... and the intro to yet another great piece by The New Yorker's Andy Borowitz:
by Vladimir V. Putin
They say love is like a polar bear. If you want to take it in your arms and hug it, first you must be sure that it is properly drugged. Or perhaps love is like a tiger. If it escapes from the zoo and starts charging at you, you must shoot it with a tranquilizer dart. Whether it is a polar bear or a tiger, though, one thing is true: you must make love drop to the ground, preferably with some kind of drug, or it will maul you to death and eat you.
I was lonely, vulnerable. I had just come off a relationship that had seemed so promising, but now she was far away, in Siberia. It is true that I had sent her there, but the fact remained: I was alone.
Did I mention that love is like Siberia? I should have, because love can be quite cold sometimes. And it also can seem very far away, which Siberia is. (Unless you are in Siberia yourself.)
So there I was, lonely and vulnerable, the tranquilized polar bear of my heart lying in an unconscious white furry heap at my feet.
And that’s when I saw her. On TV. [...]
Yeah... Read the rest here.