I hosted Vladimir Putin at Dad’s house this weekend—Dad says the First Father is supposed to supervise all visits from Superpower Heads-of-State, that it’s written into the Constitution. I’ve just got to read that thing.
Seems like the two of them were always off doing something: playing Chess, watching ‘Dancing with the Stars’; they almost left on Dad’s boat until I came running up the dock. They partnered up and took some of the Secret Service guys’ money playing Bridge while I took a bike ride by myself. Looks like Dad’s found a new favorite son—tough luck, Bill Clinton!
I told Putin that he speaks English better than I expected. He said thanks and that my ‘command of English exceeded his expectations as well.’ Dad thought that was a goddamn hoot, though I don’t see why.
Presidenting is lonely work,