3. The Dresden Boys

Putin's Diary is based on an infamous Russian telegram channel with gossip from the Kremlin. Today's diary tells the story of a strange dream. And unexpected visitors.

I dream. Me and Victor Orban are on a fishing trip on a small lake in the mountains. While I don’t get anything, he is pulling up one fish after the other.

“How are you doing it, Victor?” I ask

He grins.

“Do you want to know the secret Vladimir?” he asks. I nod.

“Sure Victor, why not?” I say, trying to sound like I don’t care.

“Special hooks!” he says.

He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a tiny porcelain figurine. He hands it to me. It is an animal of some kind. I hold it in my hand, examining it carefully. It is a truly fantastic piece of art. Very light, almost like a feather, with alluring forms. Very alluring forms. To my surprise, I realise I have become sexually aroused.

“What IS this animal, Victor?” I say.

Food a moment Victor looks very serious, then he breaks into laughter.

“Poor Vladimir,” he says in a suddenly evil voice “he really liked to eat!”

“What do you mean?” I say “explain yourself Victor!” At that moment, I feel a terrible pain in my hand. I look down- The porcelain animal has cracked open, and tiny spiders are crawling out of it, but not real spiders. Their legs are steel hooks that dig into my hand. I scream with pain.

“Special hooks Vladimir!” Victor laughs “Special hooks to catch my special friend! Ha ha ha!”

I wake up sweating. Heart pounding hard. Somehow I have managed to remove my pyjamas in my sleep, so I am totally nude. I sit up. It is still early, and the light is dim. As I sit there I suddenly notice Piotr, my bed-servant who is always in my room in case I need water or something during the night. Now he stands in a corner staring at me with fear in his eyes. But he is not looking at my face. I look down. I have an erection. My penis stands straight out, like an iron nail. It must have been the animal in the dream. Again I feel anger. First at Orban, for giving me that arousing animal, then at Piotr.

“Go away you filthy Peek-A-Bo” I shout.

With panic in his eyes, poor Piotr starts to stumble backward until finally he turns and runs through to the door. After the door is shut behind him, I stand up. It is raining outside and I desperately need to go to the toilet.

My bathroom has two toilets, both made of solid gold. Why? I half remember someone telling me George Bush had one toilet of real gold, so why should not the president of Russia have two? Yes. Now I remember. It was Prigozhin. He bought them for me. As a present. When I first got them, I really liked them. I used to show them to all my visiting “lady friends”.

“If you behave properly dear Anna, Masha, Irina or whatever your name is” I used to joke. *“maybe one day you can have such a toilet!” *

They always laughed at that. But ever since this “prostate thing” I can’t stand the toilets any longer. I would be willing to swap twenty golden toilets to be able to urinate like a man again. I press my palm towards the cold tile wall and lean forward, but it is hard to urinate with the erection, the piss splashes first on the lid, then a little on the wall. I am gripped by sudden anger. Why can’t I just have normal dreams and a normal male organ?! I want to kick the toilet, but realise I would just hurt my feet. I compose myself and exit the toilet.

*“Flush it” *I say to poor Piotr who has come back into the room and is waiting outside. I don’t know why I say that.

After getting dressed and meeting up with Igor and my guards, I walk through the halls to the elevator that leads to the Bunker. It is a new installation that I made just before the special military operation. The entrance is normally guarded by a team from the ninth, but there has been a rotation so we are using Prigozhins’ people for a week. I notice how they and Igors men shoot angry glances at each other. There is a mortal rivalry between FSB, the ninth and the Wagner group. A rivalry I do my best to uphold. As long as they fight each other, they don’t have time to conspire against me.

There is a horrible screeching sound as the elevator descends like the whole elevator is grinding towards the rock wall. So much for the “world-class-chinese-elevator-company”. I notice how Igor is doing his best to look calm but fails miserably. I can sympathize. There is something scary about this bunker. It annoys me. Why should I have to hide like some animal underground while that Judeo-nazi Zelensky walks around the streets, Instagramming with the Pope? On the other hand, if I decide to go with Patrushev’s advice and use nukes, I will be safe from any retaliation, while Zelenskyy’s face melts away. Comforted by that thought, I step out of the elevator.

The rest of my Siloviki are already there, waiting for me. The stupid Shoigu, the evil Bortnikov and the Psychotic Patrushev. They all stand around a table filled with maps, and plates of food. The only one that is not present is Lavrov, who is in Bali for a G8 meeting. As I exit the elevator they all turn towards me.

“Hello Vladimir, did you sleep well!” shouts Shoigu in an annoying cheery tone. He has a half-eaten doughnut in his hand. Suddenly I realise that not the melted face of Zelenskyy's would be worth spending my last days with Shoigu in a bunker. Actually, I rather have my own face melt than that. The thought makes me horribly depressed.

I walk up to the table.

“The explosion in Istanbul” Bortnikov begins “it seems Erdogan has begun his reelection program”

The others chuckle.

“Let’s talk about that later” I say* “something has come up that requires all our attention”.*

I proceed to tell them what we found out from the Strassbourgh ring about Orban's treason. An uneasy silence falls around the table.

“They have bought him!” says Shoigu with what sounds like genuine anger *“the nazis of the EU have paid him to dance for them instead! We should protest. I am sure we can get Iran and Syria maybe even North Korea to sign a protest. I can personally…”

People often wonder why I don’t dispose of Mr Shoigu. He obviously lacks all qualifications for his job. I have no answer for them. But there is something about his naive fidelity to me. The unquestioning love of a dog for his owner. Or maybe I just like the idea of my powers. Like when Caligula named his horse a senator.

“And what should we protest Shoigu?” Patrushev interrupts “That dear Mr Orban did not respond to our blackmail?”

Before Shoigu can answer there is a loud crash from the elevator. The whole room turns in that direction. The two soldiers guarding the elevator have fallen to the ground, while a thick black smoke emanates from the elevator. Patrushev and Bortnikov stand frozen, staring into the dark shaft in pure terror. To my left, I notice how Shgoigu has thrown himself to the floor. My heart starts to pound hard. This is it, I think, they have managed to get to me. The next moment I hear… someone whistling. Auferstanden Aus Ruinen. The old east german national anthem.

I signal to the guards to lower their weapons.

“You bastards!” I shout into the smoke.

“Now now, Vladimir” comes the answer from the smoke *”haven’t I taught you not to insulte your elders” * Suddenly I begin to laugh.

Tomorrow we will set the plans to warn Mr Orban. Want to read about it? Subscribe HERE!