Tales of forced flight from Russia, where standup has become both a weapon and an excuse for persecution, are replaced by attempts to find a home and meaning in emigration. Between worries about the war, absurd bureaucratic traps and Russophobia, there is a tired view of life, where even the PlayStation is sad with its owner. All this flow of anxiety and irony reminds us that happiness is a rare guest, and humor is the only way not to go mad.
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