For the last year or so, my humor columns have appeared occasionally in The Scribe, the student newspaper at Bridgeport University in Connecticut. The columns were submitted to the paper by an Indian student who really liked them -- liked them so much, in fact, that he decided to put his name on them.

Yes, he passed them off as his work, taking full credit for all the effort I had invested. While I was spending long nights staring into my computer, searching for inspiration, this student -- let's call him RM -- was using his copying skills to turn himself into a popular guy on campus, drawing more adulation than almost anyone, male or female, on the university chess team.

Well, perhaps he wasn't quite that popular, but I'd like to believe he received a compliment or two, if not from his fellow students, then at least from his mom. Even his professors were doubtless impressed.

Professor: "I'm so proud of you. Your writing has improved so much in the last year."

RM: "Thank you, sir. I have learn English good, aren't I?"

Professor: "Yes, you certainly have. And you write so fast these days. Ten columns in five minutes. You're a genius."

RM's run as a prolific columnist came to a crashing end recently when The Scribe's editors discovered his plagiarism and dismissed him from the staff, unwilling to offer him a lesser position, such as cut-and-paste assistant.

How did they catch him? I'm not sure, but perhaps it was the fact that he was never seen with a baby named Lekha. Or maybe they had trouble believing that he knew so much about ancient times, particularly the 1980s.

Editor: "Good column, this week. I see you've been studying history."

RM "His story? No, it is my story. I write it myself. Not his story."

When I heard about the plagiarism, my first thought was to sue RM for $100 million ($10 in lost revenue and $99,999,990 in punitive damages). But then I remembered he was a college student, which meant that all his money was tied up in textbooks, video games and Ramen noodles. I'd have more luck trying to squeeze money out of a horse. Especially a well-heeled one.

Plagiarism, in case you didn't know, is a Latin word that means "too lazy to do my own writing." It may seem like a trivial crime, one that's flattering to the victim, but it's virtual embezzlement to writers who've spent years, even decades, honing their craft, learning to create elegant prose. I don't want to sound prideful, but I know such writers.

Plagiarism is unethical, dishonest, and just about the hottest hobby on the Internet. Students are notorious for plagiarizing research papers, but even the so-called professionals can't resist the temptation of "speed writing." In the last year itself, I've heard cases of reporters plagiarizing articles, authors plagiarizing books, and pastors plagiarizing sermons. (Hopefully not the "thou shalt not steal" sermon.)

Some plagiarists are rightfully fired, because their excuses don't pass muster: "My friends emailed it to me and I didn't realize that someone else wrote it." (Thank you, Mike Barnicle.)

Others are merely suspended or reprimanded, because their excuses seem plausible: "My dog ate my integrity."

As for RM, he has to contend with academic discipline, a ruined reputation, and a writing career on life support.

But not to worry. With the Internet around, revival is only a click away.

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