With a mean stature of over 4’ tall, his long blonde hair slicked back, and bulging muscles, which had to be contained with metal rings, Vladmik Svetlana was the ideal Russian. His face was always contained, and he never let any emotion show.
When Vladmik was four, he and his parents moved from good old mother Russia to the United States. Sadly, six years later, his parents were killed by a rogue American satellite which had not been calibrated properly. Vladmik had avenged their death only a month later, taking out almost a thousand Americans in a shopping mall with only a spoon and a baby bib.
Luckily, Vladmik had escaped before the American police had arrived on the scene.
Three months later
Vladmik was a reformed Russian. He never got too angry, and whenever an American got on his nerves, he only pinched their jugular vein enough to knock them out for an hour or two. Vladmik lived in a cramped apartment, where he experimented with explosives. As a reformed Russian, Vladmik carried out honest work, selling nuclear strikes to his neighborhood. For only $4.99, the nuclear strike had pinpoint precision. If you wanted to splatter your enemy on the floor, you could tune the settings so only him/her was obliterated , and not anyone inside of the ten-inch radius.
One day, Vladmik was walking down the sidewalk, his buff muscles bulging in the morning light. A row of shops lined the street as Vladmik passed. Suddenly, from out of the corner grocery store, a man burst from the glass window, holding a huge black duffel over his shoulder. “Stop! Somebody stop him!” cried a voice from inside the store. Vladmik grinned. He hadn’t beaten anyone up in years, and he hadn’t used his muscles in years. With a burst of speed, Vladmik raced toward the man, who appeared to be wearing a black mask at second glance. Vladmik wound up his arm and bellowed. “Ree!”
With a cry, the man flew across the pavement and knocked his head against the street, his duffel bag opened and a flurry of tens, twenties, and even hundred-dollar bills came pouring out. The man was out cold.
Vladmik grabbed the nearest stack of bills and examined them. As he thought, they were real. Then, from down the street, a police car came racing towards Vladmik. “Put down the money and raise your hands!” came a voice from the loudspeaker on the roof of the car. Vladmik dropped the bills as the police cruise came to a halt. “I just stopped the man stealing, brouchka,” Vladmik nodded toward the unconscious form of the burglar.
From the police cruiser stepped two chunky policemen, who had pistols trained straight at Vladmik’s large chest. “Reinforcement is arriving in a couple seconds, please step into the car,” shouted the chunkiest of the two men, holding a megaphone down his throat. Vladmik winced as the megaphone amplified the voice. “I ain’t going nowhere, Americans!” Vladmik rushed toward the chunky cops and bowled them over.
From the opposite sides of the street, reinforcements came streaming toward the Russian man. Vladmik pulled out a big red button and pressed it. Immediately, Russian missiles began falling from the sky. Vladmik took cover inside a sewer drain, as the first barrage of missiles blew away a layer of concrete. Luckily, the policemen did not survive.
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