03:00 PM PST (August 19, 2025) - P.S. EIC

Last Friday, in the icy diplomatic wasteland of Anchorage, Alaska—where the air smells faintly of jet fuel and broken promises, President Donald J. Trump and his delegation emerged from a closed-door summit with Vladimir Putin looking like they’d just been forced to read Dostoevsky backwards while balancing on a moral tightrope.

Karoline Leavitt clutched her purse like it contained the last remnants of her sanity. Marco Rubio blinked in Morse code, possibly signaling for help. Pete Hegseth drunkenly attempted to salute a passing moose, mistaking it for a Russian general.

Sources close to NotSure News (who communicate exclusively via encrypted carrier pigeon) revealed that Putin had subjected the delegation to a series of psychological mind games so intense they made the Stanford Prison Experiment look like a team-building retreat.

Among the tactics were:

• A mirror maze of self-doubt, where each reflection whispered their worst polling numbers.

• A photo album of their darkest secrets.

• A VR simulation of their political careers, narrated by Werner Herzog and scored by a single, mournful accordion.

And Trump? He was immune. Not because of strength, but because he saw Putin not as an adversary, but as a fascist folk hero that is part Rasputin and part action figure. According to insiders, Trump spent most of the summit asking Putin for autographs, fashion tips, and the secret to “looking so stern yet moisturized.”

The delegation’s terror wasn’t from threats or espionage; it was from watching their leader nod enthusiastically as Putin outlined his five-step plan to replace Congress with a panel of Siberian wolves.

The summit ended with no treaty, no handshake, and no lunch, just a single, cryptic tweet from Trump, “Great meeting with Vlad. Strong guy. Smart guy. Might rename Florida ‘New Crimea.’ Stay tuned!”