Tsvetan Vassilev's Boets in search for Peevski

Boets, the notorious NGO on call of the Bulgarian Madoff is out beating the bushes for something. Maybe they are looking for a diplomat, or maybe they are looking for a fee. But their most wanted person is Peevski. They go out to the streets and look around. When they don’t see him coming their way they grab a pen and start scribbling the next in row “report” on a napkin. The latest virtual letter was addressed to the Prime Minister.

However, in this case Boets has again failed to give a brush to their writings and sent in a rough copy. Meanwhile their colleagues from the friendly websites, who copy-paste their illiterate attempts at writing, have released this disgraceful scribbles in their original variant. Instead of hiring a proof-reader to correct the mistakes with a red pencil to gloss over the fact that apart from being dim-witted Boets is also illiterate.

For a starter, they had to refresh their knowledge about the proper use of definite and indefinite articles. Then they should decide how to spell the word “Boets” correctly. Boets or Bovts. While the word “corpilent” must be some kind of a neologism because we failed to find in dictionaries. The letter is mirror image of “We, the Boets”. 

A snarling face peeks out of it which is trying to cover up the annoyance and disappointment over the fact that instead of their VIP courier Georgi Georgiev the generous benefactor Tsvetan Vassilev prefereed to hold a get-together for choir practice in Belgrade with the vociferous mailman Yavor Dachkov. That is why Boets racked his brains and produced a lampoon which was circulated to all of the satellite websites where the fugitive banker is pictured like a saint and then came to a halt waiting to be commended and, if the BG Madoff grants, to receive a juicy bone from the master.

The habit of Boets to speak in plural form is incorrigible. Judging by his appearance, he is far from royalty. Boets is not Napoleon either. When he poses for photos with the boss, he is alone, there are no others. When he delivers special courier mail with a cross over shoulder bag he again is alone. Even those who keep him company at the rallies and hold placards for him look like passersby picked up en passant after a promise of a small reward for playing as extras.

When he gives up his attempts at originality the seeking “boets” may find his oligarch who bid farewell to all and fled to Singapore with his family. There is no need asking when and why he came back. He is not paid for this job.

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