Friday, October 8, 2010

Vladimir Putin

"Russia's modern foreign policy is based on the principles of pragmatism, predictability and the supremacy of killin' it harder than a horny Don Cossack."

When Vladimir Putin pulls his dick out to take a piss it casts a shadow over all of Eastern Europe.  His license to kill it doesn’t expire until 2061 and when he’s not telling the entire Russian Duma what to do, he’s probably out at the most exclusive nightclubs in Moscow or St. Petersburg slamming shots of the finest Russian Vodka spiked with the best Caspian beluga caviar in a way that makes Boris Yeltsin look like he spent his entire term in an AA meeting.  He derives his name from his illustrious ancestor, Vlad the Impaler, who was responsible for tastefully decorating a field with over 30,000 soldiers impaled on pikes and was also the origin of the Count Dracula myth.

"I have given all I could to this work. I am happy with the results."

You could say Putin’s ability to consolidate power domestically is comparable to Stalin’s – if Stalin had spent his 12 year reign railing adderall and working 32 hours a day.  His tactics range from ensnaring political rivals in elaborate honey traps using a string of Ukrainian-models-turned-FSB-agents - all of whom he dated in early nineties, then blackmailing them into subservience with the evidence of their sexual perversions, assassinating journalists that write about him with anything other than beaming accolades and then blaming their deaths on a group of right-wing-neo-nazi-ultra-nationalists, or framing powerful oligarchs for various financial crimes and then sending them to the gulags in Eastern Siberia while he siphons their entire business empire’s assets into his own personal Swiss bank account and slams their wife.  

"We shall fight against them, throw them in prisons and destroy them."

When the KGB posted him to Dresden, young Vlad had but one mission: Kill it so hard that the bombings that still scarred the city looked humane. If he wasn't smuggling spies in the trunk of his pimped-out Trabant (License Plate Number: KLLRVLD) he was enjoying a bracing judo match with Marcus Wolf. Putin put two things first: Killin' it, and the Motherland. He didn't need to spill Kirschwasser to make some East German strumpet give up her body and her secrets – his icy stare was so intense a chick didn't know if she just pissed herself or came, but either way she was telling him where the illegal printing press was.  After rising to the top of the FSB (the new KGB), Putin exploited the conflict in the Caucuses to launch his wildly successful political career and doesn’t seem to mind that his throne is literally doused in blood.

"You must obey the law, always, not only when they grab you by your special place."

Putin’s version of crony capitalism would have made Lenin immediately go out and buy the finest Armani suit he could find and then start day trading in commodity futures and foreign currencies.  Despite having women thrown at him literally everywhere he goes, being such a boss leaves little time for chasing skirt, so when Putin needs to bust a nut he usually has his placeholder, President Dmitry Medvedev, give him a blowie.  Otherwise he’s sitting in on a private performance by Russia’s most beautiful, nubile, and rhythmic gymnast, Alina Kabaeva – a la JFK and Marilyn Monroe, but rumor has it he may actually dump his wife and make this one official.  

“I’m Russia’s answer to James Bond.”

Vladimir parties with the cream of the dictator crop, who – when they aren’t carrying out his will, are busy shopping the illegal exotic animals markets for a suitable gift to present him. Tigers are his favorite. And if he isn't invading a satellite state or signing off on some light genocide from his self-appointed strong arm governor of Chechnya, he is chopping it up with Hugo Chavez. From inking contracts for nuclear enrichment tools for Iran to selling advanced weapons systems to Syria, Putin insists on staying true to the Motherland, which is as good as staying true to his killin'-it self, because "L'etat, c'est moi" isn't just his motto; it's his moral code. You can feel the power of the state emanating from just about everything he's touched. 

"I don't read books by people who have betrayed the Motherland."

Putin’s life is like a Russian novel, except instead of a thousand pages of excruciatingly drawn out character development that inevitably results in a disappointing and depressing denouement, it’s like Tolstoy wrote a novel just about Levin and Stiva going to all night raves at St. Basil’s and then slamming the hottest babes at a private gentleman's club, surrounded by cage dancers and tigers that can do ballet.

Putin’s water bed is filled with the blood of Siberian tigers.

“Fuck you, Peter Fonda - I'm killin' it."

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