So Gorbachev decided that now that he was on top, it was time to impress his ancient mother. He sent his private helicopter out to the small town where she lived to pick her up. He met her with a fleet of limos in Red Square.

So, mama. It's good to see you here in Moscow! Come, we eat!

She said nothing about the flight, and followed quietly into his limo. He took her to the best restaurant in town, where they were served by an army of waiters. The food was superb, the wine the best money could buy. She said nothing.

You like the dinner? Come. We fly to my Dacha for drinks.

The chopper picked them up and delivered them to the steps of a magnificent building, secluded in the outskirts of the city. Waiters in white coats were waiting, and proceeded to serve them with the best Cognac and liquor available.

They sat sipping on the porch, looking out over the view.

So, mama. You don't say anything. Aren't you proud of your little Miki? Haven't I done well?

She turned to him and replied in a quiet voice.

Miki, baby. Is wonderful time I have here. Helicopters are so grand to fly in. Food is best I have ever tasted. And this, a dacha? This is more glorious than anything I could imagine.

Yes, Miki. Is wonderful. I am happy for you. But Miki, Baby. What if the communists return!


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