A pile of rubble – charred bricks, shards of glass, and a mangled metal construction frame – occupies the small plot on Pushkinskaya Street in the center of Kyiv, where the editorial offices of the Kyiv Poster once stood.
Some yellow tape has been hung up around the site but it’s already tattered and flagging.
“Hi, I’m Hal Halfbit, live from the scene of last year’s Kyiv Poster terror attack.”
“And I’m Judy McFeign, here in America’s Newsroom. What can you tell us, Hal?”
– “It was horrible, really scary, like a dream.”
– “I just heard an explosion and fell flat on my face for some reason.”
“These are just some of the sobering statements made by two young women, survivors of the blast and long-standing employees of Ukraine’s Window to the World.”
“Did you see anything suspicious leading up to the attack,” the correspondent asks the young women.
“Just Moe Zaire handing Chief Editor Bret Boner an old-fashioned high-quality leather sports bag that he’d hoisted onto his desk in the middle of the newsroom.”
“Yeah, and then he locked us and everyone else up in the room until exactly two o’clock, when we were supposed to open the bag to see what’s inside.”
“Is Islamic extremism suspected, Hal?”
“We don’t know yet at this point, Judy, but Zaire is a Muslim, and the paper was known for its hard-hitting reporting on corruption in Ukraine’s halls of power.”
“What about the death toll? Is there anyone still missing?”
“Miraculously, everyone got out alive and unscathed, except Boner, with the search for his remains still ongoing after all this time.”
“He was like a father to us, a really close one,” says one of the girls.
“More than a father, really, always hanging around late night to offer a helping hand or inviting us to go on trips with him to boost morale.”
Publisher Moe Zaire shows up on the scene, closely accompanied by the paper’s Acting CEO Anoyla Zombietska.
“That’s why I’ve taken personal responsibility in leading the search for Boner, to include the hiring of this city’s leading investigative journalist. The Ferret is busy as we speak trying to burrow his way toward the presumed location of Boner’s aging remains.”
Zombietska leans over Zaire’s shoulder and begins to whisper something in his ear right in front of the television camera.
“A candlelight vigil will be held tonight to honor Boner’s dedication to the paper at a park not far away. And I’ve invited none other than David Lynch to show up and say a few words.”
“Judy,” says the correspondent, “Boner was the 2014 recipient of the Mississippi Media Award, although leading up to the bombing the veteran news hound had been hounded himself by multiple accusations of sexual harassment.”
The two young female journalists nod their heads silently and then break down in tears.
Zaire can be seen in the background with his arm around Zombietska, leading her toward the passenger side of a large dark sedan.
Then, later that evening, in a park that really is not far away, a small crowd of candle holders and others can be seen gathered in a solemn atmosphere of commemoration.
Besides a prominent formation of young female journalists who inexplicably have their mouths taped shut with the words “Stop Censorship Now!” plainly printed across the tape, there is a circling procession of elderly Ukrainian women in head scarves, paid mourners apparently hired by Zaire.
One of these women is holding an authentic looking icon with a photo of Boner pasted over the sacred image.
Instead of prayers, the women chant recent headlines from the Poster’s editorial section: “Beyond Incompetence”, “Danger Signals”, “Celebrate Conformity”, “Insecurity Service” and “Epitaph to Justice”.
As each headline is read, in broken English, one of the women breaks into a mournful wailing followed by a low-frequency moan rhythmically emitted from the mouths of the others. Their faces are blurred in a cloud of incense that billows from a thurible swung on a chain by one of the mourners.
Zaire, dressed in a “wet” black smoking jacket, stands off to the side, clearly pleased with the spectacle he’s arranged and holding the hand of the even prouder looking Zombietska.
But despite his having in no uncertain terms led everyone to believe that a eulogy would be read by David Lynch, the makeshift dais is mounted by aristocratic Irishman Piper Nadine, flanked by the always underdressed Sweaty Tank Top.
“He was, after all and undeniably, a newsman!” begins Nadine.
Sweaty stands silent and perspiring under the artificial lighting system.
“And if I may add in homage to the man, the editor, the captain of the always embattled vessel of objective English-language journalism, he shall be missed.”
The old women moan more loudly, the young female journalists stand straight and tall, Sweaty’s face takes on a hardly noticeable look of confusion bordering on surprise, possible indignation.
“What’s On, What’s Off, Business Ukraine, Ukrainian Business – we are all the children, now made orphans, of the Kyiv Poster, which Boner so nobly fathered.”
Zaire looks like he’s about to start clapping but is possibly inhibited from doing so by Zombietska, who’s got a hold of one of his hands.
“He faced many a challenge in his tenure at the helm … and many a temptation as well.”
A few of the young female journalists drop their heads.
“But his passion and professionalism will endure… cut down by an assassin’s bomb… we can only hope he’s in a better place…”
Following Nadine’s moving eulogy, Sweaty Tank Top recites an impromptu poem entitled “Yee Fookin Went and Deed It”, receiving a standing applause from those present.
Moe Zaire then expresses his deepest gratitude to all those in attendance for showing up, swearing on the grave of his great uncle in Pakistan that the guilty would be found and brought to justice – Muslim or otherwise.
Nadine finally wrapped things up with a brief update on The Ferret’s continuing burrowing efforts beneath the rubble, glass, and burnt bricks on Pushkinskaya Street in the city center of Kyiv.
Steve Kowalski, reporting from a park in Kyiv for the Cantankerous Curmudgeon, June 15, 2017*
*Contrary to the premise of the above story, NO ONE who was in that Kyiv Poster newsroom at the moment of its bombing survived, including, and MOST OF ALL, Boner. I know, because I was there. Thus, should Boner show up alive in any one of these remaining Commix Post Scriptum frames, which are themselves practically apocryphal (but for the grace of some inexplicable system of selection applying a lazy modicum of academically unsubstantiated method, which has placed them here, instead of there); nay, if, in ANY one of them, it is EVEN REMOTELY SUGGESTED that this BONER! is alive (having been found by, of all freaks, creeps, and deformities, The Ferret), I am assuring you here and now that THAT will be one big, fat, disgusting, and shameless L – I – E!!! Fake News.