Spam, spam, spam, spam and spam!
Today’s playmate is Mark Gilliam, whose (likely) automaton-generated email portrays him as a Senior Writing Consultant with BookWritingInc.com (that’s kinda redundant, dontcha think?). Since his note was formatted so nicely, it gets an image, rather than a copy/paste:
And after having missed the deadline for this incredible offer, I had to reply, and once again, the itty-bitties make an appearance:
D’oh! Missed it by two days. The Itty Bitty Nanobot Fighting League will not be happy, and they are liable to whack me at the piggy-who-cried-waaah-waaah-waaah-all-the-way-home toenail. (That’s as high as they can jump. Told ya they were itty bitty!) And the shame of it is, I wanted to see which ghost you’d attach to telling my tales of love and loss, fighting nanobots and harlot fembots, and the gritty world of competitive itty bitty octagon robot fighting. I’d love to hear what a ghost like Mark Twain would have to say about something he could never have imagined. (Fun fact — did you know Mark Twain wasn’t his real name? That’s incredible! I wonder which name his ghost goes uses… I’m sure the ghostwriting afterlife is a very busy place, so I could certainly see him wanting his anonymity!) Or, perhaps the insight of the ghosts of someone like Socrates, Henry VIII (“off with their nanobot heads!”) or even Petyr Baelish! (And I know Little Finger is fictional, but did you see all the blood on the throne room floor at Winterhaven?! I mean, you can’t fake that kind of death, so I’m convinced he’s got a ghost somewhere.) But, having missed your deadline for your week-long celebration (which you only gave me eight hours to meet — even Kiefer Sutherland got 24 hours each season to fight the bad guys!), and given that it was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, I’ll just have to wander this lonely orb, knowing that my itty-bitties’ stories won’t see the light of day. ’Tis a shame, too, as I think it could’ve been the next Harry Potter-like series, spinning into film, tv, music, books, and holographic underwear (you can only see ‘em if you have an Artoo unit). Perhaps, once I’m a ghost, I can become a ghostwriter for y’all, too! Your pal, Colin PS: Who is Bills Gates? Is that some pimp that’s playing on the name of Bill Gates, and is bragging about all his pimp-scab money? He’d best watch out — I know the Robot Mafia don’t like no scabs. I saw what they did to Flexo, and it wasn’t pretty. I mean, dropping an unbendable girder on a poor unsuspecting bending robot? That’s low. PPS: I know “Bills Gates" couldn’t have been a typo. I mean, you’ve got the whole humanity of ghosts writing for you, and surely someone’s spirit would’ve said “I don’t think his first name has an ’s’…” PPPS: Do your ghostwriters sing, like the robot ghosts in Robot Hell? I saw that on Futurama too (and since it’s on TV, it *must* be true!), and it looked like they had a pretty hep-cat beat going on. What kind of music do the ghostwriters enjoy? I bet it’s traditional monastic chant, followed by swatting their long-dead heads with lumber from long-dead trees. Yeah, chanting… that’s gotta be it.
2 thoughts on “Ghostwriters in the Sky”
….but wait! If there were no ghost writers, could some really good writing be read if the author is Clyde Dermit instead of day, Leo Tolstoy?
Did you catch it? The typo? I need a ghost editor.
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