Dear Diary: Vlad Pootin was very upset by my description of him looking like a bored kid slouching at the back of the class. He called me this morning at an ungodly hour, probably breakfast time in Moscow, and spent 10 minutes ripping me a new one, as he chewed noisily on his black rye toast with borscht or whatever he eats for breakfast, saying that he travels great distances to be photographed bare-chested, on a horse, or holding a massive sturgeon and I had undone it all with one ill-considered comment. "You are amateur," he said." I will wipe floor with you, Obamavitch." I wish he wouldn't call me 'Obamavitch.' Bastard. But enough about me.
