Barack Obama's Diary: Shamed

Dear Diary: Vlad Pootin is driving me crazy. My  specially-engraved iPresidentophone rang this morning. If it had been Pootin's usual number my phone would have played  the Moscow Comrades' Choir's rousing rendition of Keep the Red Flag Flying.  But, unknown to me, Vlad Pootin  was visiting his eastern realm and the Pacific port of Vladivostok. So when my phone played  it's usual Looney Tunes  theme,  I  naively answered it, thinking was Joe Biden
 "Bwah-ha-ha!"  said Putin, for it was he. "Obamavitch,  as Australians say:  'Mate, you're  up shit-creek  in a barb-wire canoe."
"Piss off Pootin,"  I said in a witty riposte.
"Don't say I didn't warn you," said Pootin,  "I even tried to help you with a copy of Diplomacy for Dummies, by the sainted Leonid Brezhnev.  But nooooo, Obamavitch always knows best." That  dreaded name set my heart pounding  crazily in my chest. I immediately disconnected, then I  grabbed a joint and a bag of Doritos from a secret compartment in the Resolute Desk and headed out to the South lawn for some soothing Maui Wowie while  I pretended to walk the dogs. But enough about me.