Hello world. Did you see this? The people of Russia have spoken and they have unanimously (64.1 %) stated that they want my party in charge of Russia. This also clearly means they want me to continue running the country and be their leader forever and ever. That is what a mandate means.

Oh the things I will do with my mandate! First, I will hunt down the 35.9 percent of the people that voted for another party. Thank God their are voting records we can use to track down these obviously crazy, criminal members of society.

Second, I will celebrate by throwing an Oprah Winfrey style bash where I give away my favorite things. My gifts will be releasing a chokehold on a young dissenter, giving him the gift of life. Obviously this is for theatrics, as I will destroy him with judo chops later on behind the curtain. I will give an audience member a refrigerator. Only I will throw the refrigerator at him. If he is not crushed completely, he may keep it. Behind the scenes, I will obviously take it back since it is not fair to only give it to one person and not the others. Then I will most likely be sick with all of the greedy people expecting hand outs and throw them out on the street.

Emdashes.com’s via Flickr

Ask me who I hate most in the world right now. The answer is Garry Kasparov. Yes, you remember the name. He was a famous Russian chess player who was defeated by an IBM created computer named Deep Blue in 1997 bringing great shame to Russia.

Many of my countrymen forgave Kasparov. They said, “Oh that computer was so powerful. He was lucky to even compete as well as he did.”

No. No. No! He disgraced Russia. I haven’t the faintest idea how to play chess. As a young man of 15 years, I was about to learn the rules of the game when a flock of twelve beautiful women swooped me from my cousin’s house and brought me to a field where they systematically had intercourse with me in hopes of being impregnated with my seed. (All became pregnant instantly, many with twins and triplets.) I never had the chance to live the life of nerdy isolation Kasparov lived. Yet, if you put me in a room with Deep Blue and told me Russia’s honor depended on me beating the computer, I would rape the computer into submission!

I followed Kasparov around for months after his loss taunting him. I didn’t do anything terrible. I just screamed things at him. I left a few nasty notes on his car windshield. I abducted his sister and his dog for several months.

You stupid Americans! I had an explosion of pleasure when I recently revealed that a Russian spy named George Koval had infiltrated your precious atom bomb project.

Earlier this month, I awarded him posthumously with the title of Hero of Russian Federation. Remembering him makes me want to get back into the spy game. I regret that my fame makes it almost impossible for this to happen. I can never again traffic the world of international espionage and go unnoticed.

A few times, I tried to tell France that I was secretly working for them, and I had only taken the Russian presidency to get them top level information, but they assumed I was joking. Great Britain and Italy did the same thing both laughing and then asking me to let their prime ministers out of choke holds.

There has been a lot of misinformation floating around the Internet about the Russian Business Network (RBN). After I kicked them out of our country, they fled to China, and now have mysteriously disappeared. Let me explain to those unfamiliar with the RBN what this gang of computer operators is all about.

The RBN are a bunch of dirty vagrants that operate a large spam ring. They are nocturnal creatures that have an allergic reaction to the sun. You can tell an RBN member by their enormous amounts of facial hair. For sexual pleasure, they dry hump their computer monitors.

Associated Press

I banished them from Russia after I received an e-mail offering me “the best and cheapest erection tool.” I was insulted that someone would send me this trash. Especially since I was waiting for an important correspondence from a fellow in Nigeria who needed my help to transfer some funds from a foreign bank account. Forgive me for not going into detail, but the matter is discrete.

Regular readers of my blog know that from a young age, I have longed to be part cyborg and/or have additional limbs. But alas, after years of watching movies like Robocop, Terminator, and The Fly and then having Russian scientists fail to duplicate these advances for Mother Russia, I had to abandon my dream.

Imagine my surprise when I read that a little girl in India was born with four arms and four legs. Immediately my hopes lifted. Perhaps, I think, maybe I can lure this young super mutant to Russia and she can work for my administration. After all, two extra arms means being able to choke four Chechen rebels instead of only two. Two extra legs means being able to kick four C.I.A. operatives in the penis instead of only two.

Associated Press

My hopes were again dashed learning doctors are operating on the girl to REMOVE THE LIMBS!?!?

I normally don’t follow America’s ridiculous obsession with celebrity, but I have a special affection for Britney Spears. That is why I have ordered my team of attorneys and advisors to study Britney’s custody case with her ex-husband and determine if there is a way she can win her children back.

We have obtained absolute, irrefutable proof that she should have sole custody of her children and the man known as K-Fed should never be allowed to contact any child ever again. Please watch below.

I’m trying to work out a deal with the Americans so they can have their precious missile defense system placed in Europe without it endangering Russian security or infringing on my power.

This has resulted in daily talks with President Bush. Most of his ideas about the missile shield are wild. At a recent call he kept referencing space rays and asking me if I had ever seen the gun that Marvin the Martian uses in Looney Tunes. I say no, and he gets real pouty and says he can’t fully explain his idea to me then. I assume our conversation is over, but he goes on to talk about his favorite Looney Tunes episode. Not sure if I should hang up or not because at this point, he seems to be talking to himself.

Photo via looneytunes.warnerbros.com

Dear assassins,

Go ahead, try and kill me. I welcome all attempts.

You’re probably not going to try bullets because, as you well know from my scouting report, if you’re any sort of professional at all, I can dodge them.

So most likely, you’ll go with the bomb route. Too bad I can disable a bomb with my nipples. A few chest flexes, and all your hopes of my death are vanquished.

Perhaps you’ll try to make me watch Basic Instinct 2 on DVD. I’ve already seen it and survived. Two vomiting attacks, but I was still breathing at the end.

Even if you are successful, having seen the new prime time television show Bionic Woman, I have instructed my comrades to revive me and replace any of my destroyed body parts with enhanced bionic limbs.

- Putin Out!

Associated Press

This story about Russian serial killer, Alexander Pichushkin, credited with killing 49 people, is making us look bad.

He says,

Murder is like love.

No. It is not. Murder is like business. There is nothing romantic about murder. Sure, it can be extremely glorious. You know like when you are at a high-stakes poker tournament in the outer-realms of Tazmania facing two CIA assassins, a British double agent, and a few Mongolian warlords, and everyone at the table has full-houses and flushes, and you are the last to flip your cards. You throw down a Royal Straight Flush to beat them all. Their anger rises, and you can tell you’ve got to act. Boom — Murder. Cut — Murder. Snap — Murder. Jump on guy’s back, roll around table, take a punch-give a punch, stuff a grenade down guy’s mouth, Boom — Murder. Stab—Murder. And that’s how you do that. Sure, it is enjoyable, but ultimately, just business.