Associated Press

Early morning: Driven to modest seaside home where I am to meet with George W. Bush. Only I arrive to find not one, but two George Bushes. I admit that I am not sure which one is which, so I call off my plan to crush the president’s larynx with my KGB death grip.

Midmorning: I am able to plant tracking devices on both men. We enjoy coffee and tea, and then both advise me that they have urgent business to attend to. One of my men outside monitoring their activity tells me that one Bush went to play golf for several hours, and the other took a nap in the hallway outside his bedroom.

Night: At lobster diner, we talk about Iran. I play the role of “Good Putin,” and I agree with everything the Americans have to say on the subject. At dessert, I plan to play “Bad Putin” and flip over the buffet in an awesome display of rage and power. However, they serve cherry Jell-O jigglers, which are my favorite, and I agree to make some concessions on the nuclear missile shield being placed in Europe.

Day two, morning: We go fishing. I am expecting an ambush. I’ve seen the HBO show Sopranos, and I know Americans like to execute people on boats so they can dump them into the water cleanly. If in danger, I plan to unleash KGB boat stomp and drown us all. Bush announces that he has to take urgent phone call. Shortly after, the boat begins spinning out of control. I run to the main cabin preparing to crush his head with one of my hand clap maneuvers, but it is not necessary. I find Bush passed out over the steering wheel. I sit him down, wipe off the presidential drool and right the ship. I become extremely depressed wondering how Russia ever lost the Cold War.