In a development that has the Kremlin’s umbrella manufacturers licking their lips, Muscovites are this morning complaining of ‘black rain’ following what Ukraine has dubbed its ‘largest attack’ on a Russian oil refinery. The phenomenon, which scientists are calling ‘crude precipitation’ and the rest of us call ‘proof that your President is losing’, has left the city’s pavements slick with the byproduct of Putin’s special military operation to turn Russia into a giant ashtray.
Residents reported a thin, oily film settling on parked Ladas, causing them to resemble the hair of a 1980s rock star after a particularly heavy gig. One pensioner, Vera, 78, told our man on the ground: ‘It’s like the sky has finally realised what we’ve known for two years — everything stinks.’ Another, Dmitri, a former aerospace engineer, said he tried to collect the rain in a bucket, hoping it might be usable as tractor fuel. ‘But it just stained the bucket,’ he sighed. ‘Like my hopes.’
The attack, which involved drones described by Ukrainian officials as ‘a little bit of everything except the kitchen sink’, targeted an oil refinery in the Ryazan region, some 200 kilometres from Moscow. The resulting blaze, visible from space and from the windows of every Duma member’s dacha, sent a column of smoke so black that it blocked out the sun. Climate change activists, momentarily confused, began cheering until a larger man in a tracksuit told them to stop.
Meanwhile, the Kremlin has been characteristically phlegmatic. President Putin, speaking through a spokesman who looked like he had just been told his cat had run off with his spleen, said: ‘This is a provocation. The black rain is actually a natural phenomenon caused by the migration of soot-birds. We are considering declaring the soot-bird an endangered species and bombing Ukraine in its honour.’
But the truth, as ever, is far more absurd. The attack marks the latest escalation in a war that has already given us the Ghost of Kyiv, the Z-tank, and now the Grease-Fall of Moscow. It is a war in which the principal currency is lies, and the interest rate is death. On the streets, the black rain serves as a grim metaphor: what goes up, including oil prices and nationalist fervour, must come down, specifically on your head.
In response, the Russian Defence Ministry announced the formation of a new unit: ‘The Umbrella Corps’. Their job is to stand at major intersections and hold umbrellas over the heads of passing officials, presumably while humming the Soviet anthem. Recruitment posters are expected to feature a slogan: ‘Join the Umbrella Corps. It’s better than being shot in the face.’
But the real question on everyone’s lips, besides the taste of petroleum, is: what next? Will the black rain wash away the remaining illusions of the Russian public? Or will they simply call it ‘patriotic precipitation’ and blame it on NATO? The answer, as always, lies somewhere between a bottle of cheap vodka and a trip to the gulag.
As for the airport gin? It’s still terrible. But at least now it’s consistent.
