Their hold on me had long since loosened.

They’d been getting their cut, once a month, no more, like the plan said.

Then the pandemic came, and, well, you know.

So I stopped sending the checks to Igor U. altogether.

I used the money for myself, and the work.

Got the doc a nice new lightning machine. What’s the harm, right?

I am an Igor, and this is my job.

I thought the feds had put all student loans on hold.

Turns out universities for mad scientist assistants don’t play by fed rules.

So they came after me. First letters on parchment. I ignored.

Then more letters, less polite. I gave ’em to our monster.

Parchment letters are super tasty, apparently.

Then nothing for a while. I figured I was fine.

Even the doc thought so.

Actually let me have a turn on the lightning machine.

I am an Igor, and this is my job.

Turns out you shouldn’t ignore Igor U’s letters.

They’ve got bigger monsters.

They break lightning machines like twigs.

They broke the doc too.

I’m totally fired now.

And the monsters think I’m tasty.

I am an Igor, and this is my job.

In which I write a farewell post for the Yeah Write grids as they are closing, a bop which is also callback to Missing. I wouldn’t have known what a bop poem was without Yeah Write. Good times.