It once was that any hopeless American man—no matter just how fat, bald, or ugly—could journey to Moscow and get back to Topeka with a gorgeous trophy spouse.

It once was that any hopeless American man—no matter just how fat, bald, or ugly—could journey to Moscow and get back to Topeka with a gorgeous trophy spouse.

But because of a booming Putin-era economy—and all the prosperity and gold-plated Land Rovers that are included with it—the times of the grateful bride that is russian fading fast

it’s 6:30 p.m., and everybody is crowded right into a gloomy, nondescript space regarding the very first flooring of Kiev’s St. Petersburg resort. Tonight’s impresario, Jack Bragg, appears frantic, additionally the sweat is seeping through their bandanna using the miniature Confederate flags in the mirror next to the coat check—and the interpreters, all women, are on their cell phones or talking to one another on it, and the men look edgy—they’re straightening their ties, straightening their eyebrows, staring at themselves. Bragg, that is perhaps not a man that is small appears like a Hells Angel along with his sunglasses and goatee, is gesticulating extremely, along with his vocals feels like a timpani.

Downstairs, in the hotel’s cellar banquet hallway, are seventy women that are ukrainian dolled up and dying to be met. “Big evening,” Bragg tells their troops. Continue Reading