What the interpreter heard

The following is an excerpt from notes taken by the American interpreter present at the private meeting between President Trump and Vladimir Putin:

“Comrade President Trump, we go meet press soon.  As Russian intelligence asset you suck.  You act too much like puppy in my lap.  Always key to being good asset is subtlety and discretion.  You behave too much like my bitch.  You must project strong leadership.  Strength and virility, that is what people respect.”  

“Yes, I know.  I’m trying very, very hard, Comrade Putin.  Something about when I get in the presence of powerful, foreign leaders – my knees get weak.  I turn into a little Soviet schoolgirl.” 

“Come, I want for you to drink this vodka before we go meet press.  Make you tough guy, like Charles Bronson.  This vodka why we have no homosexuals in Russia.”

“Sweet Mother of Stalin that shit is strong.  Listen, Vlad, the world doesn’t understand this thing we have.  How could they?  They are like scared, chattering mice.  We are big strong bears.  Come, give me a big Russian bear hug.”

“Stop it, you American clown!  Pull yourself together.  You must convince world Russia did not interfere in American election.”

“Comrade Putin, I was very impressed with the shirtless photo shoot you did on that horse.  Stunning.  Absolutely stunning.  What a powerful presence.  I would love to do something like that, but you could never get me on a horse.  Maybe I could ride an escalator – a shimmering golden escalator in Trump Moscow.  Eh?  What do you think?”

“Nyet.  Enough with the Trump Moscow.  Now eat this caviar.  Turn your yankee doodle into ICBM.”

“But seriously, did they touch up those photos at all?  Maybe they could photo shop my chest and make it look a little firmer, less flabulous.  Is that a word?  Melania says I look flabulous.  By the way, I got a guy who could do something with your hair.  Cover up that bald spot.”

“Silence, Comrade President.  Now we go meet press.  I give you soccer ball.  Please make gift to Pamela Anderson.  Tell her it must occupy special place of honor in her bedroom.” 

“Soccer balls.  I can tell you, I’m never playing World Cup with two hookers in a Moscow hotel room ever again.” 

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