Jokes for Comrade Putin

     What’s the first thing you do when you tell a joke in Russia?
     Look over your shoulder.
     Ha! Just a little comradely humor for our friend, Mr. Putin.
     I’ve said for years that the CIA should hire comedians to broadcast jokes about people like Putin and his blood brothers in Iran. We could have flushed out bin Laden years earlier if we’d relentlessly broadcast jokes about him over Radio Pushtun.
     Power-hungry egomaniacs can’t stand being laughed at.
     So, this Russian guy goes to the Moscow police to report that his talking parrot was stolen.
     “You reported that yesterday,” the police told him.
     “Yes,” the man said, “but I want to make it clear that I disagree with the parrot.”
     Ha! Get it, Vladimir?
     Here’s another one I bet you’ve heard.
     What’s 150 yards long and eats potatoes?
     A Moscow queue lining up for steak.
     I’m not trying to make fun of the long-suffering Russian people. I’ve liked most of the Russians I’ve met, and I liked all the Bulgarians, Czechs, Romanians and Hungarians I met who ran away from them.
     And speaking of Ukraine, I’m sure you’ve heard about the old Ukrainian grandfather in Moscow who called his family to him on his deathbed and said, “My children, my grandchildren, always treasure the Jews.”
     “Why should we treasure the Jews, Grandpa?” they asked.
     And he replied, “Because when they’re done with them, they’re coming for us.”
     Ha ha! A little Ukrainian humor for you, Vladimir!
     Here’s a line you can use about Ukraine, Comrade Putin, next time you whine about the Nazis who are trying to estrange Ukraine from Russia.
     Why don’t you remind them about Stalin’s nonaggression pact with Hitler? Remember? The one Stalin signed before Hitler invaded Russia?
     “It didn’t work for us, so why should it work for you?” you could say.
     Or, wait a minute – that’s been written out of the Russian history books, hasn’t it? And if it’s not in the books, it didn’t happen, right?
     OK, try this one. Why do Russian police work in squads of three?
     One who can read, one who can write, and one to keep an eye on the intellectuals.
     Ha ha! A little Russian police humor for you, Comrade President!
     Or what about the Russian man who was run over by a tank, and when the ambulance finally got there, the medic told the driver, “Take this man to the morgue.”
     “To the morgue!” the man said. “No, take me to the hospital!”
     And the medic said, “It’s a long drive.”
     Let me recommend a book to you, Comrade Putin: “Crime and Punishment.” As you may recall, if you ever read it, Raskolnikov considered himself a superior being and therefore allowed to murder inferior people. He was saved by the love of a prostitute.
     Where will you find prostitutes to love you, Comrade Putin? And who else but prostitutes?
     Here’s one you may not have heard yet: What’s the biggest food export from Chernobyl, in the Ukraine?
     Radioactive mushrooms! They call them “Mushrooms for Putin.”
     These are all old Russian jokes, and perhaps I should be ashamed of myself for telling them. I mean no insult to the Russian people, or to prostitutes. I mean to insult Vladimir Putin.

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