50 Million Gags for Kuchma

The time has come when, rather than writing in a newspaper, I must write to you directly, esteemed Leonid Danylovych. Because the topic is the Constitution both of us respect. Indeed, as its guarantor and having sworn allegiance to it, you may be within your rights to deviate from its spirit and letter, while I, an ordinary newspaper man, have to watch my step, lest my explicit respect for the supreme law of the land lead me astray.

For this reason, I must admit that I have been led astray in my attempts to teach the President of my country to abide by constitutional norms. I stand corrected.

I became frightened reading your edict on additional measures to improve the performance of bodies of the internal affairs and volunteer units to protect public order. A nice edict, and most importantly, well-timed. What is to be done, considering that the militia receive no pay? Of course, revive the old narodna druzhyna [voluntary people's patrol organized in the USSR since 1958 to assist the militia in maintaining public order, combating hooliganism, etc. - Ed.], because no one will ask you to pay them, and they will voluntarily protect you, especially during the elections.

But who will protect me? No, I am not afraid of robbers, because all the loot they could count on is in my refrigerator. I am afraid of phone calls from outraged readers. A few days ago I received a call from a district militia inspector in Talne rayon in Cherkasy oblast, which is almost native to me. The officer was in rapture from the campaign meeting you organized for the local law enforcement authorities. He said that even his mother-in-law had never cooked such a tasty treat. And they were even given some money, but on one condition: to see to it that everyone in the village votes for Kuchma. "We'll do everything possible and impossible," my acquaintance said, "after receiving such attention."

I certainly would not want to get knocked in the head the way one small shareholder from your native Dnipropetrovsk oblast did after complaining that he was not paid dividends. He would not write to a newspaper. "What do you mean?" he told me. "You don't know what they do to people refusing to sign for Kuchma..."

So I decided to sign, writing with both hands, and there was just one letter left to write when the phone rang again. You will never guess who called. The number one government economist, I would even call him a minister. We met in an elevator once, by sheer chance, but the man's reputation had been at stake ever since. The man sounded tearful. "You are lucky, you can write all you want and I am expecting the pink slip every day, there is an internal investigation underway." I was stunned. I knew him as a very decent man and could hardly imagine anybody suspecting him of contacts with the free press.

To think that other people suffer because of me is unbearable. So I am quitting. Maybe I will go into business. And I have a very nice proposal for you, Mr. President: let's do it together. You will have to look for a job before long anyway. I can guarantee success, because I have a business plan and everything is in it. The market is immense: 50 million customers (two million down, unfortunately). You provide a state contract, and I will launch a serial production of individual safety gags, quickly and quietly, in the shadows. The demand will be mind-boggling, especially before the election. Please think it over and say yes. We will earn more cash than we can carry.

Respectfully, Your Former Opponent, Vitaly KNIAZHANSKY, The Day