- “Ghosts aren’t real.”
- “There is no credible evidence.”
- “It says here that you got your master’s degree from Dartmouth College in Paranormal Studies, but I looked online and there is no such area of study there. Why would you lie about something on your resume that I could so easily check? You must be some kind of big idiot. Either that or you think I’M a big idiot. Well, which is it, buddy? You got five seconds to answer before I lay the hurt down on you.”
I hear this every single day.
Yet unlike my master’s degree or my claims that I can taste the difference between bottled water brands, ghosts are 100% real… and I’ve got a mountain of evidence to prove it.
Take, for instance, the eviction notice that was left on my apartment’s door. Where could such a document have come from? I have an excellent relationship with my landlord, and he would never try to evict me, even though I am many months late on the rent. In fact, my relationship with my landlord is so good that I asked him if he would do me the honor of marrying my recently widowed mother. (When my parents kicked me out of their house, I learned that sometimes your daddy doesn’t want to be your landlord. When my landlord declined to marry my mother, I learned sometimes your landlord doesn’t want to be your daddy.) I have theorized that these mysterious eviction notices may be related to ectoplasm, as both share the characteristic of occasionally being left behind following a paranormal experience.
Some of you may be thinking, “That’s pretty compelling evidence, but one thing alone doesn’t necessarily prove the existence of ghosts.” That’s a fair point. I will counter by asking you to explain how I ended up on the “No Fly List,” despite the fact that I am SUCH a considerate passenger that the last time I was on a plane, I made my way into the cockpit to take over for the captain so he could take a break. He was such a workaholic, I had to wrestle the controls away from him!
I’ve thought long and hard about this, and the only reason I could come up with for ending up on such a list is that ghosts of hackers infiltrated the government’s website and wrongfully sullied my good name by making me out to be some sort of troublemaker.
It’s fairly obvious why a ghost hacker would target me, given the fact that my athletic prowess makes me a natural enemy to nerds, i.e. hackers. I’m everything a ghost hacker is not: alive and good at sports. It’s just unfortunate that I can’t cite any specific examples of how physically fit I am. Throughout grade school, I had the worst luck and came down with a sinus headache each year when we had to run the mile, so I couldn’t participate (even though I had done it in under five minutes when I practiced by myself). And now that I’m an adult, I’m too busy doing taxes and stuff to run the mile or shoot hoops or whatever, even though I’m really good at those things.
Perhaps the juiciest example I have for the evidence of ghosts is how none of the agencies that I’ve sent my screenplay to have contacted me. I have a hard time believing that Hollywood bigwigs could ignore a script entitled, “Baby Cop: The Cop Who is an Infant That Will Also Fixes Race Relations Between the Police and Civilians.” The thing is a guaranteed moneymaker!
It should be clear to everyone what is going on here: agents are reading my script and Loving it with a capital L, but as soon as they start drafting up emails where they agree to take me on as their client, a ghost possesses them. Obviously, it is the ghosts who email me videos of agents throwing my script into garbage cans and lighting it on fire. Sometimes they’ll be saying things like, “This script is so bad I’m risking burning down the entire building just to make sure it never gets seen by anyone else.”
Total ghost move. They probably died having never made it in Hollywood, so they haunt talent agencies. Whenever they see an amazing script written by a hot new 57-year-old talent, they can’t wait to sabotage it out of pure jealousy. It’s pathetic really; even in death, the haters just keep hating.
Life is filled with phenomena that science cannot explain. That’s because science sucks ass. The eggheads may disagree, but screw them. Are you going to listen to some dweebs whose favorite things to wear are goggles and white lab coats? I bet those lab coats don’t even have a single mustard or Pepto Bismol stain on them. How can someone like that appeal to the common man? Instead, take it from me, a man who wears several skull-shaped rings and whose hair always looks wet for some reason: ghosts are real, and every single time something bad happens to you, a ghost is probably to blame.