Putin’s First Day In Hell

One minute he was leaning over his famous VERY long desk in his super isolated, extremely protected section of the Kremlin, the next he was lying on the floor rolling around from the paralysing effects of a stroke from reading the report of how a special brigade of Ukrainians had blown away a whole division of Russian soldiers trying to cross the Seversky Donets River yet again unsuccessfully. One minute he was the richest man in the world and the President for life of the largest landmass in the world that he was attempting to make even larger, the next, a writhing mass of blandness.. Uninhibited greed was never a problem for Premier Vladimir Vladimirovich Putin whose first name is perhaps not surprisingly the same as the professionally cruel Romanian King whose identity was morphed into the world’s most famous vampire.

Rising out of his body as it twitched hopelessly on the floor of his spotlessly clean office was a surprise for Vladimir as he had never been a believer in religious or spiritual workings of life but would now be getting a crash course in them. Above him stood Smert’s Kosoy, the Russian version of the Grim Reaper (Virtually the same as our Grim Reaper but Smert wears a dark potato sack instead of a hooded black robe and his scythe is rusty), who is waiting patiently for him to stop convulsing.

“Are you done yet?” asks the apparition firmly. Finally Putin gets control of his shock and quickly realized that things were going to be very different from now on.

“Da.” he answers breathlessly, so afraid that if he still had his physical body he would have pissed his $2,000 Dolce and Gabanna dress slacks. Vlad’s KGB training finally broke through (although it had never prepared him for meeting an entity he thought existed only in old folk tales) and he hesitantly asks “What has happened?”

Smert seems annoyed at this question and curtly answers “You are dead. And you are long overdue. We should have taken you out when you let your soldiers prevent the Dutch from investigating that Malaysian airliner they shot down back in 2014. You’ve been living on borrowed time for quite some while.”

Were Putin still the President of Russia and not a disembodied entity like so many others leaving the earth everyday he would have gotten violently angry and called for his guards to take the intruder out into the halfway and execute him immediately, making sure to do it only over the Italian marbled floor part so that the blood could be easily mopped up. But, as it was, he didn’t know where the hell he was at the moment.

“That is exactly where you are, as a matter of fact.” stated Smert, his voice tunneling out of the dark, potato sacked hood where Putin could only surmise that he had a head in there that was doing the speaking.

“What?” asked Vlad dumbfoundely.

Smerts voice held a dangerous impatience in it. “You just thought to yourself “I don’t know where the hell I am.” and then you successfully answered it yourself.”.

Putin silently gasped at this. Whatever he was dealing with here was bigger than any situation his KGB career had ever put him into.

“Oh no! Don’t tell me there really is a heaven and hell.”

The dingy hood looked his way and flatly stated “Da!”

“Oh my God!” hissed Putin to himself. “And all those Christians, Muslims and Jews that I tormented and threw into prison…….”

“Da, you are getting the idea!” stated the apparition with a slightly gleeful tone sneaking into his voice. Vlad had the creepy feeling that he was smirking underneath that all-covering hood of his. 

Suddenly he knew he was beat. There was nothing he could do. He was out of dirty tricks. You can’t just poison or gas Smert’s Kosoy. In the world of death he was definitely the go-to man; especially if you have just happened to die. Yet Vlad’s KGB instincts still looked for a way out. 

“Follow me please….” the grim one held out a bony hand pointing the direction with a finger that had seen better days.

Putin, so used to giving directions and not taking them from anyone, would have normally been irked by this but instead was experiencing some of the terror that he had dished out to so many dissidents and foreigners through all his years of learning the political games he was so good at.

“For you, President Putin, we have a very specialized form of hell, just as you had uniquely made prison terms and deaths for those you didn’t like. I am sure you will learn from it.” 

Vlad gulped as he remembered all the Unkrainians and Chechens who he had ‘taught’ many things. He didn’t think he would like what lay ahead of him. He was right.

Smert approached an unlabeled door that looked totally ordinary, like one would find in a worker’s house or lower class apartment complex. Smert entered it and bade him enter.

Inside there were only white walls, floor, ceiling and a white table and two white chairs. Nothing else except another door, as ordinary as the first and that was it. 

“This is it???” questioned Putin, astonished that Hell could be so simple and mundane as this.

“Oh, no, dear President Putin. There is much more than this. Let me introduce you to your own specialized Hell!” He clicked a button and the silent door opened.

Into the room came a presence he knew so well.

“Putty baby! How is it hangin’?” The six foot tall, orange haired figure approached him with that same stupid grin and outstreched, phony, friendly handshake that he knew so well.

“Trump!?” he said, both surprised and shocked at the same time. “What are you doing here?!” he asked astonished, yet sensing already what the awful truth of his dilemma was. 

“Oh, you don’t know yet? We’re going to be roommates!” stated the famous reality TV star done good for four too many years. “And remember, the proper term is PRESIDENT Trump! Please don’t forget that.”

“Oh my God, NYEEEETTTT!!!” mumbled Putin, suddenly religious. “NOOOOOO! Not this! NOT THIS!!!!”

“Yes, Mr. Putin YES! And it is for all eternity!” stated the Russian Grim Reaper most definitely as he exited the door that could only be opened from the outside. And this time it was obvious that he was laughing under his hood.

A horrible, very soul wrenching cry came from the room that was very unprofessional not only for the former President of Russia, but especially for a top KGB agent of the 1970’s.

The spectre, as he turned away, grinned ruthlessly with a satisfied glee that no one but he himself knew about.

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