How my content got stolen.
by: David zoaka
I knew this was going to happen, and I will try almost anything at least once. I haven’t been this excited on a literary journey before. In fact, I haven’t been this excited on any journey since being baptized after a two-day road trip to a church in Wales. That got me a little wet, just like right now. And don’t assume I am a man; I might have a vagina, sexes are fluid these days. Google Caitlyn Jenner. Yes, I have learned some things in life so far: 1) Female orgasm is like defusing a bomb with Parkinson’s in both hands 2) All holes are the same 3) Sex on LSD is like freefalling naked into a pile of sugar
They say sex is one way to get close to your maker as it can transcend you. That night, I believe I had an orgasm in a writing way. Only, this orgasm required a notebook and a pen. And not in a perverted way, sickos. It all happened one night in 2019 after watching comedy videos… “I can write that,” I said to myself with smoke in my lungs. My inspiration aided by Bubba Kush, a rare Buddhist artifact, hunger, and a post jerk off clarity that comes with just a hint of regret.
I wish I could bottle up the euphoric feeling jerking off gives and sell it to monks at market price. That would be nice, boy are they missing out.
Girls love a funny guy but not a clown hence my initial disdain for the comedy genre. But, you can’t pick your devil. I have been through the fires of hell now I live to tell so here goes… It turns out I had written 3 comedy specials in one night, 2 of which are now Emmy nominated for best writing.
I envisioned the comedian reading my material, blended their style to my own experiences, and worked with the previous patterns they had used. One was based on my African stories, traveling abroad for holidays, and comparing African and US cultures. I had to research his Mother’s maiden name. That’s how I got the title.
From there, I naively DM’d some of the content to a Daily Show writer named Josh through Instagram. How dare I trust a stranger you might wonder? Well kids, more reasons you shouldn’t do drugs- it distorts reality. Plus, this stranger was verified. That’s right, a blue tick stamps you a legitimate force in the online world and in real life, one that is secretly glorified. My work is safe in his hands, I thought. See, I was lost in conversation with a comic I admired not knowing he was just another human being like me trying to climb a ladder with the ruthlessness of a sociopathic dictator, exploiting the weakness and naivety of anyone in his path. This a naivety I displayed wholly by sending my work without any clauses, contracts, or verbal agreements.
Secretly hoping to be wrong, I awaited his reply with Hollywood in my eyes, my big break at the first time of asking. Not to my surprise I read my work and it was good, knowing deep down I had created something beautiful. But, the response from Josh never came.
Less than two weeks later my notebook was stolen from my moderately beautiful apartment in DC.
And yes, I create in a notebook- no notepads, no laptops, no flashcards.
That’s new generation kind of creation; I do it old school like peanut butter on a mousetrap. Maybe I should have moved with the times, hard luck for me and my ancient ways. My dream was fading away. This is my life’s work so far. I bore my soul into this creation. I searched furiously knowing I had somehow been played, my gut suspecting the one person I sent my work to. How did he get to me?
Three weeks later, my creation reappears not in my bookstand but on my recommended lists on Netflix. It’s produced wonderfully, just like I imagined. This was like a magic trick. Elated at first but sadness came shortly after, feeling like I’ve been fucked by a dragon with no lube and its cum burning my eyes out. I refused to believe what I was seeing. I was livid. The weight of the world on my back and my left hand on my sorry sack, even self-pleasure was no longer as appealing.
Days went by depressed, drenched in debauchery and pretty pussies. I was trying to fight the loser feeling, still silently hoping for a call or text that never came. Shortly after, I find myself passed out in a hospital van. I’m moments from the ER now believing in conspiracy theories and not even trusting the needle in my arm. I pray to a God I now believe in that it’s not my last breath as they try to get me back to full consciousness. “How did I get in your van?” I asked. He replied, “Sir, you passed out in front of your apartment building half naked with a bourbon in your hand.”
My spirit was broken. My goals realized but I was unable to tell a soul my experience without sounding like a crazy mind and not the functioning kind. Maybe mother will believe me, I thought. Mother said, “You can’t fight him, not enough evidence. Instead, just keep writing son. Your word against his if it ever comes down to it.”
Friends tell me to move on but it’s easier said than done. Revenge is the only feeling right now that turns me on. I am filled with rage, and if given a chance I will pull the trigger in his face for playing me like a deck of cards.
The Joker was right- all it takes is one bad day. I realized I had lost but the world won.
I get to be famous in my mind and people get to watch my work, even when I’m long gone. Not what I envisioned, though. It should be me in those Emmy nominated categories, a lowly immigrant who wrote these great stories.
I cry to this day. It has taught me a hard, hard lesson. I may be chasing ghosts but I will try to fight. For any young writer, heed my advice: back up your work in several places. That is the most important thing. Don’t be too excited, never trust someone because you feel he is of a reputable standing, and go through due process involving NDA’s if possible. Most importantly, have your work saved- email or post to yourself, don’t open it, keep a record of dates.
For now, all I have is a story I can tell to whoever believes. One day my time will come – my horoscope seems to think so – and when it does, fingers crossed I will be ready like a priest that longs for an altar boy but knowing life still screws us all.
David Zoaka is an Emmy and Grammy nominated ghostwriter for stand-up comedians currently on Netflix and a regular contributor to thecomedyconsultant.com. Check out his website DavidZoaka.com.