Ladies and gentlemen, citizens of Josephine County, and those lurking in the shadows waiting to see their names in ink—let’s talk about the disease running rampant in this town. No, it’s not some plague carried by mosquitoes or a new strain of the common cold. It’s worse. It’s the infestation of spineless copycats, desperate plagiarists, and media parasites who wouldn’t know an original thought if it slapped them across their sagging, uninspired jaw.
I see them. You see them. We all see them. The people who take, take, and take—lifting words, concepts, entire business models—yet lack the decency to admit they’re nothing more than creative bottom-feeders. In a world where integrity is supposed to matter, these people are the equivalent of infants still sucking down their milk through a bottle when they should have been weaned long ago.
You see, the real creators, the ones with grit, the ones who built something from nothing, they don’t need to copy. They are the mothers and fathers of ideas, the ones who breastfed their visions into existence. The real journalists, the real writers, the real pioneers—these people grind, sweat, and bleed their work into reality. They don’t steal. They don’t mimic. They create.
But then there are the others—the infants who never learned how to stand on their own feet, let alone run. The kind who whimper and moan when they don’t get their way, who throw tantrums when called out for their mediocrity. They cry, they whine, and they lash out, not because they’ve been wronged, but because deep down, they know they’re nothing more than cheap imitations.
Make no mistake, copycats and crybabies aren’t just irritating—they’re dangerous. They’re the parasites that attach themselves to success and try to suck it dry, hoping to ride the coattails of those who actually put in the work. They’ll take your words, your headlines, your ideas, and they won’t even have the courtesy to ask permission or give credit where it’s due. It’s the most infantile, gutless form of existence in the media world.
But let’s be honest—it’s not just about media. This town is filled with people who refuse to think for themselves, who jump on whatever bandwagon rolls through, hoping to be relevant by association. They don’t build. They don’t innovate. They copy. And when their house of stolen ideas inevitably crumbles, they cry victim.
The real test of a person’s worth is simple: can they create something original? Can they stand on their own two feet, without mimicking someone else? Or do they constantly need someone to latch onto, someone to feed them, someone to blame when their world collapses under the weight of their own lack of talent?
Josephine County is at a crossroads. We can either let these intellectual infants keep sucking the life out of real creators, or we can call them out for what they are—weak, pathetic, and entirely incapable of standing on their own. The proof is always in the footnotes. Those who can’t create will always copy, and those who can’t stand alone will always cry when they’re exposed.
So don’t fall for the copycat crybaby act. Recognize them for what they are: bottle-fed nobodies who never learned how to be anything more than second-rate imitations. And to those of you who create, who build, who think—keep doing what you do. Because at the end of the day, the world remembers the originals. The imitators? They’re just static noise, doomed to fade away into irrelevance.
