When Volodymyr Met Greta

Volodymyr Zelenskyy was getting bored. He snorted a line of coke and sunk deep into his leather chair, massaging his weary face meticulously.

— Next! he shouted all of a sudden, and a young woman entered the room and bowed.

Volodymyr rose from his chair and blinked awkwardly. After a long stare, he trotted toward the unfamiliar face without breaking eye contact, stopping inches away.

— Who is this boy? he asked, visibly befuddled.

— This is not a boy Mr. President, his assistant replied. This is a girl. Her name is Greta Thunberg. She is a climate warrior.

Greta smiled.

— Climate warrior? What about real warrior?

— She is not a real warrior, Mr. President. She fights with speeches and publicity stunts.

Volodymyr frowned.

— It’s a pleasure to meet you Mr. President, said Greta, extending her arm for a handshake.

The handshake was denied.

— How much money did you bring? Volodymyr asked, coldly.

— Money? Um… money for what?

— For Ukraine.

— Oh. Um… I didn’t bring any money but—

— Then why are you here?

— Oh! I came to Ukraine because I want to spread the message of climate—

— Shut up scum! bawled Volodymyr as he viciously slapped her dumb, confused face.

Greta tumbled onto the floor.  

— Get this stupid bitch out of my sight and send her to Bakhmut, he ordered, then bolted to his desk and snorted another line of coke.

A henchman swiftly put a bag over Greta’s head and took her away.

— Next! shouted Volodymyr, sinking back into his leather chair, and a young man entered the room and bowed.


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