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Steven Seagal, prieten bun cu Putin, a devenit cetatean rus

de Anca Serghescu
Joi, 03 Noiembrie 2016, ora 16:54

   

Steven Seagal, prieten bun cu Putin, a devenit cetatean rus
Actorul american Steven Seagal, prieten cu Vladimir Putin, a primit cetatenia rusa, au anuntat joi autoritatile de la Kremlin.

Presedintele rus, Vladimir Putin, a semnat joi decretul oficial prin care Seagal, actor de filme de actiune si expert in arte martiale, a primit cetatenia rusa.

Anuntul acordarii cetateniei a fost facut chiar pe site-ul Kremlinului. Pana in acest moment nu a avut loc nicio ceremonie, asa cum s-a intamplat in 2013, cand a existat o intalnire oficiala intre Gerard Depardieu si presedintele Vladimir Putin, odata cu acordarea cetateniei ruse actorului francez.

"A fost dorinta lui. A cerut in mod repetat, destul de multa vreme, cetatenia rusa", a declarat purtatorul de cuvant al Kremlinului. "Sunt cunoscute sentimentele sale calde pentru tara noastra, pe care nu le-a ascuns niciodata", a mai spus acesta, conform The Guardian.

Admiratia si prietenia lui Seagal pentru Putin dureaza de multi ani. Seagal, care l-a vizitat pe Putin chiar la resedinta sa, a spus despre presedintele rus ca este "cel mai mare lider in viata".

Steven Seagal, care a avut o bunica in Vladivostock, a vizitat in nenumarate randuri Rusia, in ultimii ani, exprimandu-si dorinta de a trai in aceasta tara. Mai mult, actorul pasionat de chitara a sustinut un concert in Crimeea anexata de Rusia, cantand pentru separatistii pro-rusi. De altfel, a declarat inca de la inceput ca sustine anexarea peninsulei Crimeea.

La inceputul acestui an, Steven Seagal a primit si cetatenie sarba.

Steven Seagal este cel mai recent nume dintr-o lista de celebritati care au obtinut cetatenia rusa. In afara de Gerard Depardieu, in aceasta categorie intra luptatorul american de arte martiale mixte Jeff Monson, pugilistul american Roy Jones si campionul american de snowboard Vic Wild.


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8 comentarii
Ordoneaza comentariile:Standard |Calitate |Numar Voturi |Recente

Sunt convins ca Rusia este o tara care poate fi iubita, la fel ca

(aproape) orice tara din lume. poporul rus trebuie sa fie un popor primitor si cald, cu adevarat slav!

Dar Seagal ar fi trebuit sa stie ca Putin NU este poporul rus, cu toate ca el este cel care da pasapoarte la toti amaratii din lume. Despardieux face parte din aceasta categorie de betivi scarbosi. Seagal va intra si el in acelasi club de alcoolici si afemeiati. Este adevarat ca Rusia poseda un septel de moravuri usoare de mana'ntai!

 

Tu, daca nu injuri, insulti. Si invers.

Cam la atat se reduce ce postezi.

Apreciez poporul rus, dar il detest pe Putin.

Choisi ton camp, kamarade!
Ce gasiti insultant sau injurios in comentariul meu?

Indivizi ca Putin s-au perindat de zeci de ani la carma poporului rus si a celorlalte popoare reduse in sclavie. Nu pot decat sa le doresc raul acestor dictatori in serie.

Sa.ti raspund este desigur o eroare, dar astazi fac o exceptie. Actorasul care imparte palme si pumni ca o masina de cusut, ma face un pic sa rad :))) Steven Seagal este un sub-produs al cinematografiei hollywoodiene, realizat cu banii lui Seagal insusi. Asta este singura sa calitate, isi plateste realizarea filmelor el insusi :)))

Tot asa cum Putin isi plateste re-alegerea, el insusi, dar cu banii amaratilor de rusi.

I-am cunoscut pe rusi de la o varsta frageda...

...si pot afirma ca sunt in general persoane bune si generoase. Au insa un mare defect, pe care bineinteles ca nu-l puteam sesiza in copilarie: suporta orice si sunt usor de manevrat de catre conducatorii lor (in general dictatori fara scrupule). Acest defect, combinat cu alcoolismul rampant, ii poate conduce la comiterea celor mai mari atrocitati. De-asta e necesar ca puterea discretionara pe care o au dictatorii lor pe plan intern sa fie contrarestata de fortele externe. Asta este - foarte pe scurt - problema pe care o are lumea cu Rusia.

Ai un optimism exagerat - Pentru cine vrea sa inteleaga - I

https://www.google.com/search?client=opera&q="coming+out+ofthe+ice"+herman&sourceid=opera&ie=UTF-8&oe=UTF-8#q=%22coming+out+of+the+ice%22+herman&tbm=vid
From "Coming out of the ice" by Victor Herman
 
  "...We had been working the birches pretty far out, and my brigade was getting
  closer and closer to a line of railroad track that interrupted the forest.
  One day, toward evening, when we were not far from those tracks, a short
  train pulled into view, its pace a leaden crawl. We stood a while to watch
  it pass, but just as it got by us it creaked to a stop, and we could see
  that the last car was a boxcar, a cattle car, really, and, once the train
  was halted", guards came run-ning from the front to slide back the door.
  There were women in there--fifty, sixty, seventy of them--you couldn't count,
  it was so baffling to see women like this, all dressed in summer clothing,
  light dresses and summery skirts and blouses, and some even had on sandals
  and that sort of thing, and some high heels and stockings, and a few had on
  spring coats and fancy hats, and there was one with a kind of short fur
  jacket, not a thing meant for warmth, really.

Ai un optimism exagerat - Pentru cine vrea sa inteleaga - II

  It was strange to see women, and it was very strange to see them so attired,
  the snow all around almost waist deep except where we had cleared it to work
  the birch. Those women, their faces were awful with fear, and the skin was
  like chalk. Had they been in prison, the lot of them? What else could have
  taken the color from their flesh?
  The guards ordered them out.
  I stood, like the other men, with my ax in my hand, and I stared. There was
  something about what I was seeing that held me to the spot. What was this?
  What was it I was going to see? But the women just kept coming out of there,
  most of them jumping badly from the wagon and falling headlong into the
  snow, righting them-selves, and slipping again. It was like a circus act
  almost, like some crazy interlude of clowns out in the middle of nowhere.
  Was it some kind of performance that was under way, a troupe of zany
  traveling ladies who went all over the winter wilderness entertaining
  lumberjacks in the snow? Was that what their falling into the snow was all
  about--you were supposed to laugh at such preposterous falling down and
  getting up and falling down again? And the cos-tumes, were these not also
  calculated to inspire mirth in the audience of stunned men that stood there
  gaping, each with an ax in his hand?
  But then the women were all out of there and pushing them-selves against
  each other, drawing themselves into a collective em-brace to deal with the
  cold. But in those flimsy clothes? In this snow --with everything everywhere
  frozen? How ward off this cold except to insinuate yourself into someone
  else's body? The men, even in our quilts, we were cold--and these women, some
  of them were scarcely dressed for a cool spring day. And your eye was drawn
  to the one in the little fur jacket, a thin thing, that jacket, a rag,
  really, but it caught your attention, and then you saw why it did. You saw
  that below the skimpy jacket, below that dark curtain of fur, there was the
  swollen promise of new life weeks away, maybe even sooner than that. She was
  somewhat taller than the others, or anyhow seemed taller, given that she was
  notably slender where she was not notably pregnant. That and her pale hair
  showing where the scarf did not cover her head, that hair, that slim body,
  and the patrician expression on her face, it all imparted to her something
  of an aloof presence among the others, something vaguely aristocratic. You
  noticed this, and then you noticed that the others stood somewhat away from
  her--or else it was she that was standing somewhat apart from them.
  There was a great silence all around, now that the women had quieted. As for
  the men, we were speechless in the face of this spectacle. I don't suppose
  any of us or any of them failed to hear the guard who called out the general
  announcement:

 

Ai un optimism exagerat - Pentru cine vrea sa inteleaga - III

"You sluts will work here with these prisoners until nightfall. You will
  clear the snow and you will collect the branches to keep the bonfire going.
  After sundown, you will spread your legs for the prisoner who wants you. But
  first my colleagues and I"--he swept his arm in a grand half-circle
  indicating all eleven guards--"will put our thermometers inside you to make
  certain your filthy holes are the right temperature for these brave Soviet
  workers." He laughed heartily. He had a thought, and he could barely stand
  the hilarity it promised. At last he said, "I imagine there will also be a
  dog or two that will want to warm his pecker. But which of you harlots is
  pretty enough to attract one of these splendid animals? Well, we shall see,
  we shall see," and with that the man exploded into hysterical laughter.
  Was the man serious? Who could tell? Already the spectacle was so utterly
  mad, you were willing to believe anything could happen next.
  It did.
  There was a terrible wail from the woman that was pregnant, and then I heard
  her call out, "Please! Please! I will give birth in a month!" and then I
  heard our team leader, a vicious criminal named Pavlov, shout, "All right,
  the month is up!" He advanced on the woman and kicked her square in the
  belly.

 

Ai un optimism exagerat - Pentru cine vrea sa inteleaga - IV

  What Pavlov had done happened fast; it happened before anyone could stop it.
  It was the same for what was done to Pavlov. No one could have stopped it.
  But no one tried. In an instant he was dead, hacked to bits by the axes that
  hit him, his head taken clear off at the neck, but chopped open before it
  was cut from his body. The snow where his destroyed body lay looked as if
  pails of blood had been carried to the spot and poured out.
  The guards were visibly frightened. They raised their weapons and called the
  dogs to attention. The kicked woman lay crabbing
  along in the snow, her hands grabbing and her feet pushing so that she moved
  in a little circle near to where the trunk of Pavlov's body lay like a
  continent from which the rest of him--his head, both arms, both legs--spread
  like major islands, his blood the ocean that separated them from the gory
  mainland.
  Would they shoot us all? Would they release the dogs and start to shoot? I
  don't know what the rest of the men were doing, but I stayed where I was, my
  eyes on the dog nearest me. But then the tension seemed to go out of the
  air, as if it had reached too great an extension for it to be sustained.
  There was a sort of breathing out. It might not be an exaggeration to say
  that everyone had been holding his breath. Who had ever witnessed anything
  to equal this?
  The next moment the guards were ushering the women back into the cattle car,
  and in no time at all they were loaded, two guards lifting the woman who had
  been kicked and raising her to the hands of the women who returned her to
  the floor of the cattle car. A signal was given, the little train screeched
  once and then lurched, and then began moving slowly up the line, the guards
  who had jumped off her now trotting alongside and, one by one, hauling
  themselves up and in.
  We worked that night until well after eleven. There was no talking. Not that
  we ever talked much in the woods. But this night there was no talk in
  anyone. The lumberjack brigade never moved from the zone where Pavlov lay in
  six parts. If there was talking, it was what that mess in the snow said to
  us.
  What was that man?

 

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