PoopsNews Special Report
In a stunning and absolutely believable turn of events, the sleepy Russian village of Krylovskoye in the Perm region has once again hosted its world-famous (and entirely real) championship: the “Веселый коровяк” festival, otherwise known as the “Joyful Cowpat Toss”. Yes, you read that correctly—it’s the annual event where Russian women, with husbands kicked the bucket to a catastrophic war of imperialist ambitions, find solace in flinging cow dung with an enthusiasm previously reserved for Soviet-era propaganda parades.
A Tradition Born in the Manure
Krylovskoye, a village known for its population of approximately 47 elderly babushkas, 13 cows, and 1 Wi-Fi signal stolen from a neighboring town, has hosted this dung-slinging competition for over two glorious decades. While this year’s festival was smaller than usual—most men having taken a permanent leave of absence from life after their ill-fated escapades in Ukraine—nothing could stop the women of Krylovskoye from gathering their strength, their dignity, and their best cow manure for the annual event.
The festival celebrates the noble Russian tradition of finding joy in misery. Since the village is conveniently situated far away from reality and closer to a pile of fresh manure, residents had no problem finding the raw materials for the competition. “We may not have food, we may not have gas, we may not have husbands—but by God, we have cow dung!” declared festival participant Lyudmila Ivanovna, a 65-year-old local celebrity known for her uncanny ability to turn manure into a fine art form (but still no hot water).
The Women’s Day Out—Flinging Poop and Laughing at the Void
With most of Krylovskoye’s male population now permanently preoccupied in Ukraine (as in, pushing up sunflowers in someone else’s field), this year’s competition featured an all-female lineup. “The men have, let’s say, exited the building”, said Olga Petrovna, chairwoman of the village council and undisputed queen of cow pat precision. “But the women, we’re made of stronger stuff. We can throw cow dung further than anyone, and that includes those men who ran away from the draft!”
The competition kicked off with a grand parade, featuring a single tractor, two slightly confused goats, and a banner made from bedsheets that read, “Время пришло: метаем лепешки!” (The Time Has Come: Throw Those Cowpats!). The cows, while bemused, seemed generally supportive of the event, perhaps sensing that their excrement was destined for greatness.
The Rules of Engagement
The rules of the festival are as complex and sophisticated as you’d imagine for such a high-caliber sporting event: find a cowpat, pick it up, and throw it as far as you can. Extra points are awarded for style, distance, and whether or not you can hit the lone functioning streetlamp that remains standing in Krylovskoye after years of infrastructural neglect.
Participants are also encouraged to shout out war cries such as “Слава коровьему навозу!” (Glory to the Cow Dung!) and “Долой Wi-Fi, да здравствует удобрение!” (Down with Wi-Fi, Long Live Fertilizer!). And as with all major Russian sporting events, there’s the traditional bribing of the judges with jars of moonshine and pickled cucumbers to ensure that fairness is, as always, optional.
The Contestants: Housewives, Heroes, and Hurled Cowpies
This year’s competition saw some truly outstanding performances, particularly from returning champion Galina Vasilyevna, who hurled a cowpat so far that it allegedly hit the roof of the local mayor’s office. The mayor was not available for comment, having long since fled the village under the pretense of “urgent government business” in Moscow, but sources say the cowpat left a mark as indelible as the corruption in Russia itself.
Galina, when asked about her winning technique, revealed that she had been practicing all year. “It’s all in the wrist”, she explained, while washing her hands furiously in a bucket of questionable water. “You have to imagine that you’re throwing your frustrations, your sorrows, and the lies you hear on state television every day. And then—splat! Right into the wind!”
Her closest rival, 72-year-old Nadezhda Alexandrovna, stunned the crowd by accidentally launching her cowpat into the village church bell tower, where it promptly lodged itself between the bells. Now, whenever the wind blows, the bells ring with the faint but unmistakable sound of splattering manure—a fitting metaphor for life in Krylovskoye, if ever there was one.
Unexpected Drama: The Cowpocalypse
The festival took an unexpected turn when, midway through the event, a rogue cow named Boris decided to charge at the participants. Boris, widely known as the most irritable cow in Krylovskoye, took offense at the enthusiastic use of his excrement and stormed the field in what can only be described as a bovine tantrum.
Spectators fled in all directions, leaving a trail of spilled moonshine and shattered pickles in their wake. Meanwhile, Olga Petrovna heroically attempted to reason with Boris, offering him a jar of borscht and a heartfelt apology. After much negotiation, Boris calmed down, but not before knocking over the festival’s grand prize: a golden shovel (spray-painted, of course) and a year’s supply of toilet paper, which in Krylovskoye is considered more valuable than rubles.
The Festival’s Cultural Impact: Russia’s Next Olympic Sport?
Despite the occasional cow-related mishap, the Веселый коровяк festival continues to grow in popularity. There are now whispers—fueled by state-run media, naturally—that cowpat tossing could soon be recognized as an official sport in the Russian Olympic Games. “If we can’t win on the battlefield, we’ll win on the manure field”, proclaimed one commentator on Russia-24, with the same level of conviction typically reserved for discussing Putin’s vacation plans.
Krylovskoye’s mayor, who was reportedly hiding in his dacha during the event, issued a statement via Telegram (the messaging app, not the ancient communication method), calling the festival “a proud example of Russian culture and strength”. He also proposed expanding the competition next year to include categories such as “freestyle dung sculpture” and “synchronized cowpie slinging”, in hopes of boosting tourism to the village.
However, this grand vision faces some challenges, primarily due to the fact that Krylovskoye remains largely unknown to the outside world, and most of the potential tourists are currently busy dodging sanctions or being mobilized for military service.
In Manure, We Trust
As the sun set over Krylovskoye and the remaining participants collected their consolation prizes (a handful of potatoes and a stern lecture on the importance of patriotism), the village returned to its usual quiet existence—save for the occasional splat of a stray cowpat hitting a barn roof.
Yet, for one brief and glorious day, the women of Krylovskoye showed the world that even in the bleakest of times, when your country is mired in war and your men are busy becoming “heroes” in Ukrainian fields, there’s always time to hurl some manure in the name of fun and national pride. Because when life gives you cow dung, why not throw it as far as you can?
Stay tuned to PoopsNews for more updates on this rapidly developing story. Or not.
