American Aaron on a mission
“You see, when I do the skeleton race, I do not simply ride the skeleton thing. That thing makes it too easy for me. Instead, I lather myself up,” he said, picking up a stick of butter and rubbing it on his chest, “and then I go down the mountain on my body alone.”
Putin then turned from me, ran toward an ice tube and jumped in headfirst, careening down the hill at speeds probably too fast.
“I’m getting the gang back together. It’s been so long,” Putin said at the bottom of the hill, sweating but oddly looking unscathed considering he just went flying down the hill at 60 mph wearing nothing but compression shorts and copious amounts of butter. After he said this, he smiled and blushed, turning away from me, obviously trying to contain how happy he was to have all his friends back together.
He walked away from me up the hill. That was when I pulled out the weapon. I had a job to do, and I had to do it for America.
Putin shouted down from the top of the mountain, “Look at me this time! I’m gonna do a better one!” And I told him I was looking. He then poked his head up from the top of the mountain, and I could barely see his beet-red shiny forehead, and he shouted again “No, but are you REALLY looking?” I again responded yes, and he giggled to himself, a particularly loud giggle I could hear all the way from the bottom. It echoed through the barren Siberian landscape, bouncing back from tall, sharp snowpeaks that passively and disinterestedly looked down, waiting to see what would happen. He was excited to see his friends again, but I had a job to do…
Written by: Aaron Levins — firstname.lastname@example.org
(This article is humor and/or satire, and its content is purely fictional. The story and the names of “sources” are fictionalized.)