Dear Diary: Vlad Pootin is driving me crazy. My specially-engraved iPresidentophone rang this morning. If it had been Pootin's usual number my phone would have played the Moscow Comrades' Choir in a rousing rendition of Keep the Red Flag Flying. But, unknown to me, Vlad Pootin was visiting his eastern realm and the Pacific port of Vladivostok and using a different number. So when my phone played the Looney Tunes theme, I answered it, thinking it was Joe Biden.
It wasn't: "Bwaah-ha-ha!" said Putin, for it was he. "Obamavitch, in Syria you are-- as the Australians say-- up shit-creek in a barbed-wire canoe."
"Piss off Pootin," I snapped back in one of my world-famous witty ripostes.
"Don't say I didn't warn you about Syria," said Pootin, "I even tried to help you with a copy of Diplomacy for Dummies, by the renowned diplomat Leonid Brezhnev. But nooooo, Obamavitch always knows best." That dreaded name set my heart pounding crazily in my chest. I immediately disconnected, then grabbed a joint and a bag of Doritos from the secret compartment in the Resolute Desk and headed out to the South lawn for some soothing Maui Wowie while I pretended to walk the dogs and gradually calmed down. But enough about me.
It wasn't: "Bwaah-ha-ha!" said Putin, for it was he. "Obamavitch, in Syria you are-- as the Australians say-- up shit-creek in a barbed-wire canoe."
"Piss off Pootin," I snapped back in one of my world-famous witty ripostes.
"Don't say I didn't warn you about Syria," said Pootin, "I even tried to help you with a copy of Diplomacy for Dummies, by the renowned diplomat Leonid Brezhnev. But nooooo, Obamavitch always knows best." That dreaded name set my heart pounding crazily in my chest. I immediately disconnected, then grabbed a joint and a bag of Doritos from the secret compartment in the Resolute Desk and headed out to the South lawn for some soothing Maui Wowie while I pretended to walk the dogs and gradually calmed down. But enough about me.
