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"Don't Be Bitch: A Putin Satire," short story excerpt

Thursday 3/3/22

The way you’re going to want to handle this is to pretend you’re, I don’t know, back in college. Wait. We can fudge that. Pretend you’re making fun of a college kid. World is a scary place, man. You have to laugh. Do you have to laugh? People say that to you, don’t they? But there are a lot of scolds, yes? More scolds than ever. When I make these comments, I feel like I should date this story. This fiction. This satire. Labels. Blah. Bleh. Fuck ‘em, right? Everything gets a label, though. They’re not very useful. They’re quite limiting. Labels make a layer between you and what something is. There are good layers and bad layers. I think that’s one of the bad kinds. Probably doesn’t matter. People figure stuff out. If they want. But as I was saying: Use a college student voice and read this aloud. What I mean by that is the ridiculous Russian accent of a dumbass college student who is actually kind of funny. Sure, he says this really, really, really wrong shit, but let’s be honest: that’s some of the funniest shit there is. You like it. Don’t act like you don’t. But we’ll blame this on someone else, and if you call something satire, well, you’re golden. It’s not your fault, is it? Try to make the letter W sound like a V. I’ll help you out a few times to get the idea. State of the world. The lens of Putin. In various forms and installments. Also: pretend it’s like 1 AM. You are high. No one can fully blame you. It’s not like you were high and you just raped somebody or ran them over with your car and it's full accountability. You just said some stupid shit and a couple girls thought you were funny after and one considered masturbating to you the next day before just picking someone from her regular rotation.

Vladimir Putin delivers a PSA on his YouTube channel, with a special emphasis on North America:

It’s Putin. I fuck you up. I take your vomen. Chicken. Goats. Ovechkin is friend. Come home Alexander and drive biggest tank. Malkin come too. Leave before bombs. Score goals in glorious homeland and breast of Mother Russia. Probably be okay but also should probably leave. Wait. They hand me note. Oh. Yeah. Eastern seaboard not so great to be place. Top of score sheet better. Score for Russia. I do wink now. You know vhat mean.

Vladimir Putin phones Donald Trump and it’s like that Bob Newhart phone routine, except it’s Putin.

Putin: No you come over. Ja. Come here. What you fucking mean you busy?

Putin: You not sick dude. You come, I give you steroid, you feel better. You probably just do the golf like I no know. Not my first Gulag.

Putin: What? No. I take all the time. Make you feel good. You feel good and then you just die. Way later. No sick first. Good good good die. You die anyway. You remember Vladimir Krutov? Other Vladimir. How you think he so good at the hockey? Then he die. No sick first. Is better that way.

Putin: Vat? Stop ze the COVID. Don’t be bitch.

Putin: Yeah I have the drugs. Obvi. And we do that, how you say. How you say it? We grab them.

Putin: Ja. Ha ha. Ja. Right right right. By the pussy. Always forget word. Pussy. Puz………….zeeeeeee.

Putin: Right. Okay. Ya. Ja. Ha ha. See you soon. Right.

Putin: Okay bye. See you soon.

Putin: (Dumb is the ass. Oy zey.)


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