Shaman (Part 1)

(I translate my short story with a sledgehammer and a damn mother, without understanding a word, so if you see something that is not consistent with common sense, please point it at me).

Throwing back the heavy, smelly dog shed, I entered the tent.
The old shaman PoW Three thousand one hundred and forty-four, who seeing, according to rumors of Lenin himself, gloomy looked at me.
"I know everything," he grumbled me surly. "But you still tell me."
I looked around the room, trying to figure out where to sit, but the tent looked... inhospitable.
Under the ceiling hung a dummy of swamp alligator, along the walls stood carefully boarded boxes with the inscription "The US Army," which did not want to sit down on them categorically, the portrait of Felix Edmundovich* dimly gleamed dimly from behind the shaman.
*(Felix Edmundovich - Felix Edmundovich Dzerzhinsky, the founder of the secret service of the USSR)

Himself PoW Three and so forth, rocking in a rocking chair and quietly tapped his fingers on the edge of the shaman's drum "smoke on the water".
Incorrectly interpreting my view, the shaman explained.

"I prefer to buy everything on sales of army surplus. Alligator is not worth your attention - I took him for debts, but he died in the cold winter. Deer, whatever one may say, is still better."

After such a statement, all I had to do was just to sink to the floor and bewildered to say.

"I have problems with girls."

"A love potion you can buy in a rural sex shop. I will write the prescription."

The shaman tapped nervously on the drum, and confidently added.

"I don't believe in myself anymore. It is very difficult to compete with the modern chemical industry."

"I do not need this," I retorted, without specifying that I had already visited the sex shop. It was the look of the former kinds of the saleswoman from there, having listened to me with an indescribable expression of horror on her face and sent me to the shaman. - I do not understand why I can not find my girlfriend in any way."

!!!
The shaman looked at me in doubt.
"So, you have hands and feet, a head on your shoulders, an age under thirty ... Oh-yes, this really strange."
With a suffering look, the shaman slid down into the chair, finding something on the floor.
"Something" turned out to be a small tomahawk, and it seemed to me that PoW Three intentions to solve the problem most radically from all possible methods.
Instead of this, the shaman put some grass into the cup on the back of the tomahawk, clicked the "zippo" and, catching a puzzled look, explained.

"Peace Pipe! A gift from Latin America. From Don Juan."

It seems that there was no special trust in my face, so the shaman honestly confessed.

"I'm kidding. Bartered with the Eskimos from the other coast to twenty gallons of moonshine."

After that, Zek Three dragged on, without much delight releasing the nose smoke, and sat for a while with a distinctly disapproving expression.

"Hollywood's movies, fantastic novels and computer games left their mark in your heart, paleface! Heavy as a bulldozer of oilmen." - he muttered finally, and with obvious pleasure extinguished the pipe.

Since the understanding in my view of these actions has not increased, PoW Three explained.

"For access to the astral space nowadays they are take just outrageously expensive cost."

"I'll pay .." - I muttered uncertainly, trying to estimate how much money I still have, but the shaman casually waved.

"There are other prices. Provider prefers paying souls; so stay out of it. Although..." - here he looked at me skeptically, - "There, of course, they can also build something on a special project. But in products, then usually a technological flaw is revealed. You want eternal youth, for example, - so you immediately kill on the place. Here certainly you will not grow old!"