Or, Discredit Where Discredit Ain't Due
Ghost writers. The PM has one. The Queen has one. Sports stars have one (or maybe several) and rock stars have several (or maybe more). And I have one, too. I tell you of this in the interests of honesty and disclosure.
Not that the ghost writer wrote that sentence above, that was written by me. Nor did they write that sentence I just wrote then, that would be silly. But all the other sentences here have been written by the ghost writer, including this one. (Except for the ones that haven't - Tim).
Why do we use them, ghost writers? I mean, what do they have to recommend them? Apart from their dazzling wit, and all-encompassing knowledge of all fields of literature, the arts, the sciences, and human endeavour in general and in specifics? (The previous sentence was written by my ghost writer - Tim).
I mean, my ghost writer is, frankly, annoying. (The previous sentence was not written by me - Ghost writer.) My ghost writer is often stuck in denial (No I'm not - Ghost writer). He's incredibly rude (Fuck you! - Ghost writer) And, to be quite honest, he lies.
For instance, did you know that (this is my ghost writer speaking - Tim) Tim launched his dazzling literary career on the football field, carrying out feats of Rugby and Derring-Do that brought him to National Fame at a time of Great War? (Neither did I, he's pretty good at lying, isn't he?) Following a sudden excursion up the Khyber in search of his lost innocence (which he had lost during a curious incident involving his Nanny, Olga Hornipolk-Smythe), a lost sock and a lost puppy, he returned after having won the hand in marriage of a Croation heiress, who ...
Okay, okay, enough of that. Have you ever seen a bigger liar in your life? (No I'm not- Ghost writer) [Yes you are - Tim] (Do you want to take it outside? - Ghost writer) [You bet, fuckface - Tim] (Say that again, jerkwad - Ghost writer) [Okay, then ...
THIS PARAGRAPH HAS BEEN CUT SHORT DUE TO A CURRENT SHORTAGE IN PARENTHESIS STOCKS. PLEASE PROCEED TO THE NEXT PARAGRAPH IN AN ORDERLY AND CALM MANNER - THE MANAGEMENT.
A while ago, though, things got even worse - my ghost writer started stalking me. This may all seem wildly improbable, but I tell you this merely in the interests of honesty and disclosure. For a while, he just followed me around in cars, but I really got suspicious when instead of sending me articles and posts for my blog, I started getting death threats. He seemed to have hit on the paranoid idea that I was the ghost writer, and that I had feloniously purloined his identity from him ...
THIS NEXT PARAGRAPH WRITTEN BY GHOST WRITER
That, of course, is absolutely preposterous. I'd just like to remind 'Tim Train' - if that is his real name - that we already had discussions about this little 'identity problem' of his, and we agreed not to take it any further.
THIS NEXT PARAGRAPH WRITTEN BY TIM
As if that wasn't enough, my ghost writer starting hiring another ghost writer to ghost write the death threats that he was sending me, instead of the articles and posts he was supposed to have ghost written, and he even included the price of the death threats on the bill he charged me every month. Oh, you may scoff and say this is ridiculous, but it all happened to me. I made the connection when I noticed a curious similarity between the style of the death threats he was sending me and the writing on the back of cereal packets.
THIS NEXT PARAGRAPH WRITTEN BY GHOST WRITER
What a load of bollocks.
THIS NEXT PARA... OH, WHO GIVES A SHIT
So, really, I don't see the point of ghost writers. They're more trouble than they're worth (although considering the amount MY ghost writer charges me, it's possibly he's worth more than his trouble). I suppose what I'm trying to say is, when it comes to a choice between a ghost writer and a case of chronic impetigo, don't choose either: there's nothing a ghost writer can't do that the impetigo can't do better, at a cheaper price.
But when all is said and done, there's nothing a ghost writer can do to you if you want to set down your thoughts in a clear, simple, and concise sen OH I CAN'T, CAN I?
Tim, your links stink, you fink!
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