One day in the life of Vladimir Lilliputin by Alex Solschnitzel The sunlight shining through the window set high on the wall, for security reasons, woke Vladimir up. He did not feel well. He had long ago accepted the fact that life for a great leader is difficult – just thwarting all the plots against his life by the numerous scoundrels who wanted to take his job was a near full-time task. At the same time, he had to worry about the increasingly vexatious special operation in Ukraine he had launched to renew the patriotic fervor and loyalty of his subjects.
Generals who were at least half-way smart and could also be trusted not to get too ambitious were getting increasingly hard to find and the dumb ones got themselves killed at an alarming rate in the war – that is, in the special operation. In addition, he had to worry about the hundreds of thousands of cowards who were fleeing the country instead of winning glory and hallowed martyrdom in the fight against the Ukrainian nazis.
It was always somewhat frustrating to watch his cooks and food tasters enjoy their breakfasts before he could be served. But he fully understood that such precautions were essential for a great leader. Sometimes he even thought it would be nice if the poison had been placed in the food. It would be fun to see them squirm and die while eating Vladimir's favorite dish.
His first appointment was, as always, with Tyurin, the foreman of the wet jobs team. Though a morose man with scant ability for innovation, Tyurin at least got the job done. Still, he had a nagging feeling that Tyurin perhaps had to be replaced with someone more imaginative. There should be more ways of eliminating the undesirables than having them fall from a top-level window or stumble into dark waters from a boat deck.
Tyurin entered, bowed deeply and upon command to sit sat down at the far end of Vladimir`s 40-foot-long desk. Vladimir had left a list of those who needed to be eliminated for him to read. Tyurin, after glancing at it, asked timidly if he could stretch out the schedule a bit. He explained, with shaky voice, that it had been necessary for him to terminate some of his own men and complained that half-way smart wet job men who could be trusted were increasingly hard to find. Vladimir graciously allowed him to stretch the schedule by a month. Then, changing his voice to a tone that demanded respect, he expressed his displeasure about Tyurin`s monotonous, humdrum modus operandi.
He had reason to be displeased. His key underlings and filthy rich oligarchs whose riches were a potential addition to his own wealth, were in increasingly larger numbers avoiding working or living on anything but the first floor. They wanted to keep their numerous underlings around, which meant that there was not enough room on the first floors and basements of office and residential buildings while upper floors remained vacant.
When Vladimir told Tyurin that if he cannot do his job with greater variety, he may need to be replaced, Tyurin turned pale. Vladimir felt a buzz of pleasure as he dismissed Tyurin.
The day continued as usual. His defense underling Shogun reported that all counterattacks by the Ukrainian nazi terrorists had been successfully repelled and our selfless, valiant soldiers had successfully attacked the rebels on all fronts.
In the afternoon, Commissary Snoopinski, his outside man and the leader of his troll teams, reported that preparations for getting the right election results in enemy western countries are well on the way.
Before dinner Vladimir retired to his atom-bomb safe shelter, where he was usually able to take a refreshing nap. The dinner was uneventful. The cooks and the food tasters survived. He ate to his heart’s content.
After dinner he took some time to ponder about ways that he could bolster and fortify the enforcement tools of his power. He reminisced with fondness about the effective methods Stalin`s had used – after all, Stalin had died in his bed, at a venerable age.
At times he actually pondered about turning he job over to an underling who could be trusted to let him keep all the riches he had accumulated by judicious use of the best KGB enemy liquidation methods and wealth confiscation tactics and let him live a life of opulence in one of his fabulous palaces. The problem, of course, was how to find someone who could be trusted. Once you hand over power, no matter how obsequent that lackey had been, one can never know what he may do when in power – he may decide to appropriate the wealth of his benefactor or even eliminate him.
No, he decided, it is better to put such thoughts out of his mind.
It was getting late; Vladimir was getting tired. When he reflected on his day, he felt quite good. Most importantly, his great leadership skills had enabled him to keep a firm grip on power. A loyal judge had followed his orders to add twenty years, well it was actually 19, the judge had a strange sense of humor, to the sentence of the big-mouth Alexei Navalny. In any case Navalny was serving in an efficacious maximum-security facility – he will be around just long enough to serve as a warning to other would-be blabber mouths.
Quite a few potentially rebellious scoundrels had been rounded up. They would serve as eloquent warnings to other scoundrels who may harbor rebellious thoughts. Whatever assets they had would contribute to his own growing wealth. He had made sure that these lowlifes would be locked up in facilities where they could be permanently neutralized with appropriate handling and medications. His handling of Tyurin had produced satisfactory results. Tyurin had reported that two of those on his elimination list had suffered heart attacks.
Another good day in the life of a great leader, he concluded, as he closed his eyes.
