By David K. Shipler
“Donnie,
do you know the difference between you and me?” Vladimir Putin asked Donald J.
Trump in a brief phone call yesterday. “It’s a riddle.”
“Don’t
call me Donnie,” Trump said. “Or I’ll call you Vladdie.”
“Hey, don’t
get so upset, comrade,” said Putin. “I’m just trying to make you think you’re
my friend.”
“And
don’t call me comrade till Tulsi Gabbard gets confirmed. She’ll be thrilled,
but she’s got to get past some leftover ‘experts’ in the party who don’t admire
you.”
“Don’t
admire me?” Putin replied. “That’s impossible. Everybody I know admires me.”
“Me
too,” said Trump. “Oh, shit, I said, ‘Me too.’ I take it back. I’ve banned that
expression. Nobody who works for me can say ‘me too.’ But they all love me,
Vlad, they really do. I’m loved from the minute I get up—well, after I leave
Melania behind in the bedroom—until the minute I go to bed. Well, if I go to bed
before her.”
“Come
on, Donnie, guess the riddle.”
“Stop
with the Donnie.”
“OK,
MISTER PRESIDENT, what’s the difference between you and me?”
“You
don’t have my hair,” said Trump.
“Slava
Bogu!” Putin replied. “That means glory of God. You’d say thank God. But
you don’t believe in God, do you, Donnie?”
“Absolutely
not. Don’t tell the evangelicals. What’s he ever done for me? I’ve done it all
myself. He’s a hoax, like climate change.”
“Climate
change isn’t a hoax, Donnie. Now come on, the riddle.”
“I give
up,” said Trump.
“You
give up easily, comrade. Kamala was right, you know. You’re weak. You wouldn’t
last two minutes in the Kremlin. The knees on your million-dollar suits would
wear out from groveling. But in the White House? I’m going to love it when you’re
there.”
“OK, so
that’s the difference? You’re a strongman and I’m a weakman?”
“You’re
getting close,” said Putin. “The difference is that my oligarchs do what I tell
them or I take their billions and throw them in jail or out a hotel window. But
you—you do what your oligarchs tell you. They run you. You worship them and
fear them. You’re afraid that their contributions to your slush funds will dry up
and they’ll say mean things on X and won’t keep Republicans in line. You’re afraid
of that little twerp Elon Musk. Here in Moscow, I create Elon Musks and
obliterate them when they get uppity. That’s the difference, Donnie Boy.”
The recording of the call goes silent for a few seconds. It seems to be ended until a faint sigh is heard, then the voice of Trump: “I gotta hang up and go play golf with Elon, but I hate it. He always wins, even when I cheat. See you next year in Kyiv.”
This is satire. It’s all made up (except for what isn't),
a disclosure made necessary by the absurdity of current reality, which prevents
lots of people from telling the difference between truth and fiction.
