ICEBERGS 101

For those of you who are new to the frozen north of our psyche, here is a handy guide.

THE FACE THAT TORCHED 1,000 BERGS

When it comes to torching a Berg, let's face it, the Rooskies win, hands down. After all, they've been facing the freeze for centuries. They, our Comrades to the east, are a fearless lot, and they do have a penchant for spewing forth a few ruthless rogues and rulers now and again. Ivan the Terrible, Peter the Great, Rasputin....Putin...?

Ladies and Gentlemen, I ask you to glance at the man whose countenance graces the cover of Time, Vladimir Putin, or "Vlad" to you and me. I ask you to stare into those cool steely blue pools and tell me what modern mass of ice would fail to melt under his laser-like stare. No one escaped his critical eagle eye. "Vimps, you Westerners are all vimps!" Even the Mad Monk did not escape his criticism. "Rasputin was softie," he was known to say.

Putin is clearly a man who is not to be messed with, someone who would sneer in the face of fear. (in heavy Russian accent, snarling) "Ha, fear, I am not afraid of you. I curse you! I spit on you! I spit on your brother, I spit on your mother, I spit on your ugly stepsister with the crooked limbs, I spit on your goats, (sputtering)...I spit...I spit...I spit on your spit!"

The Putin approach is like a one-two punch, without the "two". Verily I say unto you, Comrade Vlad is my "channel of choice" when I, in my weak and panicked moments, am faced with...the Dreaded "Unidentified Caller".

The minute I hear the ring and see the dreaded syllables appear on my Blackberry, I see myself in Putin's shoes, or rather, snowshoes, long fur coat and fur hat, eyes quinting into steely slits, unflinching in the 40 below windchill factor winter storm, standing in front of the Kremlin, facing off a horde of Mongols and old-guard Communists - every fiber of his Slavic soul severing huge chunks of ice with Siberian severity. This man will not back down. He will not chicken out and hit the "ignore call" key. He will persevere and answer the call, proving once again that the best defense is a good offense.

EXT. KREMLIN - DAY

Putin stands stoically before the Russian people. It's cold. Most of the Russian people standing outside have frozen solid. All except Putin.

A cell phone rings and Putin grabs it from his pocket, answering.

"Alyo? Vat you vant?" he shouts, slicing the head of the caller. He listens, ominously. His silences are portents of the evil to come.

"Hello, Mr. Putin, my name is Mr. Smith, and on behalf of American Excess, we would like to offer you the opportunity to pay your Visa payment over the ph...."

Slowly, he sneers, "Nnnnyet." Shock - as the caller is required to hear the thundering "no" come across the wires. Speechless, he cannot even summon the courage to retort. Sharply, like shards of glass silently slicing serfs in their sleds (hey, it's "...onomatopeia...every time I see ya...").

"I'm sure you wouldn't want to pay any late fees...."

He sputters a sentence that rains down like the bullets on Bloody Sunday, his terse words smiting any glint of guilt the Caller might try to foist upon him.

"Ruthlessly he goes for the jugular. "Nyet, I will not do this thing you ask. Not no vyey, not no how. Not ever....(pause) Nye-ver."

Silence. The Caller doesn't have a chance, not a hair's breadth to query, to quip, to cajole. In a trice, he is made to feel like the nothing he is. Putin blasts him with round of machine gun fire. "How dare you call me. How dare you interrupt 'Densink vit the Czars'....You ...you are not worth spitting on!"

The Caller, now fearing for his life, is reduced to tears, pleading, hysteria. "But you Excellency, sir, I was just wondering why... you were 30 days late on your Visa card..."

"You vill to shut up and lyi-sten to me!"

"Yes...sir...whatever you say, sir."

"You vil forget you speak to me."

"Yes, sir."

"You vil forget I speak to you."

"Yes, sir, I will sir."

"Then I vill forget you."

"Yes, sir, oh, yes, sir."

"Then everybody forget."

"Oh, yes, forget it. I mean, thank you, sir."

"Get it?"

"Oh yes, I got it sir. I was just kidding."

"You are skunk, you try to play with Putin."

"Oh no, sir, not me, I would never..."

Putin starts to laugh, a deep, ferocious, barbaric laugh.

The Caller stammers, trying to laugh along with him.

"You try to take Putin on ride?" (to flunky) "Hey, Boris, Mr. Smith from Amyerican Exsyess try to take Putin for ride?"

Both men are laughing ominously.

"I like you, Mr. Smith. Soon, you vill get lyeetl present from Putin."

"Oh, sir, gee, you don't have to do that."

INT. CALL CENTER - ATLANTA

We see the Caller on the phone, sweating bullets. The door to the office bursts open and 3 Russian thugs in greatcoats burst into the room and toss 10 heavy bags on the floor. They are brandishing rifles.

"Present from Putin. Happy Burs-day, Comrade."

The thugs open the bags and toss out hundreds of thousand dollar bills, laughing.

The Caller loses it.

EXT. KREMLIN - MOMENTS LATER

"You happy now, Mr. Smith?"

"Yes, uh...sir...uh...I'm eternally grate..."

Mr. Smith can't finish his sentence.

(interrupting) "No, Mr. Smith....I am great. You are NOBODY!"

Putin slams the phone into the snow, laughing menacingly.

"Ha-ha-ha-HAAA!!!"