At one time or another in Kyiv, but mostly at the same time, back then, in the glory days, before it all started to fall apart and miraculously transmogrify into The Kyiv Commix…
THIS IS NOT THE FOLLOW-UP PREQUEL TO THE LAST STORY – AS PROMISED AT THE VERY END OF THAT VERY STORY…
While that last story is being x-rayed for “antisemitic” content by self-elected powers that even the Kyiv Unedited Secret Editorial Board cannot withstand, we will here instead present you with a composition by The Rational Man, a writer of, we think, great promise, whom we greatly admire, and whose work we enthusiastically look to promote
With this in mind, here is The Rational Man’s sequel to his tour de force debut, eponymously titled “The Rational Man”, as a writer with our outfit; namely, Kyiv Unedited. As the following story by The Rational Man is an evergreen, we’ve held on to it until now precisely for just such a moment, as we await judgment from the Antisemitism Hunters Concern under the Jewish Lobster Fund
For I am The Rational Man. And herein I list the crimes:
WANTED, AXLE FISCHBURGHER, CONT’D:
Further, he badly wrote a first “novel”, which, being repeatedly rejected by the real publishing world, he proceeded to self-publish in Ukraine, using a local vanity press; but that is not real and true publication. He then:
- launched a series of over-the-top, boastful, stupid, camp sans class (not so bad it’s good, but so bad it’s galling), and utterly tasteless (without any conceivably redemptive qualities even within the compass of evident and patent tastelessness) publicity stunts to try to get people to buy the “novel” in a vile and despicable attempt to bully the real publishing world, above mentioned, to regret its wholesale rejection of the work, repent, and proceed with its real and true publication;
- delusional, obnoxious (ibid);
- failing that, resolved to give away for free the copies of the book he’d paid to get self-published, as though doing so could in any wise assist him in achieving his reprehensible goal.
Further, he launched a so-called “literary” website, the purpose of which was to publish other would-be writers desperate to get their pathetic short works of fiction published, thereby attempting to raise his legitimacy as a writer by self-electing himself judge over others’ works. He then:
- used that website to publish his own second badly written “novel”, having learned from the expensive fiasco of his first “novel’s” self-publication to take the cheaper path; albeit, one that was no less dishonest and discreditable than the first path;
- appointed Josh Davies as the site’s chief editor, charging him, payless, with responsibility to receive and publish all submitted works to the website – all, that is, but the most glaringly awful submissions – while deceptively presenting the site to would-be writers as a highly-sought and competitive venue, where their works’ publication would comprise a meaningful step in their quest toward writing and literary greatness, which was a lie.
- Only one Welsh Losser (see below), would submit his fiction to the site, plagiarizing yet others in the process, but did so anonymously, or under a pseudonym, for shame and fear of association with the website, treating it as a joke while at the same time taking advantage of its availability to get himself published.
- This having been the case, the ambitiously, though deceptively, launched site degenerated into a repository for anonymous Welsh Losser stories largely plagiarized form others with front matter to each story by Josh Davies amounting to little more than annoying, slow and drawling, Southern old-boy tongue-in-cheek sarcastic commentary and fun-poking of the exasperating kind that simply never ends;
- so that all the sarcastic commentary and poking turned out more long-winded, hollow, meandering, and pointless than the stories it was aimed at.
Further, and finally, he started a so-called Kyiv Writers Club, in yet one more attempt to legitimize himself as a writer (before the real and true publishing world); in this instance, by using a club of his own creation to automatically raise his imagined stature as a writer above the statures imagined by all those attending the club’s meeting by virtue of the club being his club, and therefore his venue, and therefore his meetings; thus, attendees would be subordinated to him and his authority, whether they uncomfortably and resentfully realized it or not.
He is hereby charged with these outrageous crimes, and must suffer the consequences of having committed them.
xxx
A Reassessment by the Kyiv Unedited Secret Editorial Board: Well, perhaps this is not such a good story after all.
Perhaps, rather than fearing a universal judgment of antisemitism being struck against us by the Antisemitism Hunters Concern under the all-powerful Jewish Lobster Fund, we should have just run with the contextual prequel to the story preceding this – whatever it is – of Jack Step and Dirk Dickerson destroying all the Heavy Hebe’s state-of-the-art satellite spying equipment in the subbasement of Kyiv’s central synagogue (Jewish house of worship).
Throwing caution to the wind, as they say, consequences be damned! After all, when does one/do we get to live?! At this rate – never!!!
Reassessment Complete: Please continue…
xxx
WANTED, ANDREW PLUMB:
Hailing from the urban-grunge “alternative” press counterculture and continuing (disintegrating) post-postmodernist literary milieu of New York City as an editor of consequence of some sort, as well as a writing phenom of tremendous undiscovered potential, upon his arrival in Kyiv in the early aughts of the 21st Century to take up his offered and accepted commission as chief editor of the Kyiv Poster, the eponymously named city’s leading, and only, English-language tabloid, he wasted no time in lording it over his subordinates as being the shit, and aggressively styling himself a hip, bulky knit-sweater-wearing Village-type writer a la Kerouac and Pynchon, with overpowering literary abilities. He then:
- went on to prove that there was no one more pretentious, arrogant, hateful, sneering, and vicious than he was (as opposed to merely having a mean streak that was just about forgivable), as attested and so stated by the Ferret himself – and that’s saying something;
- collected a salary for ostensibly running the paper, but really used the company’s time to write his crappy novels and short stories, submitting them to Beth, his personal Jewish literary agent in New York;
- fired Welsh Losser which, even I have to admit, was a good thing;
- had his work repeatedly rejected by Beth, who would nevertheless continue to curate his submissions and write him reply letters containing painstakingly articulated and bullet-pointed advice, meant to guide him in his quest to achieve writing greatness, but was well beyond the scope and purview of anything she actually owed him as an unknown and unpublished writer;
- which advice he dismissed and ignored, as Beth’s criticisms actually very gently laid bare that one sad and hurtful truth, which he did not want to hear; namely, his shortage of fancy failed to fill his occasionally well-aped flourishes of cynical form, a la Pynchon, or, in plainer terms, he did not have what it takes (the proverbial “right stuff”);
- for every time she urged him, in one polite and understated turn of phrase or other, to try to be more himself in his writing than like someone else, a little deeper inside his rather shallow, angry and frustrated self he knew if he did that, there’d be nothing left;
- for really, in himself he lacked conviction, and his contempt for others – including those who were in positions to advance him, and possibly interested in doing so – was just a cover for his not unfounded fear of failure, which would be fulfilled;
- leading said Beth to finally toss the turd, wondering, and regretting, why she’d ever wasted so much precious time on someone so bereft of essential imagination, let alone a nominally civil disposition, except that she’d taken him up in the first place as a favor to an already established writer, whom he knew (having worked beneath him somewhere in New York City’s dank and grimy print media underground);
- and others likewise dropped him for his flippant and snide remarks in response to their sincere attempts to help him.
Further, after being found out, and finally fired from the Kyiv Poster, which he’d pretty much purposely run into the ground by the time he was gone – resentment and animus being natural to his mind (inimical to his nature) – he continued in his delusions of being a writer, carrying them over to What’s Off (see WANTED, SWEATY TANK-TOP, below).
Because this is insufferable, and cannot stand, it is this crime, more than any other, with which he is charged.
For I am The Rational Man, and I herewith continue to list others, who came to Kyiv and spent the lion’s share of their time publicly claiming to be writers – an offense so egregious, it shall not be tolerated in civilization.
xxx
A Further Reassessment by the Kyiv Unedited Secret Editorial Board: It’s as if this is written by a highly intelligent but crazed child of around 3.
Re-Reassessment Complete: Just go ahead, get the damned thing over with, already…
xxx
WANTED, SWEATY TANK-TOP
A pockmarked, sack-faced Scottish alcoholic, who’d spent some of the money he’d saved up from selling used car parts to lower-level British royalty and Scottish Freemasons, on buying What’s Off, a cheap and cheesy Kyiv-based bimonthly English-language magazine highlighting pop-culture events and entertainment venues in Ukraine, over which he appointed himself chief editor, and which he then:
- used to fill a ranting editorial column with his own variety of low-class Scottish erudition in a never-ending bid to showcase his imagined wisdom and stake his claim to up-and-coming literary significance, but only succeeded in betraying himself to be a roundly ignorant sod and insufferable alcoholic knob;
- pathetic, laughable (ibid);
- used to self-publish his own garbage poetry;
- did, to his credit, put in his place Andrew Plumb (see WANTED, ANDREW PLUMB, above), who’d come crawling to Sweaty Tank-Top begging for a job after being TOSSED by the Kyiv Poster, only to immediately start trying to override Sweaty’s editorial decisions by re-editing his boss’s edits, generally exhibiting a running-rolling sort of resentful, bitter defiance of his boss’s commands and insubordination, and even openly arguing with his boss in front of everybody else, thereby becoming a constant disruptive presence in the newsroom and significantly lowering collective morale, instead of simply, and gratefully, ‘shuuttin’ ‘ees fookin’ mout’ ‘n’ doin’ loik ‘e’s fookin’ tol’’, all for which Sweaty finally found the drunken sense to fire his miserable ass and TOSS it to the curb.
Still, Sweaty Tank-Top should, upon being found, be punished and made to suffer for the remaining egregious crimes on this rap sheet – and especially for the poetry thing.
That is all for now. The enumerated crimes of Boss Lard and Welsh Losser to follow.
For I am: THE RATIONAL MAN…
Filed: October 29, 2025
Oh, thank God, THANK GOD that’s over!
And if we can prevent the rest of this from happening, we’ll do our best by merely trying. At this time, however, we simply don’t know if we are able to fire The Rational Man, due to some truly good reasons – seriously… [KUSEB]