Questioning
Russia’s President Putin
by
Robert LaFrance
I had just put on some brown-rimmed reading glasses
and was starting to read ‘War and Peace’ for the fifth or sixth time this year
when my wife came into the living room through the doorway from the dining
room. “Those glasses look really nice on you,” she said. “They fit your face.”
I was about to say thank you for the
first kind words she’d uttered to me since 1996 when a voice behind me said:
“Why thank you.” It was my (former) friend Flug who had come into the living
room by the other door, from the hall. A quick visual scan showed me that he was wearing a pair of new
glasses. “I just bought these yesterday,” he continued. “Four hundred bucks
would you believe?”
So there I was, standing with my
face hanging out and waiting to receive a similar compliment, one that never
arrived, unless you count her snarling: “I’m glad you finally mowed the front
lawn.” Single guys, remain in that state even when it’s a province.
NOTE: Remember I said I “was
starting to read ‘War and Peace’ for the fifth or sixth time this year”? I
should explain that I meant I had STARTED the book that many times. I've never
gotten beyond page 17.
*********************************
A journalist since 1978, I have
often been asked to interview world leaders and others of low repute. Recently
I flew over to Finland for an interview with Vladimir Putin, the
president/dictator of Russia. He recently took over the Crimea from Ukraine in
what some people called ‘a bloodless coup’ although I’m sure many Ukrainians
cut themselves shaving that morning.
I wanted to know from my friend
(tovaritch) Putin how he had the gall to send in all kinds of out-of-uniform
soldiers and then deny it. A blindfolded gefilte fish could see he was lying.
“So why are you lying?” I asked diplomatically.
“Because I never learned to tell the
truth,” he said, taking a healthy – or actually unhealthy – sip of his Polish
vodka. “I was big man in the KGB before Soviet Union broke up, so what would I
know about truth? And speakink of truth, your man Stephen Harper is about the
worst liar…”
Not wanting to jeopardize my chances
of being named to the Senate in the near future, I steered him off that subject
as soon as I could. It was probably about half an hour later that I asked him
what he thought about governments that allowed bad roads to go unrepaired. “If
you are seeing the Trans-Siberian highway from Irkutsk to Lake Baikal,” he
said, “you would never complain again about the roads in New Brunswick. Our
roads are so-o-o bad…”
How bad are they, Vladimir?” I asked.
He replied: “They are so bad that when I fly over
them I get seasick. And that bring me to the subject of your Premier David
Alward. Did you know he is a paid-up member of the Tory Party?” Let’s just say
the interview went downhill from there.
*****************************
“You must be one a them pink
Communists!” shouted one patron of the Argosy Club of Richmann, Maine. “Why
don’t you go back to Commie-Land where you belong?”
The raised voice and subsequent
ejection came about because The Perfessor (Richard LaFrance from here) had
professed that professional hockey left him cold and bored and that football
(soccer) was the only real game. The patron, an American who felt that everyone
had a right to his own opinion as long as it agreed with his, was outraged that
anyone would prefer soccer over hockey. “We fought the Nazis so people like you
wouldn’t come over here and pre-vert the American way of life!” he boomed.
This was during the Stanley Cup
Playoffs and the Montreal Canadiens won that game and the series over the
Boston Bruins. During the game someone was jeering the ‘Canadian’ team – as if
the ‘American’ team was better. That was when The Perfessor piped up and said:
“Gents, you should know that the Canadiens have 56% Canadian players and the
Bruins 62% Canadian players. Just for your information.”
Of course there had to be one more
loudmouth there to cause trouble in this border bar. He, a Canadian, was
bad-mouthing Americans in their own country (not a good idea) and came up with
this rhyme, which has been edited. “Here’s to the Great American Eagle. He (did
#1) in France and (did #2) in Spain, and wiped his (nether regions) on the
State of Maine!” The bouncer escorted him out fairly quickly.
Geez, the company I keep.
-end-
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