'PUTIN'g it right

Seated on top an unforgiving icicle, in the vicinity of Mount Elbrus, the highest point in the Caucasus, was a red dyed premier of dwindling fame, Vladimir Vladimirovich Putin.

The mount and the man carry on their confining shoulders,  a very eruptive past. Now, nevertheless, the distorted man had a different tale to croon. He stood at the draw of the ascend, nursing a black eye , sobbing in anger and cursing in glory. The flavour of a revolution was rising to a crescendo in, around and outside the ballot boxes of Saint Petersberg. The premiers black eye, was a nudging milestone.

While the number heavy Bolsheviks let their mind ponder about unjust elections, the pride soaked Mensheviks seemed in-ardently concerned about the discoloured eye patch. This overt concern snowballed into a covert quip that finally landed gracefully on the not so graceful lap of the warring Duma.

The onus was now on the steer of the Duma to set matters right.Thus,with the renowned torture room specialist Alexander Ballsquashki (Ball-squash-ki) in tow, the arm twisted media was summoned to pen and broadcast epics of Putins glory.

''Our President has suffered a minor injury'' he declared, stealing a glance between the rim of his spectacles and the fold of the brow for any voices of flagship dissent.''In the wee of hours of an undisclosed day, our leader volunteered to test evasive prisoner of war drills with our chief interrogator.The President was shown as much mercy as your worst nightmare was.'' 

The beefcake in tow, nodded, his head,synchronizing hell and earth in nondescript bounce.The spokesman continued   '' in doing so, as a true upholder of the revolution and a committed judoka, he triumphed, but in the process suffered a minor injury to his eye which today bears testimony to his commitment to this great nation ''
 
The head of the duma presumed he had killed two birds with one stone.Just as he was recovering from his momentary lap of glory, a communist grown tomato from the rebel stock was hurled in violent fury from the far end of the conference room. The fruit turned missile traveled in epic shattering speed, found its mark and caught the monumental interrogator on his right eye. 

A Menshevik voice was heard screaming from the gathering ''..there is more to a commitment  than what meets the eye, the truth which has just been replicated for your consumption.'' Thus, placing a shroud over the premature heroics of a leader.

(Written on a casual note about one of the leaders that I adore.... to the hilt)