth but entire nations, treating Ukraine as a personal possession rather than a sovereign country. He poisons his critics, jails protesters, and clings to power with an iron grip. His megalomania leads him to rewrite history, positioning himself as the eternal tsar of Russia. While his citizens struggle under economic sanctions and repression, he sits on billions, his paranoia deepening with each passing year.

What is most terrifying about these two men is how their psychological disorders are not treated as illnesses but as strengths. Their wealth and power shield them from accountability. In any just society, they would be examined like the deranged monkey hoarding bananas, diagnosed with deep psychological instability, and prevented from harming others. Instead, they are worshiped by cult-like followers who mistake their sickness for greatness.

It is time to stop glorifying the madness of kings. True leadership is not measured by how much wealth one hoards, how many enemies one crushes, or how loudly one demands obedience. A just world would place human dignity over gold-plated thrones, and compassion over conquest. Until then, we remain trapped in the delusions of the madmen who rule us, watching as they drive the world toward disaster.

What do you think of this post?
  • Awesome (0)
  • Interesting (0)
  • Useful (0)
  • Boring (0)
  • Sucks (0)