Russia: Just So Darn Cute

Oh, Russia. Just look at you. I remember when you were all big and menacing, pointing all your missiles at everyone and daring them to make a move. Everyone was so scared of you, and for good reason. You were a bad ass. A bad ass with a gun in one hand and a bottle of vodka in the other, and we, the rest of the world, had to keep telling you to please stop drinking so much before you killed us all.

But look at you now. No more Union of Soviet Socialist Republics or "CCCP," as you called it. Which, to be honest, didn't make sense, cause none of those words start in C or P. No more mass tyranny. No more tension-filled Olympic games where the crowd was just waiting on one of your hockey players to pull a knife. You've changed. You're old now. Senile. You always forget where you put the gun, so you just pick up another bottle of vodka, softly binge yourself to sleep every night, and slur a prayer to "Gyod," asking him to please not let you asphyxiate to death.

So I get it. I see what you're doing in Georgia. You've got your publicists ready and you're starting a war with one of your old nations right as the Olympics fire up. It's adorable. I love how you managed to throw the word "genocide" around, too, in order to make the U.S. and all the countries that disagree with you seem heartless and uncaring toward the Ossetians. Just like the old days.

And those bombs you dropped? Priceless. You've whacked Georgia on the head with your cane, called it a "whippersnapper," and retreated to your corner chair to loudly fart without fear of any social consequence. The rest of the nations will just give each other a knowing glance and a poorly-concealed smirk. "There goes Russia again. Get the Lysol."

We could fight back against you. Try and show you the error of your ways, or at least set you up with a volunteer job at a polling place for each election. We could throw you into a home and never see you or hear from you again. But the truth is, Russia, we just love having you around too much to do any of that. You give us much needed laughs when we visit every few months. So we'll do what we always do: let you go. Sure, when you try to steal some baklava from the supermarket, we'll scold you in front of the employees. But that's just a show, because as soon as we're out the door we'll giggle uncontrollably, high-fiving each other at how priceless you are. Then we'll realize that you really thought the store was a communist warehouse and you could just take whatever you wanted, and we'll laugh even harder.

Please, Russia, just keep doing what you're doing. We know that all your precious idiosyncracies are just the result of the tightening grip of Death. But until we have to mourn your loss, we're going to crack up at your quarrels.