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Thursday, September 12, 2013

Vlad the Implier

Sochi: Land of Milk and Money
Putin did a guest post for me. I'm honored.

Recent events surrounding the Winter Olympics here in my country have inspired me to write a bit about what I plan for the homosexuals of the world. And for the heterosexuals.

It is true. I do not like homosexuals. But I am only one man. I am just like you, and have no real power over the individual loves of each and every human on earth. Try as I may, I cannot physically insert myself into each person's life. I can only make laws, and those laws state that homosexual propaganda is a bad thing.

These laws are limited to the borders of my country. Russia. They are not international laws, and should cause no concern to any other nation. We have this in common: I too wish Johnny Weir would keep silent.

You know, when I was a teenager, I knew a homosexual. For the convenience of my American audience, I will say his name was Todd, because watching Americans try to pronounce Russian names is a painful process, and I do not like to endure pain. I do not endure pain. The only time I allow myself to feel pain is when Americans are pronouncing Russian names.

To observe Americans spelling Russian names is worse. More painful to me. The Cyrillic alphabet is not so very difficult to decipher, Americans. Must you act as if it is an illiterate, limbless child attempting Morse code? It is a beautiful script, our Russian alphabet. Elegant. You do not have the monopoly on readable fonts.

We do not have Comic Sans in Russia. We do not need it.

Todd--not his real name, as I said, but it is the name you will call him by--liked men. He liked men so much he wanted to join with other men, to become something more than himself, which is an abomination. I did not hate Todd. When I killed him, I felt his sickness leave him, and he was at peace. It is because I loved him--as a human, "no homo," as you Americans say--that I did this. Todd's last words were, "My sickness is leaving me. Thank you, Vladimir. Thank you. You have cured me." The remarkable thing about his last words was that I did not hear them, as I had crushed his windpipe with my bare hands. But I felt them in my mind.

"Thank you, Vladimir. Thank you for murdering me."

This was Todd
It was a beautiful moment for both of us. As was Todd's funeral. A beautiful moment that made me who I am today. And made Todd who he is today. Which is to say, without that moment, I would not be President of Russia, and he would not be relieved of his homosexuality in a grave just outside of Leningrad. I mean, Saint Petersburg. Saint Petersburg.

So now we are having three things in Russia that involve Americans. We are having the Olympics. We are having Snowden. And we are having homosexual corrections, which do not really involve Americans from our Russian point of view but do seem to invite American homosexual attention. Your gays stopped buying Russian vodka as a form of protest. I am pleased with this. The less drunk Western homosexuals, the better. They will be less likely to breed if they are sober.

About the Olympics: We will not tolerate homosexual athletes. Any show of homosexual solidarity breaks our current laws--we do not send our athletes to your country and tell them to rob banks or microwave kittens, so please do not send your athletes here and tell them to protest our homosexual reformation laws. It is rude. Respect our laws just as, in Atlanta and the Salt Lake, we respected your laws. We did not let our pole-vaulting team kill a single one of your fruity diving team members. Quid pro quo, America.

About Syria: I have already announced my intention to solve the Syrian issue. Lay off. If you prevent my friend Assad from gassing--or not gassing!--his own people, I will call an audible, and replay Colin Powell's UN argument for invading Iraq on a loop. This audible will be broadcast from one of our many Russian satellites, and will interfere with the series finale of Breaking Bad, as well as the season premiere of How I Met Your Mother. I predict there will be riots in the street. I will also--because America has a proud and active intelligentsia--replace each copy of Thomas Pynchon's wonderful new novel with the autobiography of George W. Bush, just because I cannot both call for an end to chemical warfare in Syria and simultaneously poison you all with what I have come to call Litvineko Solution.

Finally: About Snowden. I do not know of any Snowden, so please do not ask about him. Just do me and my country the honor of not being homosexual, and of doing as I say when I say it.

In conclusion, I must add that you Americans are not exceptional. If you were exceptional, you would be proud of having a non-White President no matter your opinion of his performance, and you would be happy to defend homosexuals both at home and abroad. You would be horrified at the fact that another leader is gassing his own people. Exceptionalism is not about nationalism, and all you Americans seem to have is a nationalistic streak without the need to rise above and make yourself truly exceptional.

I must go now. I am told one of my closest advisers is considering having sex with his long-term secretary. Both are men. I must save them. I am, as you Americans say, a superhero.

Love and kisses,

Vlad



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