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Vladimir. Darling. We have to talk…

Word around the ladies locker room has been unusually biting, and, well, you know me, despite our failed love affair, I remain your greatest fan and staunchest defender. But dear heart, even I can no longer ignore your latest shenanigans. Your once amusing acts of political derring-do have become fodder for the sheep’s long winter of discontent, and trust me love, you don’t want this winter blossoming into a Perestroika Spring.

You see, dearest, you used to be such a dashing, even if occasionally dastardly, lover. But lately, you’ve been skimping on the romance. First, it was that adorably efficient little title-swap with Younger Brother. Then it was the paltry mea-culpas, and pardon my bluntness sweetheart, but that’s the equivalent of delivering carnations when only hot-house orchids will do. But then the real rebuff come in the form of the deaf ear you’ve turned towards your lovers’ complaints. Let’s be frank, Vova, democracy denied is love denied. Which is not only unsexy, but lacks a certain gallantry, and really, Vladimir, you were nothing if not courteous when you were misbehaving during our relationship…


I miss the days when you were devil-may-care about your missteps and were damn forthright about your faults. It was so – so…so very macho, so wonderfully manly, so very Russian... And now? Now you’ve grown defensive, occasionally petulant, and don’t get me wrong, you know I love you just the way you are, but darling, you really need a better and more discreet artist in the “freshening up” department…Think more Paul Newman and less Mickey Rourke, ‘kay?

So for me, darling, please be the shaggable and gorgeous elder statesmen you are capable of being and not the obnoxious, old boor cruising singles clubs less you want this potential coup de grâce morphing into a coup de tat, after Prince Charming’s kiss fails to awaken Sleeping Beauty and awakens something else entirely.

Glad we had this little chat.

Love you. Call me.


Spring is certainly in the air this week and with the feeling of love rekindled, and well, Sex and the City reruns showing the Mikhail Baryshnikov episodes, I felt a bit inspired to check up, again, on my dear, sweet Vladimir.

And aside from selling his House that Russia Built and navigating a small to-do over the 2014 Olympic mascot, Vladimir has been keeping a fairly low international profile. So I found it interesting when Mikhail Gorbachev (yeah, remember him?? ) made a public comment that Vladimir should not seek to run for the presidency.

According to Mr. Gorbachev, eight years of presidency and four as Prime Minister is quite enough for one man to feed off the teet of Mother Russia, so Mr. Putin should just step aside and let someone else take a crack at rolling back democracy and increasing public corruption.

Vladimir, dear heart, sounds like you got on Mr. Perestroika‘s bad side. Maybe you should send him a link to this, I know it always cheers me up when I’m cranky with you.

You behave yourself now, darling…call me

Oh, Vladimir…

Like any proper former lover, I naturally engage in a bit of Facebook stalking…just to see what you’re up to…you know, to keep a weather eye out…

And I must say, lately things were rather tame with you. There was the cute and cuddly thing with the tigers, so presh! Of course, I seem to remember you shooting one of those little darlings in the not so distant past…and I also seem to remember something about a whale…or was it a polar bear?…whatever! Leonardo DiCaprio was at the summit and the magical power of Leo, my dear, smooths over all past sins! (we should all have such mojo…)

Then there was the nasty business extending the prison sentence of a former oligarch you broke parted ways with, and really, while I don’t approve, I find myself once again thrilled over the civility of our own relationship’s demise.

I see you you haven’t fully resolved that horrible business of thugs running amok over there. Interesting choice words, dear heart, “inevitable retribution”…not that I have any problem with the retaliation part, hell’s fury and lover’s scorn, yadda, yadda, but the inevitability of it all…as sure as the rain’s fall and the sun’s setting, one can always be sure of your wrath…maybe you should consider talking to someone about that…

And speaking of scorn, don’t think for a second I didn’t notice you whoring around with that ugly and dreadful Kyrgyzstan! So what if they name a mountain after you?! They don’t know, they don’t care, they don’t appreciate you like I do. And at the end of the day, their heart will always belong to the Ghosts of Leaders Past, whereas, my heart will always belong to you, ‘kay? Glad we have that settled.

And in full disclosure, I did place my bobble-headed replica of you in a place of honor…my desk…so that we can always be close…and so I can keep that weather eye out for you…naughty boy…

love you. call me…

This blog was sent to me by my favorite Serbian Gypsy and all I can say is: “Miss Golightly! I protest!”

It’s a blog listing the hottest heads of state in order of smokiness and while I generally agree with #1, 2 and 3, Hello, #2, and where have YOU been all my life?, I am protesting my Vladimir being left hanging at a lowly 24 while the President of Belarus, Alexander Lukashenko holds the #15 spot.

Are you people off your ever-livin-rockers? 15?? Have you failed to note the comb-over? The CHiPs-style mustache? His overall general creepiness likened to that of a cattle rapist and/or Hitler’s lost nephew? 15????

And greetings, Number 27! What is a nice looking man like you hanging out at an awful ranking like this?

And Mister Prime Minister of Slovenia…there’s something I should be writing here but I find myself oddly hypnotized by your piercing blue eyes…so clear – so pretty – so very, very shiny….

Protests are limited to their comments section, which I find unsatisfactory and thus forcing me to seek justice for Vladimir elsewhere.

Lukashenko, please. Someone has creepy-uncle issues.

First there was the hot and steamy threats of vengeance! and doom! by my yummy, yummy Vladimir when mean, nasty, old terrorists blew up his subway system. But now here’s the soft and comforting arms of Vladimir wrapped around Polish Prime Minister Donald Tusk as Russia plays kind Old Uncle to a Polish nephew that’s just lost his parents.

I’m telling you, Vladimir’s shaggability factor is so stratospheric right now it can’t possibly be measured with existing human technology.

It’s incredibly touching to see Russia reach out to Poland this way. After years of enmity (Solidarity, anyone?) and taking pot-shots at each other across the fence of international politics, it’s nice to see humanity win out at such a horrific time.

And after all the funereal rites have been performed, the dead planted in eternal slumber, and said Polish nephew has been packed away to a proper boarding school by his kindly Uncle Russia and his inheritance squandered through booze and loose women, there will be only  one thing left to do:

Kiss United States Missile Defense goodbye…forever…

Oh, Vladimir…you sneaky, shaggable bastard you…

The boy is back in town!

…and by boy, I mean man, and by man, I mean my favorite feisty neo-facist dictator, Vladimir. Yes, Vladimir! Lovely, Lovely, yummy-yummy Vladimir…..purrrrrrrrrrrr.

Just when I think Vlad is but a fond memory stored in the dark and scary recesses of my dark and twisted mind, he re-emerges, turning up like the bad penny he is.

Of course, all of this was spurred by the terrorist bombings in Moscow yesterday. And while president, Dmitry Medvedev, said the government would consider revamping anti-terrorism laws to try to prevent further attacks, Putin responds by promising to drag the bombing masterminds “from the bottom of the sewers” and that the “terrorists will be destroyed!”

um, can you say hot?

This is the Vladimir I adore, the tough-talking, swaggering mound of man-pie ready to kill you with his thumbs for so much as looking cross-eyed at him…infinitely more preferable than the stodgy Prime Minister warning about spring floods and a boring, old oil export duty.

Nice to see you back, darling, especially in such fine, fine form….call me

One person’s news blip is another person’s major revelation.

Iceland, my dear, dear, Iceland has taken a loan from Russia in the amount of $5 billion dollars to help offset its potential banking collapse.


Now let’s be clear that this was an option of last resort for Iceland since its Western Allies weren’t ponying up some dough. And this is a HUGE mistake on behalf of the US. I won’t comment for the UK or the rest of Europe, but if we are in fact, and I think we can all agree on this, on the verge of brand spanking new Cold War, then militarily speaking, we should have found a way to help out Iceland. Period.

A quick review of the facts for a moment, shall we? As I’ve been writing about for over a year now, Russia has launched illegal flights over the island nation, claimed sea floor for Russia dangerously close to Iceland’s territorial waters, and they’re building a scary new submarine not all that far from the most strategic point of the North Atlantic. And now Iceland has been put in the position of having to borrow money from them?

Where the hell is the US strategic policy on this one?

As I previously quoted, Iceland is like a revolver pointed at the back of the head of the person not holding the gun.

And since America stepped out of Keflavik air base in Iceland in 2006, they are wide open. I hope that when Iceland is need of a second loan, and it is looking as though it will be necessary, I hope the US smartens up and finds a way to help them out.

Among all the other things we can’t afford right now, this is another item on the list.

And of course I speak as an American on the topic and what Iceland means to us strategically. Hildi, I hope you’re out there. I’d love your input on this.

images2.jpegOh, Vladimir, you know how much I hate it when you play coy.

So don’t think I don’t I know that this Medvedev fella is just a front. Playing Christian to your Cyrano, and no matter how much I love playing Roxanne in this little triangle, I don’t care for it.

And seriously, the flights over US territory? Next thing I know you’ll be driving by my house at all hours of the night, placing hang-up phone calls, starting rumors about us at school, and accidentally bumping into me in the lunch line. Dear heart, if you want to ask me out, just do it already. This shy-boy act is so tiring.

Besides, I think you know what my answer will be.

Oh, Vladimir, now what is this business with redirecting your warheads at Europe? And over a silly little missile defense program no less…

…sheesh, is this what a girl has to do to get your attention?

I know it’s hard letting go, but we both agreed it was for the best. Just because you’re no longer President doesn’t mean I’ll love you any less once you’re Prime Minister.

And that thing with Poland and the Czech Republic are just flings, dalliances, really, they mean nothing to me.

You know my heart belongs to you.

Now be a good boy and stop picking on those former Soviet states. You just point those nuclear missiles back over here at the US where they belong, and let me fix you a nice drink, ‘kay?

I know I have this freakishly bizarre obsession with Vladimir Putin, but I can’t help myself. He’s like this dog I used to have, all bad attitude and hated everyone, but he was so darned cute I couldn’t myself then either.

I remember back in college, I would be sitting at my computer banging away at the keys and the dog would nose his face under my arm to demand attention. If I ignored him, he’d bite my fingers until I rubbed his belly. And that is exactly how I like to think of Vladimir, only instead of biting my fingers he drops a slimy nuclear bomb in my lap. Because even though he’s a naughty, naughty boy, I jusht wuv to grab his smooshy head and moosh him up ’cause he’s my special widdle boy, now aren’t you? Who’s momma’s widdle man? Who’s my widdle man? You are!

I mean, what could be better than having a Vladimir guard your house and person with the pure unadulterated joy of a beloved dog? All warm and cozy, sleeping at your feet in front of the fire. Patient and understanding as you clip his nails, although he has the insatiable urge to snap at you. (I’m drawing the line at picking up his “dookies” after him in the park, I’m not that much of a freak). But then you hear a noise in the kitchen and you pad on in after him to see what mischief is occurring and then it’s all VLADIMIR! Have you given Iran more nuclear material? Bad Vladmir! BAD! BAD! Don’t play cute with me, I’m mad at you! What? I don’t care if you were Time Magazine Man of the Year, who’s gonna clean up this mess? Doooooon’t you try and hide from me, you get back here right now! VLADIMIR!

So it really boils down to a perverted version of puppy love. I praise him when he’s good Who’s a smart puppy who chastised Mahmoud Ahmadinejad? You are! Oh, yes you did! What puppy gets a special ear scwatch for straightening out Bulgaria? Gooooood boooooooy! Yes you are! Yes you are!

…But I have to remember to be consistent with the discipline and swat him on the behind when he’s being bad. No matter how much it grieves me, he’s just too big a dog to not behave, aren’t you, Vladimir? Don’t you deny independence to Kosovo with me, puppy! Baaaaaaad doooooog! You go lie down! Go on! Right now! I SAID LIE DOWN!

And then he slinks off and lies under the coffee table to pout until he decides he’s finished being mad at me. Oh, but I’ll make it up to him. I always do. Maybe I’ll buy him a new chew-toy, maybe something Brown or Bush flavored….

Okay. That’s enough. I’m starting to scare myself.