“I’m Not Dead Yet!”

As the painting unveiled, Putin pulled all his strength not to gasp or show his shock mixed with disgust. He always took pride that he could keep his poker face. Apparently, not this time.

“Dear Vladimir, you don’t like it?” his friend Kim asked, anxiously seeking to make an eye contact.

“How do I tell him not to offend him?” Putin thought and started out carefully, “you see, in my culture, when someone’s face is framed like this, in an oval border against a black background, it means they are dead. This could have been my gravestone.”

“Really?? Even when the black background is the Kremlin night sky with beautiful fireworks?” Kim clarified.

“Even then,” Putin confirmed and thought to himself, “I wouldn’t even have this on my gravestone because I look here like an old lady, babushka, with sad eyes and thin lips. Not masculine at all.”

“Bring in the artist!” Kim barked.

Two middle-aged men were immediately brought in front of them. Their faces were pale and their knees trembled, ready to give out at any second.

“Comrade Putin here does not like your painting,” Kim said.

“Not that I don’t like it…” Putin started but Kim gently patted his shoulder, as if saying, “just watch.”

“What are we going to do about it?” Kim asked menacingly.

One of the artists fainted. He was immediately picked up by the security and dragged out into an adjacent room. The other one said, “We could paint another one if the great Comrade Putin tells us how he wants it.”

“But Comrade Putin was supposed to take it home tomorrow,” Kim said dispassionately, clearly enjoying the fear in the artist’s eyes.

“We’ll finish it by tomorrow, Greatest Leader of the Korean people!” The artist said, pleading with his eyes to Putin for support.

“What do you think, dear Vladimir?”

“Let’s give them a chance,” Putin said. “My people can give them my photo they can use to make the painting.”

“Oh, it’s not just the background then? You don’t like your face?”

“Oh, I like my face just fine,” Putin stroke his own cheek with his good left hand. “Just not in the painting.”

“Oh really? What exactly is wrong with it, dear Vladimir? Please be specific as to us Koreans you white people all look the same,” Kim chuckled at his own joke.

Putin laughed for company and took a step to stand in front of the portrait. Then he turned his face to Kim at the same angle for easier comparison, “Do you see the difference?”

“Ah, I see now,” Kim said and turned to the artist, “Make sure Comrade Putin looks well fed and distinguished, no sad smile.”

“Will do, Greatest Leader and Father of all Koreans!” the artist responded. He was immediately escorted out to the same room where the first artist had been dragged minutes earlier. He could hardly walk by himself, stumbling and holding his stomach.

“Let’s go, dear Vladimir, I have so much more to gift you!” Kim said, patting Putin’s shoulder and directing him out of the room.

“I hope it’s not more paintings!” Putin said jokingly and they both laughed.

As they were walking away, Putin heard two gun shots from the adjacent room. He would have never confused them for anything else. But no one around them flinched, so Putin had an immediate revelation.

“The artists…” he stopped and paused, pointing back. “Did you just?…”

“Ah, dear Vladimir,” Kim waved his hand in disappointment. “No way they would have finished the painting by tomorrow. I’ll just give you a nice framed picture of us instead.”

***

After I already finished the story, the Internetz gifted me with this unlikely ad for the Mercedes luxury car.