Dear President Putin,

It must really suck to be you right now.

And this time a year ago things were so peachy!

The rubles were rolling in from all the oil and gas you and your obscenely rich buddies were digging out of the Russian soil. The pesky journalists and dissidents who wouldn’t play along with you were all safely in exile, prison, or the grave. The West wasn’t seriously challenging the reality of Russian ownership of the valuable territory you carved off of Ukraine in 2014. And the Russian people loved you (mostly)! And you had something so exciting to look forward to…seeing your massive, unstoppable Red—er, I mean Russian—Army smashing its way into Kiev. Ah, those were the days, weren’t they?

Why wouldn’t those pesky Ukrainians just follow the plan?

And now your magnificent military juggernaut, the terror of the free world, is in shambles and advancing in the wrong direction. Your only friends are creeps like Li’l Kim, and your reliable sycophant Donald is out of power. Your best and brightest are running away as fast as they can to internet cafes in Kazakhstan. Your buddies’ bank accounts and yachts are confiscated. Russian mothers are asking what happened to the sons they haven’t heard from lately—and you don’t want to mess with a Russian mother! Your erstwhile supporters are turning on you, demanding to know why you don’t just obliterate the Ukraine. Which you might still decide to do…but what will that get you, really?

Tough spot, huh? Boy, I’m glad I’m not you. Even with all the free caviar and big private office and stuff. There’s nothing like a failed war for undermining absolute authority. Just ask Mussolini…he had so much fun at first, invading Libya, invading Ethiopia, invading France, invading Greece, invading, invading. And look what happened to him! A couple of battles went the wrong way and everyone forgot about all the great stuff he did!

We don’t see a nice happy ending for you, but maybe you can avoid hanging by the heels from a gas-station carport. These are the steps.

First, get the hell out of Ukraine.

Second, let your world-class propaganda machine frame it as a victory. You’re really good at that kind of thing. Maybe spin it as a “We taught those Nazi-gay-Western-puppet Ukrainians a lesson they’ll never forget!” kind of thing.

Third, scrape together your remaining rubles and get a nice villa in Qatar or outside Pyongyang. List the owner as “Ferdinand McGillicutty.”

Fourth, fly out of Russia ASAP to “deliberate with key allies.” Take your figure-skating babe or your wife with you, we don’t recommend keeping both. You have enough problems already. Oh, and make sure your route out of town doesn’t cross Ukrainian airspace. They’re totally awesome now at knocking down your planes!

But before you leave, let Brittney Griner go. What did that poor girl ever do to you?

Best wishes (not really), Garden of Eaton