Based on a true story.
Moscow, Soviet Union, 1949
Stalin’s mustache brimmed with Commie fury. “This John Wayne, he is an enemy to our people. His cowboy mentality, his knowledge of right and wrong… it goes against everything Communism stands for. He must die!”
“You want us to kill the Duke?” exclaimed one of Stalin’s advisors.
“You question me!” Stalin shouted, “Off to gulag!”
Stalin’s secret police grabbed the man and dragged him away.
“Our intelligence says that John Wayne is currently in a bar with another actor Ronald Reagan,” said another advisor.
“Send our agents to kill him now!” Stalin ordered.
“What about Ronald Reagan?”
“He is just a B-movie actor; he is no threat to the Soviet Union,” Stalin said dismissively. “We kill John Wayne and Communism will live forever!” Stalin stood up and held his arms high into the air. “I am Stalin! Fear my mustache!”

“My agent says I should do some movies with monkeys in them,” Reagan said, “Comedies might be good for my career.”
“Only thing a monkey is good for is target practice,” the Duke answered, and took a drink of whiskey.
“Ever thought of doing a comedy?” Reagan asked.
“Nothing funny these days with Reds about.”
“Anyway, this is a nice bar.”
“It’s outta the way,” the Duke answered, “Keeps me from getting bothered.”
“Jeepers! It’s John Wayne!” exclaimed a kid, running up to the table.
“Dammit,” the Duke uttered.
“And I’m Ronald Reagan,” Reagan told the kid with a smile.
“Who?”
“Nevermind,” Reagan answered, turning back to his drink.
“Golly gosh, Mr. Wayne,” the kids said excitedly, “I’m your bestest fan. I want to be a cowboy just like you.”
“Well, it will never happen, so scram, kid,” the Duke answered.
“Aww, Mister, why’d you have to crush my dreams like that,” the kid said mournfully.
“You could be a little nicer,” Reagan told the Duke.
“You’re starting to annoy me, too,” the Duke growled.
“I’m sorry, but…”
“Quiet,” the Duke ordered and observed the air carefully. “I smell Reds,” he whispered.
Two men in suits approached. “I am FBI agent Yuri and this is FBI agent Ivan,” said one in a thick Ruskie accent. “You must come with us, Mr. Wayne.”
“Sure,” the Duke said, standing up slowly. He then whipped out his peacemaker and shot them both.
“Jeepers!” the kid exclaimed, “You killed them!”
“Commies,” Wayne answered, “and it ain’t over.” The Duke knocked over the table for cover and more gunfire came their way. The Duke fired back until his gun went empty. He tossed it to the kid along with some ammo. “Make yourself useful and reload that for me.”
“Golly. But I don’t know anything about guns, mister.”
“Well figure it out,” the Duke demanded. He then looked to Reagan who huddled behind the table. “Dutch, you have a gun?”
“I am an American,” Reagan said as he took out a 1911.
“Cover me as I kill these Reds,” the Duke said as he then emerged from behind the table. He saw four evil Commies, and he and Reagan shot them dead as the Duke kept moving, finally taking some new cover behind the bar.
“That was six shots, yankee scum,” said an evil Commie the Duke hadn’t seen who now stood over him.
“Here you go,” the kid yelled, tossing a gun to the Duke. He caught it, and rolled out of the way of the Commie’s shots, finally returning fire with one bullet through the man’s evil Commie brain.
The Duke stood up and observed the room. “That’s all of them.”
“Should we call the police?” Reagan asked.
“Nothing left except for a clean up crew,” the Duke answered.
“Golly, I thought you were done for, Mr. Wayne,” the kid said.
“Thanks for your help,” the Duke answered, and then handed the kid the peacemaker. “Here, keep this gun.”
“Wow! Thanks!”
“So what’s your name, kid?”
“Clinton Eastwood, sir.”
“That’s the gayest name I’ve ever heard,” the Duke said, “I’ll call you Clint.”
“Clint it is,” the kid answered, “Thanks again, Mister. Your the bestest!”
Reagan looked at the dead Commies. “One day I’ll see the Soviet Union destroyed,” Reagan vowed, “but first I need to do that comedy with a monkey in it.”
“I have some business to finish myself,” the Duke said, reloading a gun.

Moscow, Soviet Union, 1953
“Time to retire to bed and plot more Commie evil in the morning,” Stalin said, brushing his mustache with his fingers. He looked around and noticed he couldn’t see any guards in his country home. “Guards!” he called out, “Where are you?”
He made his way to his bedroom. Inside, he noticed a cowboy hat sitting on his nightstand. As he slowly approached it, he heard the bedroom door close behind him. He turned to see the Duke standing there, a peacemaker pointed right at Stalin.
“Say hi to Lenin for me in Commie hell, Joe,” the Duke said, and then unloaded his gun into Stalin’s chest. The Duke then slowly walked over and picked up his hat. He put it back on and strolled out of the room.
Soon some guards arrived and found Stalin lying there on the ground bleeding. “Oh no!” exclaimed one of them, “We let John Wayne kill Stalin. We’ll be in big trouble for this. We better think of some other story to explain his death.”
“I’m not dead,” Stalin uttered weakly.
“First let’s drink some vodka,” said the other guard, “Vodka helps us think.”
“Great, comrade,” said the other guard, “We’ll drink vodka and then come up with a story for Stalin’s death.”
“I’m not dead,” Stalin pleaded, “and can I have some vodka too?”
“Here, have a pillow,” the guard said, and then took a pillow off Stalin’s bed and pressed it over Stalin’s face.
Another guard entered the room. “Hey! You guys are killing Stalin!” he exclaimed, “I don’t think you’re supposed to do that!”
“John Wayne shot him,” another guard answered, “We’re just helping Stalin along.”
“He’s taking forever to smother,” said the guard with the pillow, “Let’s just go raid the liquor cabinet.”
“Hey, after we get the vodka, we can go watch the movie Bedtime for Bonzo in Stalin’s private screening room,” said one of the guards, “It’s supposed to be funny!”