Thursday, October 6, 2011
"It's an entirely new phenomena," said Dr. Icky.
He tapped his index finger on the wall mounted coumpter screen indicating the picture of the crying little girl and her desperate mother you see above. I felt a chill go down my spine as I realized the implications of what the doctor was saying.
"So, this is a documented, peer-reviewed study proving beyond a shadow of a doubt that David Boyer, the sleazy plagiarist from Vincennes, Indiana is the reason little girls all across the country are suffering PTSS?"
He nodded authoritatively. Dr. Icky is Dean of Sociopathic studies at Vincennes, Indiana University.
"Yes," he said. "PTSS, or Pre-plagiary Traumatic Stress Syndrome as it is sometimes known, is in fact the fear that litle girls have of David Boyer touching their stories."
I wrote slowly, making sure that I spelled PTSS properly.
"So they're afraid David Boyer will touch their writing even if he hasn't? Why is that, doctor?"
"Ahhh, now you are thinking like a scientist," he said approvingly.
"I enjoy watching Mr. Wizard re-runs on Hulu.com," I said.
"Hmmmm..." he replied. "Perhaps we need to schedule an appointment for you. But we can get to that later. For now, do you know why the woman in this photo is so upset?"
I looked closer.
"She learned David Boyer stole a story from a sixteen year old girl. It shocked her. It horrified her. She told me her fear of Boyer's improper touching of other people's private things so affected her daughter that the little girl developed PTSS within days. A sixteen year old girl- why kind of a man would steal the inner thoughts of a sixteen year old girl?"
I thought about it.
"Could it be linked to wearing a black trench coat and no pants near schoolyards?" I asked.
Dr. Icky looked uncomfortable as tugged at his lab coat lapel.
"That's a creepy thought," he said finally.
"No," I said. "A fifty-plus year old man hunched over a computer stealing stories from sixteen year old girls- now that's a really creepy thought."
Wednesday, September 21, 2011
The smell was unbelievable.
424 members of Local 185 United Gutter Cleaners of America gathered in the main hotel in Vincennes, Indiana to protest David Boyer, the Vincennes, Indiana plagiarist.
"Get Boyer out of our gutters," shouted a sallow faced man whose long nose and coal black eyes reminded me of a nasty smelling scarecrow.
There were signs everywere.
"Boyer Should Flush After Using His Brain," said one. "Boyer Backs Up Sewers," said another.
There were no television cameras present. Even the cable channels are ashamed of Boyer.
"Excuse me," I said to a skinny woman with thinning hair with an authoritative look. "I'm a reporter trying to get the scoop on David Boyer the plagiarist. Can you tell me what's going on here."
She gave me a suspicious look, then poked a finger against my chest as though trying to see if I was well done yet.
"You don't know?"
"No ma'am. I was hoping you would tell me."
"You going to sign our petition?"
Her voice reminded of gears grinding.
"Ma'am, I'm a reporter, I can't sign anything. My boss would take away my reporter badge."
"Management bullshit," she said. "Well, here's the scoop Jimmy Olsen. That no-talent plagiarist is clogging the sewers of Vincennes so there's nowhere for the doo-doo to go."
"That's French for shit."
"Of course. I'm writing that down."
"Well, write this down while you're at it. Every damn time someone buys a book from that human parasite, then finds out its plagiarized they get so mad they flush the whole damned book down the toilet. And he's published so much plagiarized stuff that it's out of control. Sewer system in this town is like an underground library of wet, soppy, bad smelling books. Let your imagination run wild, slick. You want to go down and see for yourself?"
I began backing away.
"No, no thank you. I have an appointment for a root canal I don't want to miss."
"Uh-huh. Well, you might think this isn't a big news story now, but it's going on all of the country. More people every day are finding out his stuff is stuffed with plagiarisms and they end up flushing them down the commode. Getting dangerous underground I heard reports sewers backing up all over the country. That's the real reason we got a recession. That's why they say the economy's going down the sewer. Think about it."
But I didn't have time to think.
I had to find a town where the toilets still worked or I was in trouble.
Friday, September 16, 2011
We met at midnight in the EPA headquarters.
The hallways were dark, but my informant still wore sunglasses and a large rubber nose to conceal his identity. A black fedora and trenchcoat completed the disguise.
"Keep your voice down," he whispered, "and call me JoJo."
"But your name's Bob," I said.
"Do you want the story or not?"
I thought it over.
"So, Jojo, is it true the EPA is considering a special David Boyer smog alert for the area surrounding Vincennes, Indiana?"
He glanced furtively up and down the hallway. His real job was night shift janitor for the EPA. All good reporters know that janitors are the best spies. The dirt, as my old editor always said, is usually in the waste basket.
"Can we step into this broomcloset?" he asked.
"I'm not that kind of guy."
"Neither am I, but this is confidential stuff. Director is going on TV soon to announce a quarantine of the whole town. Pollution's so bad you can't tell clouds from the air. It's all the people driving away from Vincennes, Indiana. Town's got a bad name because of David Boyer's plagiarism. Nobody wants to live in the same town with a scam artist like him. Tailpipe exhaust from all of those people trying to escape has caused a cloud of smog over that city that's starting to block out the sun."
This reporter was stunned.
"All the trees will die," I said. "People will have to wear face masks just to breathe. Incredible. How long do I have to break the story?"
"Better hurry," he said. "Word is Boyer is plagiarizing faster than you can type."
That offended me. All good reporters type quickly and this reported is darned proud of his typing speed.
"But I type 106 words per minute," I said.
He faded back into the shadows.
"Better type quicker," he whispered from the darkness. "You're falling behind."
Monday, August 8, 2011
Japanese Writer Terrified of Boyerzilla
According to early reports, Japanese fiction writers were so terrified of Boyerzilla that they were forced to conceal Mothra, Rhodan and even the mighty Godzilla in undisclosed theme parks and Putt-Putt golf courses scattered throughout the Land of the Rising Sun. The initial effort did turn out well due to size restrictions (it's hard to hide a giant moth under a windmill). It was not until Minister of Literacy Ichiro Murakami conceived of hiding these three greatest of all Japanese superheroes in an exhibit called "Land of the Giants" that the general reading public was able to breathe a sigh of relief.
Hoping for another Boyergate scoop, I Skyped Minister Murakami.
"Hello," I said. "Can you both see and hear me?"
"What are you selling?" replied the Minister. "I already have insurance."
I sensed a certain level of frustration in his voice.
"I'm a reporter," I said, "hot on the trail of breaking news stories that concern David Boyer, the serial plagiarist from Vincennes, Indiana."
"I have no time for reporters. Writers are rioting in the streets. There is looting here. When rumors started that the cow-tongued plagiarist David Boyer had grown to such monstrous proportions he was looking overseas for things to steal, the whole Japanese population went mad!"
"Calm down," I told him. "I don't even think David Boyer knows where Japan is."
"How can I be calm? Mothra is not safe. Rhodan is not safe. Godzilla is not safe. I heard Boyer is writing film scripts so bad his cats use them for litter. Soon he'll start stealing our film scripts and putting his name on them. If he claims he wrote the script for the movie "Godzilla," our whole nation will jump into the sea. Godzilla is Japanese. Mothra and Rhodan are Japanese. We live through a tidal wave and a nuclear meltdown only to have to worry about Boyerzilla stealing our stuff?!"
"Minister," I cautioned, "Boyer can't read Japanese so he's not likely to plagiarize Japanese Godzilla movies."
His image waivered as he shouted and banged his fist on the table.
"He can't write in American, but he plagiarizes Americans. What do you say to that?"
Sure, bring that up.
"He lives in Vincennes, Indiana and he plagiarizes Vincennes writers!"
"I have to admit that sounds bad," I said.
"He claims to be Christian, but he plagiarizes Christian writers!"
I had to turn down the volume on my computer speakers- they were starting to vibrate.
"But Minister Murakami- " I said, but he cut me off before I could complete my sentence.
"No buts!!! He likes monster movies. Our monsters are the best. He plagiarized Dean Koontz, why wouldn't he plagiarize Godzilla?"
"Godzilla didn't write the movie scripts, Minister, He's just a monster-actor. So Boyer wouldn't technically be plagiarizing Godzilla himself."
The icy stare he gave me was so cold I shivered.
"You mean Godzilla is a film writer?"
"Wow," I said. "There's a movie script in this."
I know I shouldn't have said that because it made him so mad he spit on his webcam. It looked like a giant mucous meteorite hurtling at me. Then he clicked off without a word.
Hmmm.... Boyerzilla versus the Giant Mucous Meteorite.
There's a movie script in that.
Monday, August 1, 2011
Please Don't Let Your Hippo Read This
Declassified documents from a Vincennes, Indiana tabloid magazine reveal that in 2004, top veterinary surgeons from all over the world were called in to save the life of Bippo the Hippo, the prize possession of the Vincennes, Indiana Zoo.
In that year, David Boyer, the feckless plagiarist from Vincennes, IN pretended to be the son of David Boyer (the mind reels when faced with such preening puerility) and wrote in to StoryMania to beg contributors to hold a "Doc" Day in memory of his late father who was actually himself (it hurts to write this). An anonymous investigator fom the Federal Department of Stupidity suspects that Boyer actually plagiarized this idea from Bozo the Clown.
When Boyer confided this scam to Bippo the Hippo during one of his weekly visits to steal peanuts from the monkey cage, Bippo yawned so hard his jaw joints stuck in the position you see in the above evidentiary photo.
Zoo officials feared that if Bippo could not indeed close his mouth, he would be unnable to chew. Worse still, pigeons routinely fly over the Vincennes, Indiana zoo and drop a variety of offensive items for the rearmost portion of their anatomy. A portable awning was quickly erected to protect Bippo's mouth.
After several tense days, a veterinary surgeon was finally able to unlock Bippo's jaw hinges by spraying them with WD-40. Zoo officials demanded Boyer be banned from the zoo forever to protect the other animals.
Instead, the mayor of Vincennes, Indiana instructed Pigeon Air Traffic Controllers to direct their birds to alter their flight path to include Boyer's residence.
Saturday, July 30, 2011
While delivering a paper explaining that comparing David Boyer, the Vincennes, Indiana plagiarist to a banana slug was not fair to this fine speciman of the genus Ariolimax, I was making the point that just because both leave behind a slimy, sticky trail it is still not scientifically justifiable to slander the slug. After all, I pointed out, banana slug mucous has an organic content and is therefore theoreticall compostable whereas David Boyer's plagiaries have only shamed the entire town of Vincennes, Indiana and turned its reputation to metaphorical dung. The value of the real over the metaphorical should be intuitively obvious to even the least discerning student.
Those students attending my lecture were either mesmerized by my didactic ability, or, as I now suspect, asleep, when I realized one student near the front row was actually alert. He raised his hand to ask a question. I leaned forward on the lectern and acknowledged his presence.
"Pope," he said.
"What is your question?"
"Is it true that while masquerading as a born again Christian, David Boyer the plagiarist was actually stealing from at least one Christian author?"
I thought about this before answering. Where did this young man get his information?
"My doctoral dissertation was, as you know, on the topic of David Boyer and the fecal groundwater contamination in the city's water supply that could be the root cause of his plagiary... but no."
"Well, professor, it's all over the internet now that he plagiarized a story from Ellen C. Maze the Christian author."
"The bestsellling author?" I asked. I was absolutely flabberghasted.
"Yes, and he was posting her story on Storymania under one of his crappy fake names because he can't spell pseudonym."
"Crappy is not a proper name for this type of action, young man. We are scientists and must strive for precision and methodological purity in our attributions."
"Well, how would you describe it Professor?" he asked.
After a moment's thought, I pointed my finger at him and said, "It's just bullshit."
The rest of my class woke up.
Sometimes it helps to call things what they are.
Friday, July 15, 2011
Professor Fyodor Borovsky later confirmed this to myself and five scruffy streetside vendors in exchange for a signed photo of Elvis.
"It is bolshoi fact Citizen Boyer is totally respnsible," he explained. "He has piled copies of his plagiarized stories on the edge of town and disguised them as a volcano. This is too much weight- the accumulated mass of his plagiaries has tilted the axis of the earth."
"Is that possible?" I asked.
"But of course!" he said. "Have you seen how many people he plagiarized?"
"Hmmm," I said.
It was a cold day in Moscow and I didn't want to be there, but stories like this are worth following to the ends of the earth.
"Yes, now you see, don't you?" he cackled.
"No, but what can be done?"
He eyed me suspiciously, then leaned over and whispered, "We must work together to fight planet tilt. Russia and China will do their part. We can plagiarize millions, maybe billions of stories. In ten or twenty years, maybe if all the Chinese work every hour of every day, we can plagiarize enough stories on this side of the ocean to tilt the planet back."
"Will it be in time to avert catastrophe?" I asked.
"I don't know," he said. "What do you want? I am no Rasputin."
"What can we in America do to help?"
"Good, good- you are excellent world citizen. Speak to this Boyer. Plead with him. Ask him to begin walking his manuscripts east across your fine country to help tilt the planet our way. It will take him 30 maybe 40,000 trips, but if he starts now, it may not be too late. Appeal to his conscience to help save the planet."
"Your plan has a flaw," I said.
"It is Russian plan. It is bolshoi good, fuck you very much. What could be wrong?"
"For starters," I pointed out, "he doesn't have a conscience."