“Putin have confession, Valrus Jesus.”
“Yes, my son?”
“Am on bit of murder bender. Is getting out of control.”
“How many people have you murdered, my son?”
“Today?”
“Let’s start there.”
“Two? Three. Da, three.”
“This is not good, my–”
“Four. Forgot one. Minor enemy. Putin have him thrown onto helicopter.”
“You mean out of a helicopter.”
“Nyet. Onto rotor.”
“Wow.”
“Running out of vays to kill political opponents. Do valrus eat people?”
“Even if walruses did–and we don’t–I am Walrus Jesus.”
“Putin just asking.”
“Putin is pushing it. Wanna toss me some clams and mollusks?”
…
“Oooooh, that’s good bivalve!”
“You want something else? Putin get vhatever you vant.”
“I’m on a pretty strict diet.”
“You do nyet need to lose veight.”
“Oh, not that. I’m not really an omnivore. Pretty much set up to only eat one thing.”
“Da. Forgive me now, Valrus Jesus.”
“Do you repent of your sins?”
“Da, sure, vhy not?”
“I heard a real insincere tone there.”
“Nyet, nyet. Putin very sorry. Shame on Putin. Cry now. Boo hoo, boo hoo.”
“You’re just saying ‘boo hoo.'”
“Forgive me, Valrus Jesus.”
“You’re squeezing my flipper very hard.”
“Forgive me now please, Valrus Jesus.”
“I forgive you!”
“Spaceeba. I come back tomorrow. You forgive me for more murders. Big ones coming up.”
“Oh, um, I was planning on going back out to sea.”
“Nyet. You are Putin’s guest. Is nice here. You stay.”
“What!? I’m calling my lawyer?”
“Da? Okay, sure. Excuse Putin.”
“Putin need you to assassinate Walrus Jesus, Mischka.”
“I told you I’m retired.”
“Vun last job.”
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