Dear Diary: I was able to regain some sort of normality today. Marv had concealed Blankie under my pillow and I was able to sleep with Blankie's soothing satin edging against my cheek. Breakfast consisted of steel-cut oatmeal porridge, at M's insistence. Putin was waiting to pounce as usual and I had scarcely had a mouthful of porridge when my iPresidentophone sounded The Song of the Volga Boatmen sung by the Red Army Choir. "Good mornin,' Vlad," I said in my steely, intimidating voice.
"Obamavich," he replied. "Did your destroyer enjoy being buzzed by our jet fighter in the Black Sea yesterday?"
"Look here, Vlad, if you don't stop these stunts and pull back that massive force assembled on Ukraine's border, I am going to get really, really cross and there will be consequences for you."
"Now I'm really scared...From you and whose army, Obamavich?"
"Never mind, that's for me to know and you to worry about." I tapped the "End Call" button, and proceeded calmly to finish my oats without even splitting an infinitive. Am I insanely cool? Or am I
insanely cool? But enough about me.
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