Embattled Ukraine President Signs Compromise Deal as Parliament Votes to Free His Imprisoned Rival. Deal Frees Rival, Imprisons Parliament

The New York Times reported that Embattled Ukraine President Signs Compromise Deal as Parliament Votes to Free His Imprisoned Rival. Deal Frees Rival, Imprisons Parliament.
The deal forced Marquel to travel to Kiev. It was a dangerous assignment and TPV had no line in it’s budget for flak jackets. We were told that flak jackets wouldn’t help much anyway as there was no flak, just bullets to the head. There was also no line item for helmets, But Marquel found something much more useful: the budget covers Cossack suits and even horsewhips. Suitably protected, with minor TSA hassles, Marquel arrived in Kiev.

I tried to bluff my way in to the presidential palace, saying I had an interview scheduled with President Yevkuchenko. I showed them my press pass that I had scribbled on the back of my immigration card. The guards looked at me casually and said, “Sure, go right up.” I rolled up my horsewhip and went in, trying to look as Cossackian as possible.

“Mr President, congratulations on the deal,” I ventured.

“Thank you.” He said.

“I heard you turned the internet back on,” I continued.”

“It was necessary,” He said, “But only temporary.”

“Here’s hoping it’s more than that,” I said.

“If I need it,” he answered somewhat cryptically.

“It’s obvious that being president is important, even vital, to you. Can you explain why?” I asked.

“How important is your job to you?” he asked.

“Pretty important but I’m not sure I’m prepared to kill over it.” I responded. “They say over 70.”

“Yes that was expensive.” he said, “Unfortunate,” he corrected himself.

“How….” I hesitated, “expensive?

“We agreed to pay, so it cost us. We don’t have a budget item for that,” he said.

“I know the problem,” I said with a smile.

“We had to take it out of petty cash. Seventy-three dollars.” he complained.

“Don’t tell me a dollar apiece,” I begged.

“Oh yes, the agreement demanded it in dollars,” said he. ” ‘Reasonable compensation in U.S. currency’ “

“But to get back to my question, your insistence on leading your country is just a job?” I asked.

“I am also a nationalist and a patriot. Plus if we were closer to the Russians, our petty cash would be a lot more plentiful,” he answered.

“So this is kind of a salary dispute? Truthfully you don’t seem a patriot.” I remarked.

“Yeah Marquel and you don’t seem to be much of a Cossack. Your salary we could handle out of petty cash.” He challenged.

“What gave you that idea,” I lied, ” Of course I’m a Cossack and a well paid one.”

“Bullshit. I just googled you. You’re one of those internet writers, not a Cossack,” he countered.

“How could you Google with…did you have the internet turned on so you could Google me?” I asked.

“Of course. And now it’s off again.” He said.

“That’s just terrible,” I said,” you’re treating the internet likes it’s yours, like the entire country is yours.”

“You really don’t understand international politics,” he asked,” do you? Don’t you understand that as long as the U.S. and Russia are bidding over me we are a free people?”

I paused for a moment to straighten my Cossack hat, and I realized it couldn’t be done gracefully, at least with a bullwhip in one hand, which I was afraid to put down. Once it unfolds it’s Hell to roll back up. I found that out on the plane. And I had a feeling it might be keeping the president from beating me to a pulp. “Well why don’t you explain it to me,” I said.

“It should be obvious. You wore that ridiculous suit to protect you from the eastern sympathizers in front. But if you leave this building by the back door, you’ll get beaten by the western sympathizers.” He explained sounding weary. “I do that every day. Only lately the westerners have been getting the brunt of it”

“Isn’t there some way you can do that without killing people?” I asked.

“Apparently not. They come from all over to protest” he said.

“Maybe if you turn the internet back on, people will be willing to read about it.” Then I had a flash of genius that would get me something from my editor. Anything. “Tell them there’s an article about you in the pothole view. Explains everything. That might help.”

“You know,” he said, “for a phony Cossack you’re not completely stupid” he stood up and patted me on the back.

“I have to say, Mr President, that for a cruel dictator you’re not without humanity. Plus for our readers out there, you didn’t kill me.,” I said as collaboratively as I could muster.

“Yes, that may be a mistake, but the internet is an experiment worth taking. I can’t kill you before you publish, maybe after,” he said as he enveloped me in a bear hug before saying “das vadanya, good bye.” Still playing both sides.

I worked my way down the stairs towards the front entrance. I looked the other way, too. I went out the front, my bullwhip trailing. I had an urge to snap it just once but didn’t know how. I just tripped on it twice and got on a passing tram. The door closed on my whip.

I left it in Kiev.

You may follow Marquel on Twitter @MarquelatTPV.

[Ed. Note: We learned early last night that the president fled the palace and perhaps the country immediately after Marquel’s interview. While we take no credit for this, we cannot deny appearances nor that being called a “cruel dictator” to his face might have influenced him. We also learned that he left by the back door, dressed as a banker, carrying an EU flag.]