In the after-match conference, instead of the head coach, his driver comes and complains about a nasty team’s play, rants about the failed replacement of Shovkovsky for Voronin. Journalists ask several biting questions. The driver defends himself, grumbles as Kvartsiany, spittle around his mouth. Everyone disperses. And nobody was driven mad. Wait, why nobody noticed that it’s a driver?
Or another. A cow, instead of the president, congratulates on New Year. On every channel, there’s a horn, a tail, which flaps the flies away, close up – an udder. And this cow’s chewing a grass and proclaiming beautiful words. Asserting that next year GDP will grow, hryvnya will stabilize, pensions will increase and the area of the fields for grazing – will double! Looking at you from the screen so trustfully, the eyes are wet.
Or another example. About the surgeon. (By the way, never use examples about surgeons, as I’m doing right now. It’s so commonplace, eeew. It’s always like that with us – immediately, when the author puts a comma in a wrong place, tons of grammarnazi take pacifiers out of the mouth and yell – imagine if you were a surgeon! Because of the wrongly used comma a person could fall into a coma, booo!). So, imagine that the operation to remove excess stuff from your body was conducted by the driver of the football team. Or an editor-in-chief, let’s say, of the Vogue magazine…
Oh, exactly, Vogue! That’s the thing! Because I’ve nearly forgotten what I was about. Or it wasn’t me? So, now listen attentively, the real story is about to come. In the Vogue magazine, as in many monthly magazines, there’s a column of the editor-in-chief on the front page. And the editor-in-chief of the Ukrainian Vogue Olha Sushko copied almost WORD TO WORD the letter to readers of the editor-in-chief Shahry Amirhanova from the Harper’s Bazaar magazine, published in Russia in far 2006. Crystal clear plagiarism.
Later, Olha Sushko confessed that in the hectic workflow she doesn’t have time for everything and entrusted to write her column to a freelance author. Why not a surgeon, driver or a cow? And how many columns did she entrust to write to other people? And what kind of hectic workflow is more important than this column on the front page of the magazine?
You’re an editor-in-chief! You can edit! And you’ve learned writing somewhere! And the editor’s column is your face. It’s your monthly confession. It’s the place for your wisdom, individuality and intellectual greatness implementation. Common, it’s not a piece of sloppy work!
Okay, let’s steer the conversation away from this Olha Sushko. Let her silently shrive in the cell of her head. No, I mean an outsider. This small example of using the borrowed work under one’s name is demonstrative. It clearly extrapolated to the general situation in the country and to the widespread post-Soviet mentality in this part of the planet.
From students who are literally pulled by ears to get their gold medals. To teachers, PhDs etc. (how insane is the reveal of Dmytro Drozdovsky, PhD of the Shevchenko Institute of Literature, in plagiarism of “his” monograph).
From the rural heads, who with their festive procedure of cutting the red thread and inflated colored balloons, open a new-built bus stop in their non-asphalted villages, new lamppost in parks or concrete round garbage bins near the landfills. Whoa! I’ll remind you that everything is built on the taxpayers’ expenses but it’s presented as an achievement of the local deputy.
To the deputies of any level who, if something goes awry, stick their heads in the sand and blame someone else, and if something succeeds – they tear the shirts on the chest, saying it’s me who personally raise the country to feet. The taxes have been collected by N milliard more – and this all the Cabinet of Ministers in the flesh! There were initiated by 3, 14159% more of criminal cases against corrupt officials – Mr Lutsenko and Mr Demchyn personally chased the corruptionists, wrung their hands and handcuffed them. Yanukovych fled from the country – he had been swept by several top-oppositionists. Maidan? What Maidan?
At least it’s presented like this.
It feels like this.
Or all these general prosecutors without a high education. Well, Gosh bless them. They create illusions that they achieved everything by themselves. Climb on the others no name corps and give autographs. Store fake diplomas, medals, awards as a kind of “neurosurgeon” and “genius” Andriy Slyusarchuk. Half of the county of stolen success. Half of the country of cheesy hype. Half of the country of Slyusarchuks and Poplavskys with fake presentations in Cambridge.
And all because they don’t feel that they have to fulfil the work on their own. Don’t feel the elementary understanding of own conscience. Don’t feel the bottom of own individuality, above which they tower their ego, spread bet-like wings of their arch-impotence and peacefully hover, watching these mortal plebeians from the height of their falcon flight.
Maybe, I’ll be reminded that the president is written his speeches. Yes, it’s known. But he officially has speechwriters. He isn’t a professional editor and doesn’t have to write text from dot to dot. (Not to look like a porohobot, I’d say that I’m mostly a zradofil (traitor – translator’s note), without specification, it’s not a political show here).
The president has other duties. How he implements them – it’s another question. Yes, a footballer’s professional function is to play football, editor-in-chief’s – to write her monthly column, mathematician’s – to multiply 2 and 2.
By the way, 2 and 2 is 22. Recently, one famous mathematician asked me to conduct a lesson at university instead of him and I’ve been explaining to students for almost an hour and a half that 2 and 2 is 22. Am I a great mathematician, aren’t I? Was I in my own place?
Aha, I’ve forgotten to add something else. This text is also rip-offed. I ordered it from the Vogue editor-in-chief. I’m joking, from the outsource freelancer. I’m joking, from the surgeon’s driver. I’m joking, from Voronin. I’m joking, from Billi Milligan. From one of his identities. Ugh, I’m somewhat confused. Who wrote this text?
And, my life, actually, is being led by another person – a hairy punk with guitar over his one shoulder and drunk aorta over his another shoulder.
And our Universe isn’t our Universe, but a three-dimensional projection of a two-dimensional original. And that’s why the Earth isn’t originally round, but flat. The Earth is simply afraid to confess. Then, on Facebook, she doesn’t have to apologize.
And we pray not to Him, but to someone else. Because He has recently gone to Edem Fashion Week. He didn’t have time to listen to us.
And Shovkovsky prayed for our sins.
Pavlo Korobchuk, the surgeon