Andriy Yermak Resigns:
It's A One-Act (uh) Play:
“I’m Not Touching You, I’m Just Hovering My Hand Very Close to the Cookie Jar”
KYIV – In a move that shocked exactly no one who’s been awake since 2022, Andriy Yermak, Ukraine’s presidential chief of staff, former film producer, and walking definition of “quietly indispensable until suddenly radioactive,” has tendered his resignation yesterday with all the solemnity of a man returning a library book three years overdue.
The Official Statement (read in the voice of a funeral director who just won the lottery):
“After careful consideration and in light of recent events, I have decided to step aside so that Ukraine may continue its heroic struggle without distraction. I remain fully committed to the President, the people, and the absolute sanctity of procurement procedures involving Bulgarian shell companies.”
Translation from Ukrainian political bureau of information and radio broadcasting:
“I have become the human equivalent of a smoke alarm that won’t stop beeping. Someone please remove my batteries before the neighbours call the cops.”
Highlights from Yermak’s Illustrious Tenure (a partial list):
Consolidated so much power that even Zelenskyy occasionally had to text him for a meeting slot.
Turned the Presidential Office into a place where oligarchs, intelligence chiefs, and foreign ambassadors formed an orderly queue like it was the last Tim Hortons before the apocalypse.
Allegedly oversaw an energy sector so “resilient” it could withstand Russian missiles but mysteriously crumbled under the weight of 15 % kickbacks.
Mastered the art of looking calmly competent while wiretaps of his associates discussing “bags of cash” played on loop in the next room.
The Resignation Letter: A Dramatic Reading
(Imagine this delivered in the tone of a man breaking up with you because Mercury is in retrograde.)
“Dear Volodymyr, It has been the greatest honour of my life to serve as the guy who actually runs things while you do the inspirational speeches. Sadly, some ungrateful peasants and their fancy anti-corruption bureaus have decided that friendship and fiduciary responsibility cannot peacefully co-exist.I therefore resign, effective immediately, or whenever Timur in Israel gives me the all-clear, whichever comes second.
P.S. The gold toilet was a gift. From a friend. Who is definitely not under investigation.
Immediate Reactions
Zelenskyy (wearing the sad-eyes filter):
“Andriy is a patriot, a friend, and the only man who knew where I put my other green T-shirt. This is a dark day for vertical power structures everywhere.”
The National Anti-Corruption Bureau (NABU):
[Politely knocks on door, holding 47 search warrants and a thermos of coffee because this is going to be a long night.]
Russian State Television:
Already running chyrons that say “UKRAINIAN NAZI REGIME EATS ITSELF, FILM AT 11.”
Average Ukrainian Babushka in Kharkiv, currently burning her late husband’s war medals for warmth:
“Who?”
Sgt At Arms in Canadian Parliament: "I know nothing. NUH-THING."
McColl’s Muddling Canadian Post-Mortem
Look, I’ve seen cabinet ministers resign in this country for accepting a free hotel upgrade and a chocolate orange. Yermak oversaw a system where hundreds of millions allegedly vanished while the country literally froze in the dark, and he’s leaving with a press release and his dignity in a wheeled suitcase.
That’s not a resignation, folks. That’s an exit interview for the next season of Succession: Carpathian Edition.
Stay warm, Ukraine. And maybe next time hire a chief of staff whose LinkedIn doesn’t list “former producer of sitcoms about fighting corruption” as the top qualification.
Eh?
— Mack McColl asked Grok to write this from a centre-right POV, while both of us stand by, still waiting for someone in Kyiv to discover the radical concept of consequences.
