American Politics Journal

Putin On The Bush
by Alan Bisbort

July 8, 2001 -- Hartford, Ct. (APJP) -- The courting of ex-KGB chief Vladimir Putin by George W. Bush has to be one of the strangest romances since Krazy Kat was hit with a brick in the back of the head by Ignatz Mouse. After his recent "summit meeting" in Slovenia with Putin, America's President-select stated that he'd gazed into the Russian President's eyes and saw into the man's "soul" -- interesting image for a God-less Communist. George came running home, his cheeks aflame with the blush of his new crush, and told America that Putin is our friend, not our enemy. America, of course, breathed a collective sigh of relief, and turned their waning attention back to "Who Wants to Bang a Billionaire, The Sequel."

The operative spin by the cloying American press corps on this Slovenia summit was: "Why wasn't gazing into the eyes of despots the cornerstone of our foreign policy before this? Maybe if FDR had gazed into Hitler's eyes, we could have averted World War II. George W. Bush is a genius!"

The truth of the matter, as everyone secretly knows but doesn't dare admit, is that Putin knows a putz when he sees one. The former Soviet goon can't believe his good fortune to have such a sucker as little Georgie in the White House. And, like any object of desire that does not desire his pursuer, Putin is stringing the smitten Shrub along. The perfect poker-faced gigolo, Putin can tell a lie with the best of them, and he is playing out the romantic string that has been tossed his way. If we could read between the lies, er, lines in this romance, here's how the dialogue would probably go:

Georgie: Gee whiz, Daddy, that round of golf at the WASPs-only country club was fun. My puttin' is gettin' better all the time. Speaking of puttin', I just can't get that sweet and sour Putin off my mind. I think I'll give him a call..."
Georgie, Sr.: Gee whiz, son. Do you think you ought to do that? After all, you're a married man, and Laura might get her putter all a-flutter.
Georgie: Oh, it's just a lil phone call. It's not like I'm sending him Godiva chocolates or Victoria Secret panties or anything.
Georgie, Sr.: Loud and clear, son, loud and clear. I once sweet-talked Saddam, but he took my intentions wrong and went into Kuwait. Despots. Can't live with em, can't live without em. Tell you what. If Putin throws you over like Saddam did me, just tell the nation you're 'out of the loop'. Worked for me. Like a charm. They think I'm a liberator over there in the gulfs of Persia.
Georgie: Thanks, Daddy. Here's the phone...oh, by the way, do you know the number for the Kremlin? Uncle Dickie won't let me have a copy.
Georgie, Sr.: Sure do. Here, I'll dial it for ya.
Georgie: You're the best Daddy a D-Student ever had.

...meanwhile, at the Kremlin... [Rrringsky, Rrringsky]...

Ivan (Putin's secretary): Da. Hot line is buzzing. Da.
Putin: Must be that silly Bushsky again. Let it ringsky a few times. Never appear too eager when someone is in love. Right, Ivan?
Ivan: Da, sir.
Putin: Still, Ivan, I don't really know what to do with this guy. I don't love him, don't really even respect him, in the morning, in the evening or even as an afternoon delight. But he won't leave me alone. He keeps calling. If this were the United States, I could have him arrested for stalking, but this is the Soviet Union, er, democratic Russia. He is suffocating me, Ivan, with all this silly small talk. What do I do?
Ivan: Da, sir, my gutsky tells me the guys a little bit nutsky, a little bit slutsky...
Putin: I know, I know, it's not that. It's that silly look on his face. I can't stay aroused for long enough when he looks at me that way. I want to turn off the lights, knock down a quart of Stoly, get the thing over with as fast a possible, then kick his ass out of bedsky. You don't know what it's like to roll over in bed in the morning with a nuclear-sized hangover and have to look at that idiotic grin of his...
Ivan: Understoodsky, comrade, er, Mr. Presidentsky.
Putin: Doesn't he get it? Doesn't he understand that I need to see other people? Like Yugo, er, Serbia. I love Slobadon. I can't get enough of his funksky stuffsky, if you know what I mean. But I also love Saddam and Jiang. I got three lovers but I love them all the same. What do I do, Ivan, what do I do about Bushsky? I've never felt this way before. Come to think of it, I've never been an object of desire before...
Ivan: Just pick up the phone and lie through your teethsky, sir.
Putin: Rightsky as usual, Ivan. [Reaches for hot line receiver, hesitates, then lunges quickly, before losing stomach]: Hello. Iz dat you, Georgie Porgy?
Georgie: Oooh, I love it when you call me that. I was just callin' to see how you and your missiles are doin'.
Putin: My missiles only have eyes for you, Bushsky Wushsky.
Georgie: Have you gotten rid of any of em yet? I will if you will.
Putin [blowing his cool]: Stop pressuring me! Doing best I can! What you want from me? I am only one man.
Georgie: Okee dokee, VeePee. I won't bring that up again.
Putin: Promise?
Georgie: Promise.
Putin: And you won't mention Kosovo or Chechnya either?
Georgie: I don't even know who they are. Are you seein' other men, VeePee?
Putin: Nyet. They are nations, or they think they are nations, but they mean nothing to me. Nada.
Georgie: Then that must mean I'm number one in your heart. Oh, I knew it, VeePee, I knew it! I gazed into your steely blues and saw your soul...and a whole lot more, too!
Putin: [wincing and biting his tongue] Rightsky whitesky, Bushsky. That champagne really went to the headsky, didn't it?
Georgie: I wouldn't know, since Laura won't let me get lit up like a Christmas tree any more. It ain't a good zample to set fer my kids.
Putin: But yer kids are grown, Bushsky, and they likes their brewsky as much as their daddy ever did.
Georgie: Oh Vlady, I love you so much! Please let's get together again.
Putin: Da. Something I been meaning to tell you, George.
Georgie: Oh, it's "George" now. Why so formal?
Putin: Well, I have other men in my life...
Georgie: Say no more. Loud and clear, Commie bastard, loud and clear.
Putin: But we'll always have Slovenia...
Georgie: Don't try to sweet talk me. Mah heart is hurtin' as much as Uncle Dickie's now. I gotta go. [Click] Daddy.
George, Sr.: Yes, son.
Georgie: Mix me a G and T. I'm gonna git plastered.
George, Sr.: Out of the loop, out of the loop.
Georgie: Then I'm gonna call Jiang and Slobodan and arrange a threesome.
George, Sr.: We going golfing again? Fore!

Alan Bisbort is a regular contributor to the Hartford Advocate.