The Glorious Republic of Grigovia is a landlocked nation in Central Asia. Its neighbors are Iran, Turkmenistan, and Afghanistan. Roughly 200 kilometers north-to-south and 160 kilometers east-to-west, the first known reference to Grigovia is in 'The Histories,' by Herodotus. Marshy bogs lie to the south and west of its capital, Grig (population 120 thousand), which sits on an elevated plateau in the southern foothills of the Yiptlong Massif mountain chain. The Yiptlong has significant deposits of iron-ore, coal, and sulfur that have been mined for centuries. West of the capital is Pyltagrad, a culture-rich city of roughly 50 thousand inhabitants. East of the capital is the Great Dune Sea, an arid former lake bed; Gar Nuuzsch, population 60 thousand, is the primary city in the east – its patroness is Nuuzstathena, goddess of war, technology, and guile. Other deities include Ganestrix (an ant-headed goddess of travel and good fortune) and Oumbast (goddess of cats as well as gracefulness in the face of overwhelming odds). The main city in the south is Pryaghdoyest, an export-oriented manufacturing hub, population 75 thousand; north-east of Pryaghdoyest is an arid plateau with significant deposits of rare-earth metals. Tens of thousands of Yaelong tribes-people call this nation home, living scattered about, primarily in the Yiptlong Massif. Known for their fierce independence and fervent defense of the high plateaus, the Yaelong were feared by Alexander the Great as well as subsequent invaders. A parliamentary democracy with strong socialist traditions, the Grigovian royal family abdicated in the early 20th Century in a sign of respect for the nation's growing anarcho-communist movement, which is still strong today. Group workshops and livings spaces known as 'su'uvyiets' provide training and support in a wide variety of crafts, trades, and skills, each 'su'uvyiets' operating under the loose umbrella of its mother organization. Never in its history has Grigovia been fully conquered (it was the only fully autonomous republic of the USSR), largely because of an extensive tunnel system that runs under almost all of Grig. Most of these tunnels are well maintained and still in use as winter shelters, manufacturing areas, and weapons stores. Robotic and autonomous buses serve outlying villages, and the capital features a dense network of public transportation systems – trams, trolleys, and 4 subway lines. Renewable energy powers roughly 60% of electricity needs, and plans call for the nation to receive nearly all of its power from wind and geothermal sources by the year 2030. Modern Grigovia traces its founding to the semi-mythical Krukuv, a former monk who settled there sometime during the 9th Century C.E., digging a series of deep and sturdy tunnels (for to store his beloved tubers) and taking a Yaelong bride as his mate. Popular recreational activities include hiking, cycling, folk festivals, story-telling competitions, martial arts training, and winter sports; camping is permitted on all public and many private lands. Famous for its tendency to warmly receive immigrants fleeing war and economic turmoil, the population of Grigovia has increased by nearly 9 percent in recent years due to the ongoing conflict in Syria. With strong banking houses, a robust services sector, and a variety of cottage industries that make everything from coo-coo clocks to firearms, the Grigovian economy has proven all but immune to international market volatility, being able to quickly retool according to shifting demand while keeping unemployment at well under 3% for a population nearing 400 thousand souls. In the decades since the Rus and Ynki invasions of Afghanistan, trade with Iran has increased tenfold, primarily heavy machinery from Grigovia's well-developed manufacturing sector. An outspoken critic of Ynki involvement in regional conflicts across the globe, the Glorious Republic of Grigovia has repeatedly demanded that the various peoples of the world enjoy the right to determine their own path in life for themselves, free of foreign intervention. For more on all things Grigovia, please visit www.welcomehome.ggv.
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Showing posts with label glorious. Show all posts
Showing posts with label glorious. Show all posts
09 February 2016
25 June 2013
Snowden granted asylum
In a calm and business-like parliamentary maneuver every last minister and elected official with voting rights in the general assembly of the Glorious Republic Of Grigovia voted to extend political asylum as well as full citizenship to one Edward Snowden, the brave young man who exposed the cruelty of Ynki imperialism and outed Barack Hussein Obama as one of the worst American presidents on record. In the official statement released shortly after the vote, a united Grigovia said (referencing, of course, the book Catch 22 by Joseph Heller): “Qui ils sont les Snowdens d'antan? Well, Snowden is fucking here, maybe hiding in the vasts tunnels under Grig, maybe holed up in the deep caves that dot the Yiptlong massif, and he's not going anywhere – not to Guantanamo Bay nor to the purple plains of misery – so fuck off, Ynki scum, and leave this hero of Libertie and Free Speech alone.”
mentiri factorem fecit – 場黑麥
mentiri factorem fecit – 場黑麥
05 November 2012
on Grigovian anarchy
Much has been said of late in the international press about the merits of anarchy and the benefits that this complete and total liberty bestow upon all persons lucky enough to have lived it even once. The citizens of the United States of America gave up their liberty in the wake of the 11 September 2001 attacks for the fleeting assurance of safety, thereby proving themselves worthy of neither liberty or safety; luminaries from various universities and myriad walks of life point to the months and years following those tragic events as the period during which the last vestiges of Ynki anarchy were bashed to bits by the batons of terrorism-addled police officers, when they were steamrolled to nothingness under the massive weight of rapidly expanding federal power.
Compare the sad state of liberty in the western hemisphere to the abounding freedom and joyous prosperity in which the people of the Glorious Republic of Grigovia wallow. Here, in modern, high-speed Grig, the nation's capital, people of all ages do as they please to their own bodies and minds so long as they are not directly violating their neighbors' person, freedom, or property; here, from the smallest cottage sitting in the highest high-valley village to the largest apartment complex set firmly into the low granite cliffs of the rushing Yalung river, people leave their doors unlocked in the knowledge that true lovers of liberty would never dare to enter the home of another with sinister purpose, take things without paying for them, or do anything to harm his meager belongings or physical health without written and notarized permission. This notion of liberty-through-responsibility does not just govern interpersonal relationships: it is alive and well also in business, where environmental pollution is virtually nonexistent, contracts are rarely broken, people live up to their word, and a company in a position to monopolize a market will choose rather to encourage competition than to face the wrath of an army of babushkas willing to boycott anyone trying to make them pay a single kopper more than something is worth.
The roots of total liberty extend deep into Grigovia's past. Beginning with the nation's spiritual founder, Krikuv the Watchful, who came to the area to escape European plague-rats and to breed tubers for his mythical green-tuber borscht (the recipe for which is said to have survived to his day in the spicy concoction of the late Queen Pylta the Terrible), nearly all subsequent leaders – with the exception of a few puppet-kings installed by meddlesome proto-Russian czars in the 19th century – have turned away supplicating emissaries and invading armies alike, in no small part because of a rabidly-allegiant populace and the freedom and democracy it has enjoyed since wise Krikuv first started applying the lessons he'd gleaned from his vast collection of old Greek and Latin texts. Grigovia's modern anarchy stems from King Hyu-Yennd Yündlennd, who abdicated in 1912 after attending a series of lectures held in Vienna by famed Hungarian anarchist Dr. Wilhelm D. Tomaz; it continues to this day in the likes of Erya Rovend – who recently broke Grigovia's boycott of the United Nations in order to tell the U.S.A. to, “Kindly go fuck yourselves and leave my fellow Grigovians alone” – and in the smiles and shouts of legions of school children who begin in preschool to learn the basics of close-quarters-combat instead of being allowed to run around mindless during their lunch break. The Glorious Republic of Grigovia proves every day that anarchy foments liberty, and her people prove that liberty is the wellspring of Happiness, a phoenix rising from the ashes of fear and oppression. Praise be to anarchy, and to old man Krikuv.
© mentiri factorem fecit (場黑麥)
Compare the sad state of liberty in the western hemisphere to the abounding freedom and joyous prosperity in which the people of the Glorious Republic of Grigovia wallow. Here, in modern, high-speed Grig, the nation's capital, people of all ages do as they please to their own bodies and minds so long as they are not directly violating their neighbors' person, freedom, or property; here, from the smallest cottage sitting in the highest high-valley village to the largest apartment complex set firmly into the low granite cliffs of the rushing Yalung river, people leave their doors unlocked in the knowledge that true lovers of liberty would never dare to enter the home of another with sinister purpose, take things without paying for them, or do anything to harm his meager belongings or physical health without written and notarized permission. This notion of liberty-through-responsibility does not just govern interpersonal relationships: it is alive and well also in business, where environmental pollution is virtually nonexistent, contracts are rarely broken, people live up to their word, and a company in a position to monopolize a market will choose rather to encourage competition than to face the wrath of an army of babushkas willing to boycott anyone trying to make them pay a single kopper more than something is worth.
The roots of total liberty extend deep into Grigovia's past. Beginning with the nation's spiritual founder, Krikuv the Watchful, who came to the area to escape European plague-rats and to breed tubers for his mythical green-tuber borscht (the recipe for which is said to have survived to his day in the spicy concoction of the late Queen Pylta the Terrible), nearly all subsequent leaders – with the exception of a few puppet-kings installed by meddlesome proto-Russian czars in the 19th century – have turned away supplicating emissaries and invading armies alike, in no small part because of a rabidly-allegiant populace and the freedom and democracy it has enjoyed since wise Krikuv first started applying the lessons he'd gleaned from his vast collection of old Greek and Latin texts. Grigovia's modern anarchy stems from King Hyu-Yennd Yündlennd, who abdicated in 1912 after attending a series of lectures held in Vienna by famed Hungarian anarchist Dr. Wilhelm D. Tomaz; it continues to this day in the likes of Erya Rovend – who recently broke Grigovia's boycott of the United Nations in order to tell the U.S.A. to, “Kindly go fuck yourselves and leave my fellow Grigovians alone” – and in the smiles and shouts of legions of school children who begin in preschool to learn the basics of close-quarters-combat instead of being allowed to run around mindless during their lunch break. The Glorious Republic of Grigovia proves every day that anarchy foments liberty, and her people prove that liberty is the wellspring of Happiness, a phoenix rising from the ashes of fear and oppression. Praise be to anarchy, and to old man Krikuv.
© mentiri factorem fecit (場黑麥)
16 May 2012
in labyrinthine Grig
A vast, interconnected network of tunnels stretches underneath this bustling city of 1.75 millions of industrious Grigovians. In nearly every possible direction (except, generally, up) run an unknowable number of branches, tunnels, shafts, holes, pits, pit-falls, and dead-ends that are not mapped, well-ventilated, secured, water-tight, stable, or safe. While these tunnels are a boon to this metropolis that is bisected by the meandering, brownish-gray Yalung River, drawing tourists in search of mythical cities of the underworld, their great extent and sheer length have proven a nightmarish hindrance to every military force that has tried to take Grig during its nearly eight-hundred-year history.
Rolls of vellum discovered in a walled-off section of tunnel in the mid-1980s during construction of a Soviet-style housing block in Grig's Old City hint that the first tunnel may have been dug by Grigov the Watchful himself. The man in whose honor the nation is named, according to a new translation of these recently-restored vellum sheets, dug “a small recess in the larger mound by the four oak-trees so as to have somewhere to store all of these good and shapely tubers.” It is not clear from the ancient texts just what type of tubers he had obtained, but what may have started as a small recess now stretches from the banks of the Yalung to the very foothills of the Yiptlong massif itself. So extensive is this network, and so wide some of its larger tunnels, that it serves as bazaar, swap-meet, and marketplace for much of Grigovia's gray economy, which is suspected to be at least three times larger, and far more lively, than all of the country's above-ground, legitimate economic activity combined. Unconfirmed reports leaked by the U.S. State Department indicate that a majority of the fuel, mounts, firearms, provisions, and other such military gear that reaches the brave and heroic warriors of the various Yaelong tribes travels through the innumerable branches of this vast underground network of passageways.
While the Yaelong tribes were known even to Herodotus, who mentions them in his book, the Histories, a reference to the country now known as the Glorious Republic of Grigovia first appears in a Pashtun census from the year 1256, which says, roughly, “Avoid traversing the north-western Yplyn mountains, as a fierce people led by a priest-king named Krykuv guard all passes there with great diligence.“ Grigovia's Ministry of Internal Information Gathering, or MIIG, in a recent statement broadcast via short-wave radio, has warned all foreigners – especially foolhardy Americans – that any and all attempts to take the city of Grig, or to invade Grigovia, are, because of the all of the tunnels, and due to Grigovians' inherent fierceness and proven ability to resist invasion, doomed to fail. The statement concluded with, “Do not even try, you stupid, imperialist, capitalist, Yankee swine, because we, and our cozy tunnels, are ready, and waiting. Do you remember Viet-Nam? Imagine everything brown and covered in snow, and children leaping at you with knives in their teeth.”
場黑麥 mentiri factorem fecit
Rolls of vellum discovered in a walled-off section of tunnel in the mid-1980s during construction of a Soviet-style housing block in Grig's Old City hint that the first tunnel may have been dug by Grigov the Watchful himself. The man in whose honor the nation is named, according to a new translation of these recently-restored vellum sheets, dug “a small recess in the larger mound by the four oak-trees so as to have somewhere to store all of these good and shapely tubers.” It is not clear from the ancient texts just what type of tubers he had obtained, but what may have started as a small recess now stretches from the banks of the Yalung to the very foothills of the Yiptlong massif itself. So extensive is this network, and so wide some of its larger tunnels, that it serves as bazaar, swap-meet, and marketplace for much of Grigovia's gray economy, which is suspected to be at least three times larger, and far more lively, than all of the country's above-ground, legitimate economic activity combined. Unconfirmed reports leaked by the U.S. State Department indicate that a majority of the fuel, mounts, firearms, provisions, and other such military gear that reaches the brave and heroic warriors of the various Yaelong tribes travels through the innumerable branches of this vast underground network of passageways.
While the Yaelong tribes were known even to Herodotus, who mentions them in his book, the Histories, a reference to the country now known as the Glorious Republic of Grigovia first appears in a Pashtun census from the year 1256, which says, roughly, “Avoid traversing the north-western Yplyn mountains, as a fierce people led by a priest-king named Krykuv guard all passes there with great diligence.“ Grigovia's Ministry of Internal Information Gathering, or MIIG, in a recent statement broadcast via short-wave radio, has warned all foreigners – especially foolhardy Americans – that any and all attempts to take the city of Grig, or to invade Grigovia, are, because of the all of the tunnels, and due to Grigovians' inherent fierceness and proven ability to resist invasion, doomed to fail. The statement concluded with, “Do not even try, you stupid, imperialist, capitalist, Yankee swine, because we, and our cozy tunnels, are ready, and waiting. Do you remember Viet-Nam? Imagine everything brown and covered in snow, and children leaping at you with knives in their teeth.”
場黑麥 mentiri factorem fecit
04 May 2012
a week with the Yaelong
(or, having a whorphan of a time with marauders)
My first night in the Lower Yalung Valley is cold, damp, and filled with the haunting calls of the yip-yip-yend, Grigovia's first official national animal. For the next week, I shall be accompanying the Czabpamndt, one of four dedicated scouting parties for the fiercely independent, semi-nomadic warriors known as the Yaelong. Bandits feared since before the time of Alexander the Great, the Yaelong recently received international attention – and widespread acclaim – for their vehement refusal to submit to Yankee demands for the counting of their numbers, the video-taping of their traditional dances, the recording of their hunting calls, and that they finally settle down in tastefully-furnished, prefabricated structures built by nice civilian contractors from Texas; in truth, however, they have for untold centuries protected their rights – and their verdant, mountainous valleys – from most every incursion by, “idiotic, ignorant outsiders such as servile Persians, snooty Englishmen, meddlesome Soviets, and, now, capitalistic Americans.”
Due to its unique location and great age, the Lower Yalung Valley is home to many treasures, among them the czabtyip (a local spice-drug plant), the yip-yip-yend (a goat-like beast prized for its single horn, tender flesh, and dazzling coat), and, due to its location in the eastern Caucasus mountains, the vast deposits of rare-earth-minerals such as lithium, high-grade silicone, and inert, rock-bound hydrogen. The area is also known for its pristine aquifers and crisp, cold-running mountain streams that appear to keep the Yaelong in good health regardless of their hard-charging, marauding ways and a nearly universal addiction to czabtlan, a tart, intoxicating, and mildly hallucinogenic beverage made using czabtyip root.
On the sixth day of my visit, we climb – precariously – up to a string of sheltered glens that do not appear on any of my maps. We meander from spot to spot, with the Yaelong pausing to tend semi-wild, seemingly-perennial crops along the way. For hours we walk in silence, soaking up such rays of sunlight that manage to penetrate the thick overhead canopy of trees. We keep our eyes peeled for the poisonous harsh-vine, which strikes with a whip-like lash, and speak little so as to listen for predators such as cougar, bear, or man. As I am preparing, the next morning, to leave for the Glorious Republic of Grigovia's capital, Grig, Yhend Yipyend, the self-educated and democratically-elected leader of the Western Lower Yalung Yaelong, tells me, “We did not assist the Russians when they asked for our help to fight our neighbors, and we shall help neither the Americans nor the Islamists; we said the same thing to the clean-faced Yankee missionaries that we told the bearded Saudi jihadists: 'Please, leave us alone,' we said, 'please, everyone, please go fuck yourselves and stop trying to interfere with our ancient and long-standing traditions.' We have no problem with the way other people go about their business, and we expect them to leave us alone – on own our lands, in our own valleys – and that they respect our right to go about our business as we please.” Mr. Yipyend is being considered for various peace prizes, including a Nobel, and one from the United Nations.
場黑麥 mentiri factorem fecit
My first night in the Lower Yalung Valley is cold, damp, and filled with the haunting calls of the yip-yip-yend, Grigovia's first official national animal. For the next week, I shall be accompanying the Czabpamndt, one of four dedicated scouting parties for the fiercely independent, semi-nomadic warriors known as the Yaelong. Bandits feared since before the time of Alexander the Great, the Yaelong recently received international attention – and widespread acclaim – for their vehement refusal to submit to Yankee demands for the counting of their numbers, the video-taping of their traditional dances, the recording of their hunting calls, and that they finally settle down in tastefully-furnished, prefabricated structures built by nice civilian contractors from Texas; in truth, however, they have for untold centuries protected their rights – and their verdant, mountainous valleys – from most every incursion by, “idiotic, ignorant outsiders such as servile Persians, snooty Englishmen, meddlesome Soviets, and, now, capitalistic Americans.”
Due to its unique location and great age, the Lower Yalung Valley is home to many treasures, among them the czabtyip (a local spice-drug plant), the yip-yip-yend (a goat-like beast prized for its single horn, tender flesh, and dazzling coat), and, due to its location in the eastern Caucasus mountains, the vast deposits of rare-earth-minerals such as lithium, high-grade silicone, and inert, rock-bound hydrogen. The area is also known for its pristine aquifers and crisp, cold-running mountain streams that appear to keep the Yaelong in good health regardless of their hard-charging, marauding ways and a nearly universal addiction to czabtlan, a tart, intoxicating, and mildly hallucinogenic beverage made using czabtyip root.
On the sixth day of my visit, we climb – precariously – up to a string of sheltered glens that do not appear on any of my maps. We meander from spot to spot, with the Yaelong pausing to tend semi-wild, seemingly-perennial crops along the way. For hours we walk in silence, soaking up such rays of sunlight that manage to penetrate the thick overhead canopy of trees. We keep our eyes peeled for the poisonous harsh-vine, which strikes with a whip-like lash, and speak little so as to listen for predators such as cougar, bear, or man. As I am preparing, the next morning, to leave for the Glorious Republic of Grigovia's capital, Grig, Yhend Yipyend, the self-educated and democratically-elected leader of the Western Lower Yalung Yaelong, tells me, “We did not assist the Russians when they asked for our help to fight our neighbors, and we shall help neither the Americans nor the Islamists; we said the same thing to the clean-faced Yankee missionaries that we told the bearded Saudi jihadists: 'Please, leave us alone,' we said, 'please, everyone, please go fuck yourselves and stop trying to interfere with our ancient and long-standing traditions.' We have no problem with the way other people go about their business, and we expect them to leave us alone – on own our lands, in our own valleys – and that they respect our right to go about our business as we please.” Mr. Yipyend is being considered for various peace prizes, including a Nobel, and one from the United Nations.
場黑麥 mentiri factorem fecit
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