The New Yorker continues its Russian fetish this week, with an item on oxygen-deprivation chambers and the men and women who sell them. TNY lovingly quotes Russian emigre Gary Kotliar’s claim that his chambers have healing powers:

‘Did you know it is used already for treating untreatable diseases?’

Also, they can help you with sleep and sexual potency:

‘You are like bull,’ he said. ‘I’m, like, nineteen years old! It is the equivalent of 10 thousand oysters.’

But this week, the dorky Economist trumps its smarmier sibling in the game of Whack-a-Russian. Rather than funny quotes guaranteed to make foreigners look like idiots, the E uses statistics. The current issue features the results of a survey of the Russian people, which asked which professions they would describe as especially shady and untrustworthy.

10% picked “drug dealer/con man/thief/terrorist” (yes, this was all one category)
40% picked “policeman”

The moral: Russian police are crookeder than a Nigerian prince. And, if you happen to be a Russian in America, don’t talk to The New Yorker.

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