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Guest JamesBarnes

What happened when I met Vladimir Putin

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Guest JamesBarnes

 

The great thing about supping in gay bars is that you never know who you are going to meet and last week, I had the abundant joy and immense privilege to bump into my old mucker, Vladimir Putin in one of my favourite watering holes.  We first met in Moscow in 1985 when Vlad (The Impaler, to his most intimate chums) was still attached to the KGB and had tried to recruit me as a mole. Unused to burrowing in dark and dank places, I had to decline. Besides, I had hopes of becoming The Bolshoi’s prima ballerina- I was very light on my toes in those days. They turned me down. But I’m not bitter. As an aside, did you know that ‘Bolshoi’ means ‘big’? As I said, I’m not bitter.

 

So what was Vlad doing in a Thai gay bar, slinging back the Vodkas at a rate that would shame Comrade Yeltsin? It is always wise to remember that he was a black belt in the Soviet martial art of Sambo before he switched to the Japanese island discipline of Judo, so direct questions are best avoided. I knew that after a few ‘Na Zdrovie’s’, he’d soon loosen up. “What’s your poison?” he enquired. “Not polonium 210,” I replied, causing him to roar with laughter. How sad that his legendary sense of humour is so underreported.

 

The bar staff had rarely been so rigorously tested and with several bottles of Stolichnaya emptied, Vlad got serious. Clapping an avuncular arm around my slender shoulder, his face loomed close to mine, his warm blue eyes searched my bloodshot peepers: “You know I love you James,” he said with barely a slur. “I need your help.” I cannot remember my flabber being more gasted. “Of course,” I said, “name it.” I knew that he had recently split with wife of 30 years,Lyudmila, and guessed that he wanted me to recommend some alternative company, so was ready to slip him a copy of OUT iT’s guide to the local massage emporiums.

 

Maybe he wanted me to have a word in Obama’s shell-like following the recent diplomatic snub but it turns out that all the contemporary publicity about darling Vlad is a plot to discredit him, he says, hatched by his previous partner in tandemocracy, Dmitry Medvedev. “He’s trying to make me look like Margaret Thatcher,” wailed my old friend, adding that he welcomed gay pride, gay education for youngsters and hoped that the gay Russian competitors in the Sochi Winter Olympics would party like, “It’s 1917.” He was piteously wretched, especially as I could not erase the image of him in a blond wig, blue two-piece with padded shoulders and wielding a handbag, from my inebriated mind. He needed some good publicity. He knew that OUT iT is read by the VVIP’s of the world. He wanted the record put… straight. That is how I could help him. “Consider it done,” I said to his patent relief. And now it has been.

 

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He was piteously wretched, especially as I could not erase the image of him in a blond wig, blue two-piece with padded shoulders and wielding a handbag, from my inebriated mind. 

 

Funny title, but is that the reason for it? Puttin' on the Ritz derives from:

 

"Puttin' on the Ritz" is a popular song written and published in 1929 by Irving Berlin and introduced by Harry Richman in the musical film Puttin' on the Ritz (1930). The title derives from the slang expression "putting on the Ritz," meaning to dress very fashionably. The expression was inspired by the swanky Ritz Hotel.

 

 

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Puttin'_on_the_Ritz

 

No doubt there was a gay equivalent - perhaps dressing in drag? Just a guess.

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Guest scottishguy

Hmmmm I don't wish to post just to be negative but I have to agree with Zombie's observations.

 

Obviously JB's "article" can not be serious -  but if it was intended to be in any way clever or witty I'm afraid it failed quite spectacularly. Foot fungus would be more amusing.

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