Anna Chapman & Edward Snowden: A Match Made in Heaven (Not!)
“Snowden, will you marry me?”
Dear Anya Vasilyevna Kushchyenko Chapman,
Are you kidding? Here this twerp, Snowden, keeps tripping over himself like a circus clown with the shoestrings of both feet tied together and you throw out a tweet asking the sorry s.o.b. if he’d marry you? Are Russian men really that bad? I mean, you made a play for a lot of guys during your truncated stay in Manhattan as a “sleeper” agent, most, according to news sources, quasi-losers. But Edward Snowden?! Talk about hitting the bottom of the barrel. I mean, just look at him. Nerd. Geek. Doofus. Loser. He’s the living definition of all of those. Never even completed high school, flitted from job to job, with the social skills of a Netgear modem. While you hopped The Big Apple’s hottest clubs in search of the perfect apple martini and recruits for Russian intelligence, Eddie Snowden hung out in online forums arguing over which X-box station had the coolest features for playing “Rogon, Dragon Slayer.” While you pondered whether to wear Versace or Prada, Eddie indifferently grabbed a couple of Faded Glory T-shirts and a pair of Dickie’s overalls on sale at Wal-Mart. As you debated whether to go for the lobster bisque or the squid ink fettucine at the Waldorf, Eddie Snowden scarfed down Big Macs and large orders of fries from guess where?
No, no, Anya. This is all wrong. Tracy & Hepburn. Burton & Taylor. Brad & Angelina. Great matches. Eddie & Anya? Uh, I don’t think so. Just think of the inevitable irreconcilable differences:
Anya: “Eddie. There’s this hot new disco in Nizhny Novgorod…”Eddie: (searching for the remote) “Can’t. Rogon the Dragon Slayer 2.0” just arrived. Gotta check it out!”Eddie: (lining up his pens neatly in his shirt pocket and brylcreaming his hair) “I ate already. Picked up something at McDonald’s.”Anya: (arms crossed, stomping foot) “Where are you going?”Eddie: “There’s a Manga convention at Tractor Company #58’s Workers Hall sponsored by the Youth Guard. Can’t be late.”Anya: (falls into a chair, clasping her temples, crying uncontrollably).
Oh! But wait! I’m missing something, am I not? Coming from you, I should’ve spotted it a mile away. This is another one of your publicity stunts, isn’t it? Like strutting your stuff on the covers of sleazy Russian men’s mags, and singing patriotic songs with that other exemplar of perfect manhood, Vladimir Putin. Having spent too many years inside the Washington Beltway, I know a publicity-monger when I see one. When your star (such as it is) fades, you try more desperate ploys to bring attention onto yourself. Paris Hilton, the Kardashians and Anya. You share three things in common: 1) you lack any discernible talents; 2) you crave attention; and 3) you’ll do anything to get it.
So, guess what? It did work. For a while. A very short while. Because of you, this blog was getting 5,000-6,000 hits a day for a week after you tweeted your marriage proposal. At first, I thought I was being attacked by hackers or referral spam and shut my blog down for a couple of days. But, no. There are a hell of a lot of predominantly male voyeurs out there who find you fascinating. (Count me as not one of them.) But here’s the deal, Anya: you’re already 31 and not getting any younger. You already brought one loser home to Mom and Pop and that ten-minute marriage to the loudmouthed, airheaded Brit, Chapman, was a disaster, I don’t need to tell you. So, let’s forget about Eddie Snowden, a bumbling fool who traded Honolulu for Moscow and whose world has suddenly shrunk radically. No, Anya, I’ve said it before in this blog. It’s time to grow up. It’s not too late to train yourself up to be a dental hygienist. God knows, Mother Russia needs them.