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A Siberian Declaration


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Good evening.

I am pleased to announce that on the 22nd of January the Siberian Tiger Alliance turned three years old. Due to renovations we were unfortunately unable to announce this joyous occasion until now, but we hope that the myriad congratulations we expect will be equally sincere regardless.

Regrettably the illustrious Tygaland has once again violated the principal principle of partying (don't eat more than you can lift) and cannot be here with us this evening. In possibly related news we are experiencing a critical twinkie shortage and would be grateful for any foreign aid in that department.

We are also proud to share a milestone. For the first time in our venerable history we are able to boast 5,000,000 NS and 1500 nukes. For your viewing pleasure:


It seems to us that having all these nukes just sitting around is more than a little silly, so we decided that we ought to follow our mothers' advice and share. For as long as there is a single citizen still breathing in Siberia, Polaris shall not rise, stand, or fall alone.

FCO, iFok: good luck and have fun. We'll be seeing you.

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Once more unto the breach, dear friends,

once more;

Or close the wall up with our Siberian dead!

In peace there's nothing so becomes a man

As modest stillness and humility:

But when the blast of war blows in our ears,

Then imitate the action of the tiger;

Stiffen the sinews, summon up the blood,

Disguise fair nature with hard-favour'd rage:

Then lend the eye a terrible aspect;

Let it pry through the portage of the head

Like the brass cannon; let the brow o'erwhelm it

As fearfully as doth a galled rock

O'erhang and jutty his confounded base,

Swill'd with the wild and wasteful ocean.

Now set the teeth, and stretch the nostril winde;

Hold hard the breath, and bend up every spirit

To his full height!--On, on, you noble Tigers,

Whose blood is fet from fathers of war-proof!--

Fathers that, like so many Alexanders,

Have in these parts from morn till even fought,

And sheathed their swords for lack of argument:--

Dishonour not your mothers; now attest

That those whom you call'd fathers did beget


Be copy now to men of grosser blod,

And teach them how to war!--And you, good


Whose limbs were made in Siberia, show us here

The mettle of your pasture; let us swear

That you are worth your breeding: which I doubt


For there is none of you so mean and base,

That hath not noble lustre in your eyes.

I see you stand like greyhounds in the slips,

Straining upon the start. The game's afoot:

Follow your spirit; and, upon this charge,

Cry "God for Tyga, and Siberia! Za' Sibir!"




edit: Credit given to Eregor for the appropriate changes.

Edited by omfghi2u2
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