It was great to hear your voice again, Igor.

It was as if we hadn’t missed a beat, or it was as if you deleted my number and didn’t know who was calling you last Tuesday afternoon at 4:32.




But before I could ask if you had a cold or if you had something in your mouth, you hung up on me.

It was as if you knew the next words out of my mouth were going to include “where” and “is” and “my” and “money.”

Have I gotten that predictable?

Have you been getting my daily texts?


Act Two of our Russian-meets-broke-freelancer-and-bends-him-over film mirrors the first act too much, I’m afraid.

How are we supposed to sell this crap, Igor?


Agents are going to skim over my query letter and laugh at: “In Act Two, the antagonist still won’t show his face. He won’t return a call in his thick Russian accent while the camera, from over his dark shoulder, focuses on the city of Chicago down forty stories below. Igor won’t post anything new on the Internet, and he won’t hide in Greg’s apartment building doorway with a cocked blunt object and a black, head-sized nylon bag.”

And I’m happy with that last part.

I totally appreciate that.

But when the agent gets to the paragraph where I write that the protagonist continues to stretch his neck in front of his computer and make desperate phone calls, and how this guy continues to play with his toes when he reads in bed at night, she’s going to bark at her assistant to prepare the form letter.

Even with the introduction of new characters, I still feel like we have a stinker on our hands.

After my initial post on this matter, I’ve been contacted by a few strangers.

Some tell me to forge ahead and to eff the police.

Some tell me to be happy with what I got.

Some tell me I ramble.

And some tell me that they’ve also been shortchanged by Igor Anatsko.

Melissa Something wrote:

“You aren’t the only one who got screwed. He screwed me out of $750 after I forced him to pay the first half upfront via Western Union money order.

I’ve e-mailed him more than 20+ times at three different e-mails; I’ve yet to have a mailer daemon bounced back to me though, but none of my return reciepts have been sent back either.

I’ve pretty much given up, because I don’t have the money for an attorney or the time to keep fighting. I’m lucky, I guess, to have received that initial $750, but I have this sinking feeling in my gut about the money that I did accept.

He commissioned me to write a video overview for a simulation he was working on. He set up a web site at nanocult.net and everything, and since he did pay so much up front, I thought it was all legit. I didn’t even think to take screenshots or anything like that.

I don’t know what to do. But I just wanted to let you know you weren’t alone.”

Since my correspondence with Melissa, she has heard from Igor and he promised to send the rest of her money.

He said he would send her the $750 soon.

She wanted it in two days.

He didn’t respond.

And three weeks have passed and she still hasn’t received the money.

You’re such a dick, Igor.


I think I’m going to start a therapy group.

“Hello. My name is So Andso, and I’ve been fucked over by Igor.”

(All together) Hello, So Andso.

“It’s been fifty-seven days since I’ve last spoken to Igor…”

Did you know that your buddy ended up calling me back with that fax number?

Of course I thought it was silly because you already have two copies of our contract.

But I stole away at work and faxed it anyway.

Whatever you guys need.

I talked to Coca-Cola today.

Yeah, I called them and said I was a part of your studio.

I hope you don’t mind, but a guy needs an inside.

The lady was nice. She’s having someone else call me back to talk to me more in-depth about their product placement of Sprite in “Call Me Genie!”.

Oh, and I wrote a letter to the editor at The Moscow Times where your movie was reviewed (read: poorly received) back in 2005.

Hopefully there will be a slow day in Russian news and they’ll think about publishing something regarding their comrades in the U.S.

Who knows.

And I got in touch with the dude who did your trailer voiceover, Igor.

He feels for me, although you did pay him in full.

He says he’d be interested in how this pans out, in case you ever call on him again.

I’d be interested in knowing how this is going to pan out, too, Igor.

I’d be interested in what would happen if I took my buddy up on his offer to track down your physical location with his large friends and then get physical with your location.

That would totally be like the movies, right?

Bringing some goons?

Bringing a climax to Act Two and setting up an Act Three?

Bringing me a hospital bill from the door that opens on my nose?

I dunno, Igor.

Maybe I’ll just give up like everyone else you’ve been screwing over.

Maybe I’ll chalk this up as a lesson.

Maybe I’ll send you an apology letter and some of this leftover Easter candy, or something for that cold of yours.

Whatever you guys need.

You have my number.

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GREG BOOSE grew up in northeast Ohio, got his MFA degree in Moorhead, MN, and now lives in Chicago. His writing has appeared on/in The Huffington Post,The Big Jewel, Yankee Pot Roast, Monkeybicycle, Opium Magazine, McSweeneys.net, Hobart, Feathertale, Time Out Chicago, Chicago Public Radio, Chicago Reader, NFL.com and more. Along with his wife, he is the co-editor for BlackBook Magazine's guide to Chicago. He won the 2008 Readers' Choice Award and Editor's Choice Award for satire in Farmhouse Magazine.

You must be this tall to visit his website at gregboose.com.

Follow him on Twitter at Greg_Boose.

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