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You are home to watch Pravda on televisir about degenerate murderer who is on the loose. You look out the window door to beet field, and you notice Man standing in the snow. He look like foto on televisir and he smile at you. You gulp vodka, picking up fone to your right and dialing Local Militia Precinct Commissar. Back out the glass you look, pressing fone to ear. Notice he now closer to you. You drop vodka in shock.
No footprints in snow. It was reflection. You dullard!

Your apartment is bulldozed down to make way for glorious tractor factory.

I am not Russian. I am German/Scottish. Replace vodka with whiskey.

I am not Russian, German or Scottish. I am Midwestern. Replace whiskey with Root beer.

I am not Russian, German, Scottish or Midwestern. I am Troll replace Root beer with Trollface.jpeg

What do?
A barrel roll.

I would use the brake on the bulldozer.

Such is life in Mother Russia.

We need some more friggin' vodkapasta. I love that shit.

What do?
Send many ammounts of gloriously angry letters to Govenmental Office Buildings.