Vladimir Wins The Gold Again

Before we get ourselves started today, check out Norma's blog, where her latest post is on children's allowances.  Parsnip has her latest Two Square Dogs post up, featuring the irresistable Scotties Hamish and Watson. And Winterlude is well underway here in Ottawa, so go on over to my photoblog where I have been busy taking shots of the festivities. Now then, today with the Olympics underway, I decided to play around with the reputation of Darth Putin... aka Tsar Vladimir The Great. If I should happen to meet a bad end, blame Mr. Sweetness And Light. 

Putin Helps Himself To Olympic Glory, Perplexes IOC

Sochi (AP) The Winter Olympics opened yesterday in this resort town on the Black Sea, with controversies overshadowing the event. From concerns over terrorism to Russian President Vladimir Putin’s mixed messages on the rights of LGBT people to the massive costs of the Olympics, the international community has been uneasy with these Olympics. A brief press conference before the opening ceremonies did not help matters. 

Putin appeared with the new IOC President Thomas Bach, a former gold medalist in fencing, to speak with members of the international press. Putin dismissed questions about the unfinished work on buildings and his government’s stance on gay rights before going into his prepared remarks. “The Sochi Olympics are ready to take on the world! We will not speak of the readiness of the city. We will not speak of the concerns of perverted non-traditional people. We will not speak of security concerns. And we will not speak about the costs of this affair. No. We will only speak of positive things. For the next two weeks, the glory of Russia will be on full display. The world will be in awe of Mother Russia! They will tremble at our might! They will see us for the rightful power that we are! And when we are done, they will all bow before us, and before me, as the leading nation and the ruler of the world!”

“You are aware you said that out loud?” a Reuters reporter asked.

”Silence, you dog! I will have you horsewhipped for speaking out before I permit it!” Putin told the correspondent with an icy glare.

“You do realize that the rest of the world is watching every move you make, and threatening reporters asking legitimate questions about your megalomaniacal statements constitutes behaviour that is of great concern?” a reporter with the New York Times asked.

Putin looked around in dismay. “I don’t understand. Russian journalists usually fall in line and do what I tell them, or I have them sent off to the gulag. Why are these people not fawning all over me?”

Bach looked stunned into silence. Putin continued. “Where was I? Oh, yes, in the middle of glorifying Mother Russia. Yes, the world has come to Sochi to bask in the magnificence of these Olympic Games. Where else can you stand under a palm tree before going off to see some ski jumping? Only in Sochi! Everyone who is anyone has come to Sochi. My good friend Silvio is here, and I assure you, all the Russian hookers and Viagra he could possibly need have been provided. Berlusconi does have some unusual wishes, after all, and I have no problem seeing them met. Who else is here? Well, that matters not. All leads road to Russia during these Games, and that means I get all the glory. Which is why I have this.” He took a gold medal out of his jacket.

Bach looked confused. “President Putin, those are for athletes,” he quietly reminded Putin.

“I am athletic!” Putin insisted. “I’m going to have it engraved. World’s Greatest All Time Leader sounds modest to me.”

“President Putin,” a correspondent with AP spoke up. “There are grave concerns about the status of these Olympics. Environmental and social damage caused in the area around the facilities. Readiness of the Games. The potential threats of terrorism in your borders. And your human rights record, which is frankly appalling. Not to mention the cost overruns which are way over the top…”

“Quit wasting my time with relevant questions,” Putin replied. “Look, it’s all very simple. When these Games are over, the world will quake in fear and terror at what Russia is capable of, and…”

“You realize that we all just heard what you said?” the Reuters reporter commented.

Putin stared at him. Then he looked at Bach. “Have that reporter shipped to Siberia.”

Bach sighed. “First of all, you can’t do that. Second, I’m not one of your henchmen. And third, even at this late hour, it’s not too late to pack up and go back to another previous host city. Vancouver’s pleasant this time of year.”

Putin rolled his eyes. “Whatever. Fine, reporter, though I would have you shot for disrespect, this time I shall be merciful. Do not ask me any more questions. Unless they’re fawning questions that point out how utterly magnificent I am. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have an opening ceremony to preside over with my benevolent iron fist. And it will be the grandest opening ceremony of any Olympics past present or future. With me as the focus of all attention.”

Putin left, with Bach in his wake, looking physically ill. One of this reporter’s colleagues spoke up. “Is it just me, or does Vlad seem to have an overly developed ego?”

It's Just Been One Of Those Years

Something I've had in mind for quite awhile.... say hello to a real first class sleazeball...

 

“Friends, Romans, countrymen... lend me your ears. And I would appreciate it if you’d lend me the occasional bodily fluid sample I can switch over for one of my own if I ever get myself into a jam with the law again. That seems to happen a lot to me these days.

It has been a difficult year for Berlusconi Nation. 2013 will go down as an annus horribilus for your glorious Silvio. Hmmm... saying annus reminds me of the backside of that Moroccan stripper from the other night. Let me tell you, she had a backside that looked exquisite... and well, one thing led to another, and hey, I’m Italian. You can’t blame me for me being myself.

Like I was saying, it’s been a difficult year. I mean, getting convicted of tax fraud by the courts is ridiculous. Here I thought I had bribed all the right judges. They dare to sentence me? Well, the lawyers are still working on appeals, because even community service is unacceptable to a man of my position. I’ve got things to do. Money to make. A political movement to manipulate. Girls fifty years younger than I am to take to bed. Hey, don’t blame me for that... I’m Italian. What’s the problem with sleeping with girls who were babies when I was blowing fifty candles off my birthday cake?

If that wasn’t bad enough, some little loophole says I can’t serve in any public office for the next six years. So the Senate goes and expels me. Me, of all people. I’m bigger than any of them, and those little people have the audacity to expel Silvio The Great? How dare they?

I know what the press must think, hearing me talk about little people. I mean, sure, I’m five foot five at best... with maybe a couple of inches if I wear lifts in my shoes, but hey, size isn’t that important... at least not height. Size of another part of the body is important, and I assure you, the size of Silvio The Magnificent’s genitals is impressive indeed, even if I need a bit of help from Viagra these days. I’d show myself off, but we all know what happened to that American politician with the unfortunate name when he decided to keep sending pictures of his junk to strange women.

That’s not my point! My point is the Senate has no right to ban someone as stellar and accomplished as Silvio The Magnificent from their ranks. The courts have no rights to find me guilty of anything. I am in every way their superior. None of them have any right to judge anything I do. For I am Silvio, king of kings. Look on my works, ye mighty and despair!

You don’t suppose saying something like that is a sign of hubris, do you?

What I’m saying is that Forza Italia as a movement and an ideal cannot be dismissed. And I, as its head, will not be dismissed. I’m going to carry on. I have big plans, after all. Somehow the idea of Emperor Silvio seems to appeal to me. And I’m not getting any younger, so I’ve got to step up those plans as fast as I can.

You know, a man of my prestige, integrity, power, and responsibility needs to unwind every once in awhile. That’s why having my way with however many young girls at my bunga bunga parties has always been so crucial for my success. It helps me unwind. And they get to go home saying they had sex with the most important man in Italy. Well, maybe they should be a bit more discreet in what they say, but I digress. My point is that a man of my years and my position in life needs to be serviced by women fifty or so years younger than him. It keeps me feeling well. And so what if some people find that a problem? Who cares? I’m Italian. It’s to be expected of someone like me to go around doing something like that. If you’ve got a problem with that, it says more about you than it does about me that I’m boinking someone young enough to be my granddaughter.

I know, I know... I’ve seen the looks a lot of world leaders have on their faces when I’ve been around them at big summits. It’s as if they’re thinking, oh, God, not him again. Well, that’s not what they’re thinking. They’re thinking, what I wouldn’t give to be just like him. Yes, they’re envious of me. Well, aside from Angela Merkel. I swear... the woman has no sense of humour whatsoever.

So what if I like to have a good time? So what if I have my bunga bunga parties and have my way with whatever nubile young thing that crosses my path? What were you expecting? I’m Italian. It’s a thing I do.

Well, the year is almost at a close. 2014 will be a brighter year for Silvio The Magnificent. I am that much closer to overturning convictions and having that Senate ban undone. It just requires the right amount of bribes or blackmail. While I’m at it, I’m getting together with Francesco Schettino, who’s been having some problems with the law himself. We’re going out on tour to speak to the people. We’re calling it the What’s The Problem With That? We’re Italian tour. Catchy, don’t you think?

And I’ll be having lots of fun along the way all through 2014 even while getting all this other stuff done. Tweaking the nose of the Senate. Giving the courts the finger. Basking in the adulation of my people. Causing Angela Merkel to roll her eyes. Because, hey, I’m Silvio Berlusconi, true emperor of the next Roman empire... and I need to unwind after a long day.

Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m celebrating New Year’s with a bunga bunga party. Five ravishing young ladies named Francesca, Giulietta, Rosa, Evangelista, and Concetta are waiting for me at home, and we’re going to spend all week getting it on. I’m going to need a lot of Viagra.

What’s the problem with that? I’m Italian!"

A Day In The Life Of A Dog

Before starting out today, links for your consideration and perusal. First off, yesterday was a Snippet Sunday for several bloggers, and you can find Norma's post with a brief passage right at that link. As well, at our joint blog, we posted a Snippet Sunday post as well. Go and check them both out, and comment on them!

We are now in December, and what better way to start things out with a couple of dog and cat blogs? Particularly with the Christmas season now upon us? So without further ado, let us begin....

7:22 AM. Morning has broken, as they say, and I now wake up out of a good sleep. Dreamed of chewing on a big stewing bone.

7:35 AM. Good morning, human! How are you this fine day? How about a bit of breakfast? I am feeling rather peckish, you know....

7:40 AM. Busy wolfing down my kibbles. Yum yum yum! I have not yet bested my personal best record of eating breakfast quickly, but my time will come...

7:43 AM. The human lets me out the door to go for my run. I'll see you later, human!

8:10 AM. Running through the snow in the backfields, barking my head off like a delirious lunatic. Life is good!

8:45 AM. Sniffing around the perimeter of the farm. I think a skunk passed through sometime last night, but at least nothing startled it. Skunks getting startled? It never ends well.

It's even worse than cats getting startled. 

9:15 AM. Back home. Barking at back door. 

9:16 AM. The human lets me back in. I am met by the smell of delicious baking. I think she's been making cookies.

Oh boy!

9:20 AM. My nose is being overwhelmed by yummy smells of sugar and flour and cookie dough. I'm positively drooling. More than usual.

9:35 AM. Watching the human baking. She's sprinkling sugar cookies with red and green sprinkles. I glance at the calendar. Oh, that's right... Christmas is this month, and that means plenty of baking.

Have I been a good dog this year?

10:15 AM. Now she's prepping peanut butter cookies. My drooling continues. I must perfect the sad eyes mooching look when she happens to glance my way. I love the taste of freshly baked cookies.

10:20 AM. The human takes some cookies out of the oven. I manage to mooch three of them. Red and green sprinkles are just like icing on the cake.

I wonder if the human's going to make some cake....

11:40 AM. I realize now that the meaning of life is very simple. It comes down to a very simple fact: the smell of baking cookies is the meaning of life.

12:05 PM. I have managed to mooch more cookies from the human. My sad eyes look has been perfected.

Human, have you ever thought of adding some dog food into the recipes? I am sure it would go over very well indeed.

12:15 PM. The human is still baking. I wonder if she's going to have lunch? 

Am I hungry for lunch? I've had quite a few cookies already...

12:30 PM. The human is having lunch. Despite my uncertainty about my appetite, I gladly swallow a couple of dinner rolls the human gives me. 

1:40 PM. Time for a nap. The human is still baking, but I've had my fill. 

Time to sleep it off for awhile....

4:10 PM. Waking up from my nap. Dreamed of chasing that annoying squirrel. The house smells like freshly baked cookies.

I think my appetite has returned.

4:45 PM. The human is putting cookies into freezer bags. Hey, wait a minute, how about leaving them out for me to have some? Why can't you just keep baking more all month long?

5:05 PM. All of the cookies are down in the freezer downstairs. And unfortunately I can't open that thing.

Oh well. Anticipation is all the better when you know how tasty food is.

6:35 PM. The human is having lasagna for dinner. She won't give me any- she mentions the spaghetti incident- but at least gives me a bit of a treat- a  plate with dinner rolls dabbled in tomato sauce.

How long are we going to hold the spaghetti incident against me?

6:40 PM. My appetite is sated by dinner. At least til the next time I feel hungry.

8:10 PM. The human is settling down by the fireplace to read. I settle in beside her on the couch and get a belly rub for good measure.

That's another meaning of life: belly rubs.

11:00 PM. The human turns on the news. The former premier of Italy has just been arrested for bribery, extortion, fraud, and jaywalking. He is perpwalked across the screen, a very short and very ugly man with a smirk on his face. He says something along the lines of what's the big deal? I'm Italian! 

Humans are strange people, human.

11:46 PM. The human is turning out the lights before heading up the stairs. Good night, human. I'm staying down here for awhile. Maybe I can figure out a way to break into that freezer downstairs. Christmas cookies are ever so tempting, after all...

To Quote Jamie Lee Curtis: Ciao, Stupidissimo

For a number of years, Italian businessman turned politician Silvio Berlusconi spent his time in high office, making a fool of himself, causing countless dignitaries to roll their eyes, and chasing much younger women when he wasn't busy getting charged with various criminal charges, abusing power, and running Italy into the financial ground. He finally got turfed out of office, though he keeps musing on coming back and interfering with things. Needless to say, the sleaze isn't one of my favourite people in the world. Dirtbag, clusterdouche, pig, dog, and lecher are words that come to mind where he's concerned.

This decidely short hobbit with a hairpiece and a standing appointment with plastic surgeons (especially these days) rates as one of those jackasses of the first order in the world, the sort of person who you wish would just go away. And given his insatiable appetite for women fifty years younger than him, our boy Silvio is likely to meet his end during... ahem, an intimate encounter with a stripper from Monaco or a debutante at one of his bunga bunga parties.

In writing Heaven & Hell, I stopped briefly in Italy at one point, to examine things from the point of view of another world leader (incidentally a much better human being than our boy Silvio could ever be). In future books, I intend to bring my main characters to Italy at least once. Since the books are meant to have a real world sensibility to them, I've already written unnamed world leaders into this book, and will do much the same in future books. I recently wrote this passage, something that might just fit into some future book down the line. The character is unnamed, of course... but pretty obviously, yes, it's meant to be Silvio the first rate jackass. It's a rough draft, so let me know what you think....

This was living. The old fool smiled, lying on his back in bed, a nubile young woman straddling him, as naked as he was, groaning as she rode him. Whether or not she actually was enjoying the encounter or faking her expression wasn’t all that relevant to him. All that mattered to him was getting what he wanted out of it.

They were at one of his villas, outside Rome, in the master bedroom. Over years, he had amassed a fortune through his various business interests, hiding much of it from the authorities whenever possible, indulging in luxury and whatever temptation might cross his path. Mostly that involved young women, an appetite that had finally driven away his wife and their children. This one, he thought, was at least over the age of majority, though he’d been wrong before.

His smile was broad, not a surprise considering what she was doing to him at the moment, the long dark hair spilling over her shoulders, the come hither look still in her brown eyes. His own hair was partially transplanted and dyed dark, and he’d undergone plastic surgery treatments with increasing regularity, a nod to his rampant ego and an attempt to hold off the ravages of time. The old fool let his eyes wander over her flesh, and fondled her waist with his hands as he listened to her moans. The fact that she was over fifty years younger than he was didn’t matter... though at his age, Viagra had become essential for performance, a fact he jealously kept to himself. I’d never hear the end of it, if the press found out I needed help to get it up, he thought with a smirk.

After business had come politics. He had spent years building up connections, bribing the right officials and politicians through Italy and beyond, finally rising to leadership of a party. After convincing the electorate that he was a man of the people, he had won election to lead the country, and his tenure in office had been marked by rampant corruption, boorish behaviour on the world stage, and criminal charges he had successfully dodged his way out of repeatedly. At his prime, he had waved off all of the allegations against him and the raised eyebrows of other world leaders at his antics, claiming he simply liked to live the Italian way... la dolce vita. If that good life happened to include strippers, prostitutes, and decadence to rival Caligula, so be it.

Finally he had been forced out of office, after trying his luck one too many times. He still harboured a desire to get back into office, and regularly threatened and cajoled his former colleagues- underlings, as he would have properly thought of them- with that very idea. The old fool believed his country would welcome him back, that they wanted a strong hand to lead them forward, despite his abysmal record in office. They have short memories, he told himself as the woman arched her back, her hands coming to rest on his slightly chubby stomach. He reminded himself to get some work done on his belly. His plastic surgeons could work wonders.

He was close to climaxing... he knew it. She knew how to please him, knew exactly what he’d want, and she was good at it. He smiled up at her, ached to wrap his arms around her.... he felt short of breath, and a tension in his left arm. The sweat across his brow was just an effect of the sex, and he felt this way whenever he got in bed with a woman these days. She was groaning in just the right way, her hips swivelling, riding him, bouncing on him in a way that delighted him... So close, he thought to himself. Does life get any better than...

He groaned, felt a sudden vice-like grip on his chest. What...? His eyes widened, and he couldn’t speak, just saw her above him, crying out as he would have expected. It felt like there was a tremendous weight over his upper chest. He drew a hand back from her hip, up to his heart, felt it pounding... Too fast... too damned fast... He managed to cry out, to gasp, and his vision started to fade, to go to black... what’s happening to...?

                                                            ***

The girl stopped her groans and sighs, smiling in the way the old man would have expected, a satisfied expression on her face. She knew well how to fake that expression- the old man wasn’t particularly capable of satisfying her, and the fact that he was selfish in bed only proved that. Still, he did spoil her with great regularity, and filled her bank accounts to her heart’s content. For that, she’d put up with the distasteful notion of sex with a man more than old enough to be her grandfather. Besides, if she got bored, she could always see someone on the side...

She gazed down at him, and frowned. “Caro?” she whispered. He wasn’t moving, his eyes half open, not particularly looking at anything. That smug satisfied grin he had after sex wasn’t on his lips. “Caro,” she repeated again, louder. No response. The girl reached a hand up to his neck, found the vein... Nothing. No pulse. She pulled back from him quickly, felt a wave of revulsion come over her. "Oh, hell,” she muttered.
Explaining this was going to be complicated...