Vladimir Putin’s Buyer Remorse
MOSCOW -- The small convoy of heavy black vehicles slid quietly into Lubyanka Square just before midnight. A short commanding figure, bareheaded against the early spring cold, left the center vehicle and walked briskly towards the yellow-gold double doors, pausing only slightly for alert and saluting guards to swing them open.
A few confident strides past more guards took him to the prison section and an empty interrogation room. He closed the door and sat on a hard steel chair in the darkness, waiting. Outside, the center facade clock showed midnight.
“So Vovochka!” came the voice from behind while a cold hand gripped his shoulder. “In trouble again?”
Putin smiled at Stalin's use of the nickname. “I knew you’d come Uncle Koda.”
“The cat knows whose meat it has eaten. What is your problem? You have the damned Ukrainians in hand. What now?”
Putin squirmed at the subtle jab. “It’s the American, Uncle Koda, the polezniye duraki you suggested we buy. Well, we bought him.”
Stalin’s grip tightened. “So this useful idiot brings you what? It was expensive enough, not to mention getting him elected president. Surely you get great use from him?”
Putin hesitated. “Well. . .” A cold hand grabbed his other shoulder. “Well what?”
Staring at the floor, head down, Putin almost mumbled “We don’t get great use from this useful idiot, we only get great idiot. He talks and talks and talks.”
“So?” snorted Stalin. “A chatterbox is a treasure for a spy. Besides, isn’t he supposed to talk up our side?”
“That’s just the problem,” Putin sighed. “He talks so much --almost all of it bullshit--that when he talks positively about us, no one believes him.”
“Vovochka, Vovochka, it is so simple! Cut off contact! Let things quiet down!”
“We tried, Uncle Koda, God knows we tried! But it’s not just our paid-for guy!” Putin shook his head in frustration.”Half the dummies in his Politburo are falling over themselves to talk to us. Just yesterday, our man Sergey sent a cable complaining that his phone won’t stop ringing. He wants hazard pay.”
”Pfuff!” Stalin exhaled, fluffing his mustache.”So it’s not enough that we must deal with the idiot we’re paying, but volunteer idiots as well? For sure, when money talks, truth shuts up. You must do better, Vovochka, and soon. This is serious!”
“Or what?” Putin snapped, sensing the threat. “No one can control this guy!”
“No excuses!” Stalin growled. “Fix it or become an Enemy of The People!”
“No!” Putin shouted. “Not that!”
Stalin smiled. “Relax, Vovochka, I didn't mean here -- you’ll be an Enemy of The People in America!”
“But, but ...how?” Putin stuttered.
“No problem,” Stalin said. “I got this guy at the New York Times who owes me one. . .”
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