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Feature Story October 28, 2003
Scary Moscow ‘03
Night of the Living Dead Kommissars
Page 3 of 4
Gusinsky: "If the Israelis let me down, there's still Austria. Smolensky's been living like he's the reichsoberfuhrer for years now. They'd sell the Alps if they could." Gusinsky climbs out a window, waving cheerfully and yodeling.

Misha: "Don't do it, Gusinsky! You'll never get away! Better to fight them here!"

Gusinsky: "Yeah, uh-uh. I don't remember you saying that when the first zombies ate my Chief Financial Officer and roasted his bladder over a low fire. I'm not a fighter, I'm Austrian. Maybe, anyway. Unless I'm an Israeli. I'm Austro-Israeli.; Well, good luck, Misha. I mean 'Guten tag,' or 'Shalom,' as the case may be!"

Gusinsky vanishes, screaming: "Help! Anti-Semites are attacking me! Heeeeeelp!!! Helpen Zie!"

In the distance we can hear an Aide: "They were Anti-Semites, Mr. Gusinsky?"

Gusinsky (even fainter): "Well they were threatening to eat my flesh. Are we going to split hairs here, Daniil?"

Aide: "No but..."

Gusinsky: "Am I wrong?..."

CUT BACK to center of the barricaded Snobs. Just then, a door breaks and three Zombie Kommissars manage to squirm into Snobs. Irina screams. Misha beats two of them to death with a packet of positive Western press reports. He picks up a weapon that he's been keeping in his sports duffel bag, the Alexander Vershbow, a high-tech zombie-kommissar zapper, and fires it. But the cartridge is empty.

Misha: "Damn! They said this thing would work!"

Misha throws the Vershbow to the ground and curses it.

Irina: "Wait, Misha. Look, it's Tolya. He's still alive. Oh Tolya, we thought they got you!"

Cut to ANATOLY CHUBAIS, decayed gray flesh hanging down from his chin, a zombie in liberal-imperial Kommissar epaulettes.

Irina: "Tolya! It's you!"

She runs towards the Chubais zombie.

Misha: "Irina, no!"

Chubais: " are guilty...need liberal empire. Fleshhhh."

Irina: "Tolya? Tolya, what's wrong with you? Tolya, let me go! Don't you remember me?"

Chubais (clears throat suddenly, emitting clumps of decayed and half-eaten flesh): "Of course Misha is guilty. Guilty, guilty, guilty. What concerns me"

Irina: "But Tolya, how can you say that? Tolya? Ah!"

Misha pulls Irina away just as Chubais is about to take a bite out of her neck. He pushes the Chubais zombie back through the broken elitny door, and stuffs the Alexander Vershbow into the handles to keep the door secure. Several zombie-kommissars try breaking through the elitny doors, but fail.

Irina: "Nice doors."

Misha: "Yes, importnie."

Irina: "How much do you think they cost, Misha? I would like to get some..."

He and Irina back up as the zombies close in, hitting the barricades with their fists, beating at it...

Act 3

The sun is setting as Misha and Irina hold each other, preparing for the worst. Suddenly Misha cocks his head, listening.

Misha: "Ira, do you hear that?"

Ira looks up hopefully, hearing the ever stronger thump of rotors.

Misha: "That's the sound of a CH-54 heavy-lift helicopter, and if I'm not mistaken..."

He listens carefully.

Misha: "Yes! It's an Exxon/Mobil chopper! I knew they'd keep their word! They're from a stable corporate culture! Their word is their bond! Legal norms actually MEAN something to them! The Americans have come! We're saved!"

Irina hugs her shoes joyously.

The huge chopper can be heard landing just outside the barricaded restaurant. Then comes the sound of bulldozers ramming the barricades.

Ira asks doubtfully, "Misha? Why are they..."

Misha: "Umm...well perhaps they have to, um, demolish the barricades to free us, darling. Yes, that's it!"

The barricade is wrenched aside and a tide of roaring, fanged, rotting zombies charge in, grabbing at Misha and Ira, tearing them limb from limb and devouring their flesh as the two young mortals scream in horror.

As Misha is being eaten alive, he sees an EXXON EXECUTIVE, PRESTON, in an immaculate suit standing among the Zombies, unharmed. The Exxon man smiles broadly, touches his nametag and says, "Hi folks, I'm Preston, Exxon liaison to the PZKR -- you know, the Provisional Zombie Kommissar Republic. I just want you to know everybody at HQ is real, real sorry it couldn't've worked out better for you and your special lady."

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Save The eXile: The War Nerd Calls Mayday
The future of The eXile is in your hands! We're holding a fundraiser to save the paper, and your soul. Tune in to Gary Brecher's urgent request for reinforcements and donate as much as you can. If you don't, we'll be overrun and wiped off the face of the earth, forever.

Scanning Moscow’s Traffic Cops
Automotive Section
We’re happy to introduce a new column in which we publish Moscow’s raw radio communications, courtesy of a Russian amateur radio enthusiast. This issue, eXile readers are given a peek into the secret conversations of Moscow’s traffic police, the notorious "GAIshniki."

Eleven Years of Threats: The eXile's Incredible Journey
Feature Story By The eXile
Good Night, and Bad Luck: In a nation terrorized by its own government, one newspaper dared to fart in its face. Get out your hankies, cuz we’re taking a look back at the impossible crises we overcame.

Your Letters
Russia's freedom-loving free market martyr Mikhail Khodorkovsky answers some of this week's letters, and he's got nothing but praise for President Medvedev.

Clubbing Adventures Through Time
Club Review By Dmitriy Babooshka
eXile club reviewer Babooshka takes a trip through time with the ghost of Moscow clubbing past, present and future, and true to form, gets laid in the process.

The Fortnight Spin
Bardak Calendar By Jared Lindquist
Jared comes out with yet another roundup of upcoming bardak sessions.

Your Letters
Richard Gere tackles this week's letters. Now reformed, he fights for gerbil rights all around the world.

13 Toxic Talents: Hollywood’s Worst Polluters
America By Eileen Jones
Everybody complains about celebrities, but nobody does anything about them. People, it’s time to stop fretting about whether we’re a celebrity-obsessed culture—we are, we have been, we’re going to be—and instead take practical steps to clean up the celebrity-obsessed culture we’ve got...


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