Book of Jeremiah
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- Nov 3, 2012
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I believe this thread could serve as a real education on what socialism, liberalism, communism is all about. It does appear that some of our young people have no idea. With that in mind, here is some information that will hopefully "educate" young Americans. We begin with a theme park known as "Stalin World."
Tasteless?" Mr Malinauskas stared out towards the electric fence, the moat and the guard towers that enclose StalinWorld, the theme park in which he is faithfully recreating life in a Siberian labour camp. "I wouldn't say so." Viliumas Malinauskas, the former heavyweight wrestling champion of Lithuania, charges tourists the equivalent of 80p to enter the park, with its narrow wooden roadways and clumps of birch trees.
There are plans to have visitors herded into a reception centre by guides dressed as Red Army soldiers.
As a family day out, critics say, it represents an unpalatable cross between Disneyland and the Gulag. Yet, undeterred, thousands of sightseers have already visited the 500-acre estate in the south of Lithuania, 80 miles from the capital Vilnius. Malinauskas hopes the park will eventually attract two million visitors a year.
Certain refinements, such as the concealed loudspeakers that play tape-recorded screams of women and children, are not yet in operation.
Coach parties, including school groups, arrive every day. Visitors wander round the site, gazing up at the 53 huge metal statues of Soviet heroes dotted around.
The sculptures, in bronze, copper or iron, are up to 30ft tall and most weigh more than 20 tons. They were proudly displayed at prominent sites around Lithuania before the country declared independence in 1990.
"I have 12 Lenins, one Stalin and an Engels," says Malinauskas. On the basis that you have to provide something for everyone, he has also constructed a small, fenced-off area which contains a pig, two wild boars and "a quite remarkable selection of fowl".
"The Mushroom King", as Viliumas Malinauskas is known locally, made his fortune by exporting bottled chanterelles, ceps and other varieties prized by wealthy gourmets. But, while his preserved fungi have excited universal delight among mushroom fans from Riga to Los Angeles, his latest venture has been less widely applauded. Several critics one a priest have publicly recommended dynamite.
"But who are these guys?" Malinauskas asks. "They are nobodies. They are morons in a trance."
We walk out of the estate, through a wire fence, into his private grounds. The area is protected by armed guards, two Dobermans and another dog, which, the entrepreneur assures me, "only looks like a wolf".
The decor in Mr Malinauskas's own house a bizarre three-storey residence that might have come straight from the set of that other much-cherished celebration of totalitarian chic, The Prisoner is in marked contrast to the modest facilities in the park's Siberian-style outhouses.
You enter a marble entrance hall, then climb a flight of steps that leads up past an aviary containing a white cockatoo, which greets you in Lithuanian. At the top of the stairs, an opulent lobby is lined with cabinets displaying the hundreds of silver trophies Malinauskas has won for his mushrooms and wrestling.
We sit down in his large office. Propped in a corner by his desk is a shotgun. A plaque on a nearby wall commemorates his election this year as southern Lithuania's "Liberal Man of the Year".
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Statue of Jospef Stalin
Welcome to Stalin World
Welcome to Stalin World
You won't believe how bad it is
(or even that it exists. But it does, comrades, it really does)
By Robert Chalmers
15 February 2001
Tasteless?" Mr Malinauskas stared out towards the electric fence, the moat and the guard towers that enclose StalinWorld, the theme park in which he is faithfully recreating life in a Siberian labour camp. "I wouldn't say so." Viliumas Malinauskas, the former heavyweight wrestling champion of Lithuania, charges tourists the equivalent of 80p to enter the park, with its narrow wooden roadways and clumps of birch trees.
There are plans to have visitors herded into a reception centre by guides dressed as Red Army soldiers.
As a family day out, critics say, it represents an unpalatable cross between Disneyland and the Gulag. Yet, undeterred, thousands of sightseers have already visited the 500-acre estate in the south of Lithuania, 80 miles from the capital Vilnius. Malinauskas hopes the park will eventually attract two million visitors a year.
Certain refinements, such as the concealed loudspeakers that play tape-recorded screams of women and children, are not yet in operation.
Coach parties, including school groups, arrive every day. Visitors wander round the site, gazing up at the 53 huge metal statues of Soviet heroes dotted around.
The sculptures, in bronze, copper or iron, are up to 30ft tall and most weigh more than 20 tons. They were proudly displayed at prominent sites around Lithuania before the country declared independence in 1990.
"I have 12 Lenins, one Stalin and an Engels," says Malinauskas. On the basis that you have to provide something for everyone, he has also constructed a small, fenced-off area which contains a pig, two wild boars and "a quite remarkable selection of fowl".
"The Mushroom King", as Viliumas Malinauskas is known locally, made his fortune by exporting bottled chanterelles, ceps and other varieties prized by wealthy gourmets. But, while his preserved fungi have excited universal delight among mushroom fans from Riga to Los Angeles, his latest venture has been less widely applauded. Several critics one a priest have publicly recommended dynamite.
"But who are these guys?" Malinauskas asks. "They are nobodies. They are morons in a trance."
We walk out of the estate, through a wire fence, into his private grounds. The area is protected by armed guards, two Dobermans and another dog, which, the entrepreneur assures me, "only looks like a wolf".
The decor in Mr Malinauskas's own house a bizarre three-storey residence that might have come straight from the set of that other much-cherished celebration of totalitarian chic, The Prisoner is in marked contrast to the modest facilities in the park's Siberian-style outhouses.
You enter a marble entrance hall, then climb a flight of steps that leads up past an aviary containing a white cockatoo, which greets you in Lithuanian. At the top of the stairs, an opulent lobby is lined with cabinets displaying the hundreds of silver trophies Malinauskas has won for his mushrooms and wrestling.
We sit down in his large office. Propped in a corner by his desk is a shotgun. A plaque on a nearby wall commemorates his election this year as southern Lithuania's "Liberal Man of the Year".
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