I had a dream. The bloody dawn was rising over his lair in Kremlin, Moscow (for geography lovers: Moscow is the capital of Russia, for Ms. Psaki: you can inquire where Russia is in your office). Evil Mr. Putin was sitting in his executive chair. Heavy thoughts were frantically spinning in his brain box. “You are doing a lousy job, Vova”, he thought sullenly about himself. He looked at the handle of his handgun. There was a gift inscription on the polished plate. It read, “To the staunch fighter for everything bad against everything good” and a signature Joseph Stalin. He felt somewhat better.
His murky thoughts slowly drifted to his last job. “Bad performance. I plugged only six NATO generals,
too bad”, he thought, “not enough ammunition.” “Their name is legion”, suddenly remembered he
thinking about NATO generals. “I wish I knew what their paychecks are. Next time I’ll ask before I shoot
another bunch. Life is hard in Moscow. I don’t know how I will survive on 120,000 a year now when
ruble went down. It is only $20,000 now. Poverty rate. Should I kill myself?”
He scratched his chin with a barrel of his gun. “Maybe, I should borrow from my friends, oligarchs in
London. No, those are greedy bastards, they will not scratch even a penny for you. I did so much for
them, let them rob Russian people, put them in the heart of the civilized, law loving Britain to be the
fifth column there and now what? There is no thankfulness in this world, anymore. They should have put
them to prison, confiscated their money and given it to me. You are getting old, Vova. Where did you
see that Brits ever gave away what falls between their hands”.
He gave a sigh and plunged into further thoughts. “Should I call Hillary, she’s building an election fund?
Noooo, she will chastise me. I know, she will say, ‘you cannot kill so many generals at a time, Volodya. If
it goes that way we will quickly run out of generals. You got to stop doing this at such rate, Volodya.’ No,
she is a diplomat. Her words is a no”.
“Aaaah!”, he thought, “No, sanctions are sanctions. I will get no money that way. Better call Henry. He is
a money guy. He knows where the world gold is kept now. Besides, he comes from secret services just
like me. He said all decent people come from secret services. That means he is decent and I am decent.
He is like a brother to me. But Henry is retired. If I ask him for money my people will not understand me.
I will have protests. They will protest against taking money from retired people. I don’t live in America.
No.”
He cocked his gun. “Australian prime-minister”, popped in his head. He frantically tried to remember his
name. In vain. “Even though he had promised to have a fight with me when I came to Australia he hid
himself behind grossmutter Merkel’s back. I was ready to break his neck but since he gave me to hold
his koala I gave him amnesty. He won’t give me any money. He gave nothing to this Ukrainian guy who
was for all the good.”
He played with a bullet on his desk. “Shall I try babushka Merkel…?” My phone suddenly rang. I woke up. Ms. Psaki’s office wanted to know where Timbuktu was...
by Clairvoyant
too bad”, he thought, “not enough ammunition.” “Their name is legion”, suddenly remembered he
thinking about NATO generals. “I wish I knew what their paychecks are. Next time I’ll ask before I shoot
another bunch. Life is hard in Moscow. I don’t know how I will survive on 120,000 a year now when
ruble went down. It is only $20,000 now. Poverty rate. Should I kill myself?”
He scratched his chin with a barrel of his gun. “Maybe, I should borrow from my friends, oligarchs in
London. No, those are greedy bastards, they will not scratch even a penny for you. I did so much for
them, let them rob Russian people, put them in the heart of the civilized, law loving Britain to be the
fifth column there and now what? There is no thankfulness in this world, anymore. They should have put
them to prison, confiscated their money and given it to me. You are getting old, Vova. Where did you
see that Brits ever gave away what falls between their hands”.
He gave a sigh and plunged into further thoughts. “Should I call Hillary, she’s building an election fund?
Noooo, she will chastise me. I know, she will say, ‘you cannot kill so many generals at a time, Volodya. If
it goes that way we will quickly run out of generals. You got to stop doing this at such rate, Volodya.’ No,
she is a diplomat. Her words is a no”.
“Aaaah!”, he thought, “No, sanctions are sanctions. I will get no money that way. Better call Henry. He is
a money guy. He knows where the world gold is kept now. Besides, he comes from secret services just
like me. He said all decent people come from secret services. That means he is decent and I am decent.
He is like a brother to me. But Henry is retired. If I ask him for money my people will not understand me.
I will have protests. They will protest against taking money from retired people. I don’t live in America.
No.”
He cocked his gun. “Australian prime-minister”, popped in his head. He frantically tried to remember his
name. In vain. “Even though he had promised to have a fight with me when I came to Australia he hid
himself behind grossmutter Merkel’s back. I was ready to break his neck but since he gave me to hold
his koala I gave him amnesty. He won’t give me any money. He gave nothing to this Ukrainian guy who
was for all the good.”
He played with a bullet on his desk. “Shall I try babushka Merkel…?” My phone suddenly rang. I woke up. Ms. Psaki’s office wanted to know where Timbuktu was...
by Clairvoyant
RSS Feed
