It turned out that my lazy, Xanax-snorting, Miller-swilling classmates were thrilled to pay me to write their papers. And I was thrilled to take their money. Imagine you are crumbling under the weight of university-issued parking tickets and self-doubt when a frat boy offers you cash to write about Plato. Doing that job was a no-brainer. Word of my services spread quickly, especially through the fraternities. Soon I was receiving calls from strangers who wanted to commission my work. I was a writer!
Nearly a decade later, students, not publishers, still come from everywhere to find me.
How accurate the story told, at length, is… well, who knows?
The wretched standard of education at Oxford is one I well remember. The laziness of students is exceeded by the laziness of dons. The latter, paid to teach, mostly do not bother. Thus does education become corrupted.