I didn’t worry about ragged furniture in my office at Kiev City Hall. The city looked much worse as unemployment rose, wages fell, our till stood empty, protestors lived in tents a hundred meters from my office, and Russian troops mobilized on our eastern border. The big bears intended to convince all Ukrainians, and especially politicians like me, the Mayor of Kiev, that they were poised to crush us. They should have hurried because I immediately began transforming our capital city into an economic powerhouse, certain that not even the Russians would trample such a showplace.
My first moves, backed by the City Council and all proactive citizens of Kiev, legalized gambling, prostitution, and personal use of marijuana, made the dollar our official currency, and provided tax breaks for high tech businesses and other industries to open factories in our city. Consequently, Microsoft, Google, Facebook, Apple, Sony, and many other firms quickly purchased land here and built new palaces of production or made older buildings sparkle. Our dynamic new employees, foreign and domestic, certainly were blessed. When not working, they frolicked with some of the most sensuous women from the great Ukrainian Breadbasket and further financed our endeavors, in historic buildings already converted into casinos.
A dynamic environment such as the new Kiev also demanded boxing and martial arts of unsurpassed quality. I remade the City Council meeting room into a lavish gymnasium highlighted by an elevated ring I daily used to promote our city. My first fistic action, since retiring with one of the world heavyweight title belts, came against Bermane Stiverne, also a heavyweight champion, and Deontay Wilder, a lad, tall as I, who came to fight for Stiverne’s title. We sold pay per view tickets for ten sparring sessions, a bargain at ten bucks each, and global audiences skyrocketed as each time I took on both, individually, and hammered Stiverne with combinations that had felled many men but merely staggered the husky Haitian expatriate. He occasionally lambasted me with his touted right hand and forced me to grab. The powerful Wilder, though vulnerable on defense after years of fighting only journeymen, showed a tight and explosive right hand as formidable as that of Stirerne. I’m still picking the champion because of his experience but urge tourists to bet lightly on the fight and heavily at the tables.
As we await this extravaganza, my brother Wladimir, holder of many title belts and the finest heavyweight this century, is thrashing a variety of sparring partners in the meeting room of City Hall and, quite unintentionally, I believe, compelling fans around the globe to demand that Wlad and I fight or at least spar. We demur, of course, and instead offer pugnacious President Vladimir Putin of Russia the opportunity to fight, with no rules, any reasonable opponent of his choosing. He selects renowned women’s mixed martial artist Ronda Rousey, and she at once accepts. Right now the odds are even but that won’t hold as we’re wagering millions of dollars, euros, and rubles on Rousey.