Don't ask me how I got this entry from Edward Snowden's personal diary. I got a guy at the Moscow Airport, okay?
July 17, 2013
Today was Day 21 stuck in transit at Moscow Airport. Or is it Day 22? Who knows anymore -- one day just bleeds into the next, especially with the windows in the transit lounge blacked out for my security.
8 A.M.: Woke up to the usual morning ritual of singing the Russian National Anthem. It's kind of mandatory around here. I still don't understand the words but I have become very good at lip-synching. I got up from the three transit lounge chairs that serve as my bed and showered in the transit lounge bathroom. Well, it can't really be called showering since all I can do is use a wet paper towel all over my body but it's better than nothing.
9 A.M.: The donut lady, a hearty Russian woman by the name of Svetlana, gave me my rationed donut for the day and a small cup of coffee. Svetlana is very sweet. Speaks limited English and asks me every day if I can help her defect to America, but outside of that is wonderful. She even slips me an extra donut some mornings. I really wish I could help her defect but something tells me I'm not the best guy for that.
10 A.M.: I checked my Internet on the lone computer, which looks like a Commodore 64, that is available. They do not restrict my access but everything is automatically translated into Russian, including USA Today. Luckily, they have assigned me a Russian soldier who translates it back into English for me. The only thing is I'm not sure how reliable he is. I mean it's possible that Obama has given me a full pardon and that it's safe for me to go back to the United States, but I don't know...
11 A.M.: There are no magazines in the transit lounge but an old tattered copy of the Communist Manifesto translated into English so I have been reading that. I think they would get a better response if they included some pictures with it. Finally lunch was served -- today it was some kind of fish soup called Ukha and stuffed pies called Pirozhki. There is a McDonalds here but too but it is just outside the transit lounge, where I am not allowed. The best I can do is stare at the Big Macs wistfully from a distance, trying to get a whiff of some good old-fashioned American junk food.
Noon -- 3 P.M.: Was just kicking back when I was accosted by a bearded Hungarian woman who kept shouting "Они будут тебя в тюрьме" again and again before being thrown to the ground and escorted out by some Russian soldiers. When I asked Svetlana what the phrase meant, she went pale and mumbled something about how they will rape me in prison. Whatever. But the afternoon was not a total waste since I got to speak on the phone with my new best friend Julian Assange. Julian is hilarious -- always joking about bringing down the whole world and releasing Obama's real birth certificate from Islamabad. He wants to move WikiLeaks to the Cayman Islands for tax reasons.
5 P.M.: Had dinner with Vladimir Putin at the McDonalds. As I said earlier, I'm not allowed there by myself but whenever Putin comes in, they make an exception. He loves the McRib sandwich and the vanilla shakes but hates the Chicken McNuggets, which he calls "Yankee heart attack." I asked him about my asylum request. He said that they lost the paperwork and asked if I could submit my application again? I can't believe this! I wonder if they're just jerking my chain? Anyway, what choice do I have? Putin also asked me if I have any other top secret U.S. government documents that I would like to share with him, just between friends.
7 P.M.: Watched a movie on the only TV channel that they allow to be shown in the transit lounge. It was some really weird sh*# called The Hunt for Red, White, and Blue October. I thought Sean Connery was in that, no?
10 P.M.: They let me go on the computer again. I sent an email to the Presidents of Ecuador and Bolivia, following up on their offer to let me stay there. Got an Auto Office Reply from both of them, saying they are on vacation and if I need something urgently, I should go screw myself. I'm seriously beginning to wonder if I made a mistake here. These people don't seem to be as friendly as I thought they were. There is definitely something fishy going on here -- I just can't put my finger on it.
11 P.M.: It's lights out in the transit lounge. Russian soldiers are at every door with machine guns on the ready. Tomorrow they promised to take me on a guided tour of the Kremlin, but then they have been saying that for weeks. I don't trust the Russians anymore. How does that old song by Murray Head go?
One night in Moscow makes a hard man humble Can't be too careful with your company I can feel the devil walking next to me...
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