Having brought down his fourth Imperial Stout of the day, the crazy looking scoundrel from Voldvrostronglaky burped and hollered for the Czarina to enter his chamber and curve herself to his will. The economy was a disaster area and revolt was practically around the bend. Nicky the Czar man was off playing fighter like any pale aristocrat with a hemorrhagic skin condition would. Such were the last days of the old realm. Traditionalist, wanton, sputnik, stroganoff, peculiar, and alcoholic. Be that as it may, even as the low-class field toiled under cruel conditions and the threat of being shipped off a pointless battle in the east, they shrewdly set aside the effort to hammer back an Imperial Stout or two. All things considered, life can be a genuine 'suka' as they said in the old nation. The large, black, middle class, Bolshoy, belligerent, ample, and startling. This is our adaptation of the finish of a time in a bottle.