Then there was this dream I had the other night.
During their reigns, Khrushchev and Brezhnev had teas made of special herbs related in rather occult ways to their respective names. On visiting their rulers, people were made to drink this tea, which was, in both cases, foul. Sometimes still, Putin brings them out and serves tea to those who cannot refuse to drink it. He watches them gleefully as he leaves his untouched.
“Delicious, no?” he enquires with a handsome smile.