Oct 152010

The saga of correspondence with my pen pals at the British High Commission office in Nigeria continues.  Plus, as you’ll see, I have a new pen pal now from another distant land.  To remind you where we left off in Chapter 1 (recounted in our previous post here):

I got an e-mail from someone identifying herself as Mrs. Bintu Mahmud asking me to contact her lawyer because of ” a very important thing ALLAH wants you to do for Him.”  I assumed Mrs. Mahmud had a direct channel to Allah and that He wanted us to review some of His new music, though I was a tad suspicious about that “call my lawyer” stuff.  So I questioned that — but Mrs. Mahmud didn’t answer right away.

Instead, the next thing I knew, I got an e-mail from one Robert Scott Dewar at the British High Commission in Abuja, Nigeria, explaining that because of the nefarious activities of African scammers, the sum of $850,000 had been earmarked to compensate people like me who had been victimized. Mr. Dewar promised to send me a pre-funded ATM card with the amount of my recompense, and all I had to do was send him a bunch of personal information about myself.

I thought that was a fucking decent thing to do, given how upset I was over having my hopes raised about getting to review Allah’s music and then being ignored by Mrs. Mahmud. So, I sent in my personal info, but expressed my belief that nothing less than $150,000 would adequately compensate me for my pain and suffering.

Four days later, I got an e-mail from another douchebag — correction, agent of the British High Commission — named John Morgan giving me an international telephone number to call in order to “do the needful” in order to have my pre-funded ATM card sent by DHL to my home address.

I was a bit pissed at this, since they had already told me I was going to get a pre-funded ATM card, but four days had come and gone without any ATM card, and now this douchebag — correction, consular agent — was telling me I had to incur international long-distance charges to “do the needful,” whatever the fuck that meant. So, I gave the dude a piece of my mind. I also told him the amount of my “needful” recompense was going up with each passing day.  (more after the jump . . .)

I thought that was the end of it, but then I got one more e-mail from John (“Douchebag”) Morgan right after we posted the foregoing exchange, which read as follows:

From: aajmrg@aol.com
Subject: Re: Re: Scam Alart Call +234 8134830854
Date: September 27, 2010 12:45:27 AM PDT

Dear Islander, You are adviced to kindly send to us, your DHL a/c number so that we foward your ATM Card to the delivery agent so that they can commence with the delivery.

In service,
John Morgan


Now, to resume our story, I replied to Mr. Morgan as follows:

Dear Mr. Morgan:

I am trying to control my temper here, but really, are you fucking serious? As you must surely know from visiting NO CLEAN SINGING — which surely you visited before writing me, as any decent human being would do — I am a part-time metal blogger (and full-time half-wit). Part-time metal bloggers (and full-time half-wits) do not have DHL account numbers. We are lucky if we have an account number with the local power utility. Do they ever cut off the power of the consulate in Abuja for nonpayment of bills? Because where I live they fucking do.

So yeah, what fucking planet have you been on, thinking that I have a DHL account number. And what’s more, if I had a DHL account number, why do you think I would give it to you? You’re with the British Fucking High Almighty Commission. Can’t you dudes afford a fucking DHL charge to send me my fucking ATM card? Besides, when your douchebag colleague Mr. Dewar wrote me the first time, he didn’t say shit about me having to pay the freight.

By the way, did you do as I asked the last time I wrote you? Did you fuck Mr. Dewar in the ear? And don’t give me any shit about physical impossibility, because I’m confident your little weenie would fit in his ear canal with room to spare.

Now quit jacking around, and send me the ATM card. The needful pre-funded amount has now gone up to $250,000.


I finally received this reply:

From: “scott dewar” <robtscottdewar@rediffmail.com>
Date: October 1, 2010 2:49:20 AM PDT
To: <islander@nocleansinging.com>
Subject: Your mail han been noted

Dear Islander;

Kindly forward to us the following information for the effectiveness:

Your Full Name:………………….
Your Delivery Address………………..
Your phone Number………………….
Your occupation ……………………

Looking forward to hear from you.

Yours in service
Robert Scott Dewar



Dear Mr. Dewar:

Are you high? You wrote me for this same information more than two weeks ago, and I wrote back promptly and gave you all the information you requested. Get Mr. Morgan’s dick out of your ear and send me the fucking ATM card. The “needful” recompense has now gone up to $300,000.

“Yours in service”,

I got no response, until, many days later I received this further message from John Morgan:

From: aajmrg@aol.com
Date: October 10, 2010 4:31:07 AM PDT
To: islander@nocleansinging.com
Subject: pay your security fee

Dear Islander,

I which to inform you that your ATM card has been deposited. You are adviced to pay your security fee 75US dollar to the courier service.

In service,
John Morgan


Dear Mr. Morgan:

Mr. Morgan, your brain is clearly the size of a marmoset’s. You “which” to inform me? And what the fuck does this mean, my “ATM card has been deposited”? It’s a fucking card. The only way I know how you could “deposit” an ATM card is if you shoved it up Mr. Dewar’s fucking rectum. And if my card has been in Mr. Dewar’s rectum, you need to pull your dick out of Mr. Dewar’s ear and send me a clean ATM card.


BTW, these are marmosets:

Yours in service,

I received no reply from Mr. Morgan or Mr. Dewar. Instead, I received this e-mail from a new, soon-to-be pen-pal:

From: Mr.Kwaku Boafoh Agyeman” <almydearre4@hotmail.com>
Date: October 11, 2010 10:00:13 AM PDT
To: undisclosed-recipients:;
Reply-To: almydearre4@hotmail.com

Hello  Waterman,

I am, Mr Kwaku Boafoh Agyeman, Personal secretary to late Dr. Phillip
Waterman,who was staying  here in Accra Ghana West Africa. My client who
was  a member board of trustees SPDC London was killed with his entire
family in a fatal accident, sparing none of their lives
, some years ago.

Before his death, I assisted him in the deposit of some funds saved in a
package as a family treasure in a security company  for safekeeping. The
package have remained unclaimed  since his death, and such unclaimed
package are appropriated and returned to the government treasury office as
a matter of policy.

I am contacting you for two reasons. Firstly, you  both have the same last
Dr. Phillip Waterman, which makes the claim most credible. Secondly,
I strongly believe that the Security Company does not deserve to inherit
the package, I will proceed to establish you as the next of
kin/Beneficiary to my late client

The total fund is USD$15M and 45kg of gold dust also I will want you to
know that as the Personal Secretary, I will do all that it take to make
sure that the package is release to you also I want you to be rest assure
that this will be a risk free transaction.

I want you to get back to me so that I can forward you with more
information as regards to the claim of the fund to show your interest and
the mode of sharing after it’s the successful claim of the family treasure
will 50/50 because i am not a greedy person

You can reach me with this email for further details(uare.bless@yahoo.co.uk)

Best regards,

Mr.Kwaku Boafoh Agyeman.


Dear Mr. Agyeman,

Thank you for your interest in NO CLEAN SINGING. It is so cool to hear from someone in sub-Saharan Africa who digs death metal as much as we do.

I deduce from your nearly unpronounceable name that you, sir, are an actual African, instead of some Brits who are merely stationed in Africa in order to rape and pillage an ex-colony with their marmoset-sized brains and their ear-hole sized weenies and who, in their off hours, try to fuck over well-intended metal bloggers like me with promises of pre-funded ATM cards that I’m beginning to suspect may not even exist. I hope Ghana is not near Nigeria.

Anyways, I do have to correct your records, because my last name isn’t Waterman. It’s Islander. But it’s close, because islands are surrounded by water. So, I’m gonna give you the benefit of the doubt on that fuck-up and assume that your brain was scrambled by watching those Excrementory Grindfuckers videos that Phro linked in his comments on our MISCELLANY post yesterday. Hey, my brain is still kinda scrambled from watching those myself, ha ha.

I tell ya, I’m seriously bummed to hear about the death of Dr. Waterman and his entire family, and I’m like you — I think it would be a fucking travesty if that Security Company inherited that $15 million and those 45 kilos of gold dust, which if my math is right is almost 100 pounds of gold dust (and I have to make that conversion because I’m an American and we still measure weight the American way instead of the way fucking Brits stationed in Nigeria do, when they’re not wanking each other or trying to fuck over American headbangers like me).

Now, to be brutally honest, I have to say that I’ve never heard of any relative of mine named Dr. Philip Waterman, but hey, he could be some really long-lost relative, and I’m sure you’ve done your homework about his family tree and all. So, yeah, let’s fucking go for it!

Because I gotta tell ya, if I had that kind of folding green, I could quit my fucking day job and work on NO CLEAN SINGING full-time. Shit, I could write two or three posts every day, and maybe even more if I didn’t get too fucked up on all the Grolsch beer I could buy with that kinda money.

And besides that, I could establish an eleemosynary institution dedicated to making charitable donations to deserving metal bands so they could buy gas money for their piece-of-shit vans and go on more tours and not have to spend the night on couches of people they don’t even know in places like Poughkeepsie and Omaha and Wenatchee and actually be able to eat some decent food instead of all the cheap fast-food crap they have to eat which will put them in an early grave if they keep doing that and not have to peddle merch like fucking beggars after they play and just get wasted every night instead.

And hey, I could pay Fleshgod Apocalypse to make a detour on the Decibel Defiance Tour and actually come play Seattle instead of only coming as close as fucking Salt Lake City, which is too fucking far away for me to get to. Shit, with Dr. Waterman’s sweet inheritance, I could fucking go to Rome and watch Fleshgod play live in front of all the native Italians, and there are probably a lot more of them there than in Salt Lake. That would be awesome.

And listen, Kwaku (or do you prefer Boafoh?) — I hope I can call you by your first name — I am so fucking glad you are not a greedy person. Because a greedy person would want a 50% cut on the Waterman inheritance even though that person isn’t even related to him (R.I.P.). Since you’re not a greedy person, I know the only reason you’re suggesting 50% of the inheritance for yourself is because you watched those Grindfuckers videos and your brain is scrambled. But that will pass, and then you can act like your own true, non-greedy self and accept a generous 10% for your time spent assisting me obtain the $15 million and the 100 pounds of gold dust.

And by the way, I gotta ask, where the fuck did the late Dr. Waterman (R.I.P.) get 100 pounds of fucking gold dust? The only dust we get where I live is just regular dust, which I read someplace is mainly dead skin cells and dirt and shit. I mean, holy fuck, Ghana must be a fucking rad place to live, if you’ve got dust that’s made out of gold. Do you just vacuum up the shit around the house? Awesome.

So anyways, go ahead and send me the details of what we do next. Do you like deathcore?

Your new pen-pal and 90/10 partner,

. . . and so a new chapter begins . . .

  48 Responses to “NIGERIAN RICHES AWAIT (Chapter 2)”

  1. Holy shit did that make me giggle like a Japanese school girl riding a Hello Kitty vibrator to BoomBoom Town.

    • Prho, did it hurt not using your new favorite word ‘agoovay’?

      • No….but now that you mention it…

        I giggled like a Japanese school girl riding a diesel powered Hello Kitty vibrator to Vagoo Boom Boom Town.

        Like a cock. With an engine. Powered by gas. And cuteness.

        In a vagooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo!

        • Islander…

          I am sorry.

          • No, he’s not.

            You saw it! He encouraged me! He egged me on!

            It was like egg. ON MY FACE!!! Egg…from a chicken vagoo.


          • I am mortified, simply mortified. I do a post about Nigerian-Ghanian opportunities for wealth beyond the dreams of avarice, and I get comments about Japanese school girls, vibrators, and that word — which is now morphing into even nastier variations. You are both out of control (and yes, Elvis, I do believe you egged Phro on, though it clearly doesn’t take much egging, just a tiny bit of yolk).

            • Or egg shell.

              Though, to be fair, I drank like five cups of shochu tonight, so if I’m not drunk, I goddamn should be.


              Japanese school girls…plus chigoo…


              • Islander, you get the straightjacket while I find a needle with something fun in it. I wonder if they make Hello Kitty branded hypos?

                • I hope you mean a needle with something in it that would be fun for me to inject in Phro, but not fun for him. This kind of behavior should not be rewarded, but should be punished severely. I’m thinking of a solution of Sonoran black-ant venom and what they’re cleaning out of the sewers at the Commonwealth Games athletes’ village.

                  • Does the needle have distilled Hello Kitty Japchigoo Juices?

                    If so, I forsee a fun time for all to be had.

                    Like Alice! Through the looking glass!!

                    With tentacle porn.

                    Islander: WHERE IS THE TENTACLE PORN!?!?

                    It’s music. I promise.

                    • Hey, I like that music, and they list Jig-ai as an influence! But that MySpace banner? Ew is right.

                      And as for tentacle porn, I’m happy to say I have no fucking idea what you’re talking about. (And please don’t take that as an invitation to explain.)

                    • Fair warning, you may have just opened the gates to hell. You will feel dirty. You will need S.O.S. pads to use on your eyeballs. You will need lots of alcohol. Just don’t be a dumbass and drink straight of a metal garbage can. Or a plastic one, for that matter. Fucking sock puppets.


                      I’m sure there’s porn of that somewhere. Like Japan.

                      Although on that tangent, I do feel compelled to share a link to that comic Phro previously linked to, since it is related to puppets, but not of the sock variety.


                      Get that image out of your head. Still, far better than the stuff Phro is into. Or would like to be into. Or what he’d like to be into him.

                  • Ew.

                    We don’t want to hurt the poor thing. He simply needs help. Lots of it. You may need to pass on buying Fleshgod Apocalypse until your next inheritance so you can afford to get Phro the help he clearly needs.

                    So while the fun in the needle may be more for his benefit (and may induce some interesting dreams), I do have a very large needle, so it will be fun to poke him as a consolation prize. You know how to find a vein?

                    • You’ll have to catch me first!!!

                      And when I flee, I flee naked and fling poop.

                      Like a baboon…except that baboons can learn from their mistakes.

              • Someone please make him stop.

  2. Mr.Kwaku Boafoh Agyeman doesn’t really seem to be all that greedy. 50% isn’t that much these days.

    That must’ve been some brutal accident though that Philip Waterman was in. As if it wasn’t bad enough that he was killed with his entire family, but nobody’s life had been spared. Brutal.

    With that deposited ATM card and half of this fortune – which even includes gold dust – you could probably buy Fleshgod Apocalypse. They could follow you around in the Islandermobile and play the soundtrack to your life. You could fill a pool with Grolsch. And you’d still probably have enough left over to send to orphans in Africa so that they didn’t grow up to be spammers and con artists.

    • You are so right! I’ve been thinking way too small. Fleshgod Apocalypse as my personal band! The Grolsch swimming pool! A harem of Japanese school girls! Wait . . . forget I said that.




    • I am not doomed. I am preserving the sanctity of my mental temple and praying to the cube for forgiveness. You, on the other hand, are at risk of spontaneous explosion, like that Head the Goat trailer home. I am counting on the fact that although the cube is harsh, it is just.

  4. When you said, “. . . and so a new chapter begins . . .”, I’m pretty sure you were referring to your new e-mail buddy.

  5. Okay, gentlemen! It’s been fun, but I have to go to sleep so I can get up in 6 hours and go to Tokyo!

    Have a fun time….and….

    • Think you’ll get your ATM card in time to bribe the officials in Tokyo to keep him there? Preferably in a jail cell that also houses a large angry sumo wrestler in a Hello Kitty outfit.

      • I am just so very fucking glad that he requires sleep. I do like the jail-cell-sumo-wrestler-Hello-Kitty-outfit idea. If only those two lying motherfuckers in Abuja would quit screwing around and send me my ATM card . . .

  6. @Elvis “Fair warning”: I already feel like I need a human-sized disinfectant immersion. No way I’m going to find out what tentacle porn is.

  7. You guys never fail to disappoint. I vote we keep Phro on full time, just to see what hilarious shit he is going to come up with next.

    Tentacle Porn = Beautifully drawn Hentai girls being violated by tentacled monsters that look like the squid from 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea on HGH and steroids.

    • I’d be careful how much you encourage him, though.

      Just look at how long it took for this posting and the What’s In A Name posting to do beyond downhill. If we’re not careful, every posting is going to turn out the same. While I appreciate that we have the insanity of other metal sites with very little of the douchebaggery and assholism, there’s something to be said of normalcy. And thankfully we haven’t been plagued by trolls or ‘first’ whores.

      Granted, Islander’s quest to claim his multiple inheritances isn’t exactly metal, but if he doesn’t get his ATM card soon, that could change. Storming the offices (or whatever) of these scam artists with the backing of viking and/or black metal bands and their weaponry could be amusing.

      • OK — this is a good reality check from both of you (Elvis and Death’s Embrace) . One of those wise ancient Roman philosophers (Aquinas?) or one of the Greeks (Epictetus? Aristotle? Socrates? said something about moderation in all things. Not the excising of all extremity in discourse, which would lead to eternal coma, but a healthy amalgam of douchebaggery and assholicism, tempered with the storming of viking and/or black metal catharcism. Fuck yeah! (which I think is the English translation of a Roman/Greek aphorism.)

        • So does this mean that when you invade, you’re only going to go after one inheritance at a time?

          How many are you up to anyway? Last time I checked, I’m the next of kin (potential or otherwise) for 6, maybe 7 people. Plus, a friend of a sergeant killed in the line of duty wants me to help him claim the stash that was found on a patrol somewhere in Baghdad. And some other stuff I don’t quite remember. It’s not easy to remember all the details when I have the potential to claim a total of around 100 million or so.

          At any rate, this Kwaku Boafoh Agyeman seems like a reasonable enough person. Maybe he won’t give you the runaround like Misters Dewar or Morgan. Not sure he’s gonna be into deathcore though, seems more like someone who’s into industrial, but that’s no reason to not trust the guy.

          • (1) I’m going after all the inheritances offered to me; (2) Kwaku wrote me with an entirely different offer, which I omitted from this chapter solely in the interests of space, but which totally undermines his credibility about the death of Dr. Waterman; and (3) I also received the e-mail about the fortune found in Afghanistan connected to the sergeant killed in the line of duty. I’m already beginning to doubt the bona fides of that last one, since i thought it was written exclusively for me.

    • And by the way, “20,000 Leagues Under the Sea” is one of the best of many, many Jules Vernes novels, almost all of which are fucking metal. And I wonder whether any metal bands have ever attempted a Jules Vernes concept album. I will have to research this when I have not had so much tequila on a Friday night.

      • That would make for an awesome album if someone hasn’t already done so. With as much music inspired by the likes of Lovecraft or Tolkien, you’d think there’d be more bands citing Jules Verne and H.G. Wells as an influence.

        • Oh shit! H.G. Wells! I have read every novel that demented genius ever wrote. So much metal attention is paid to Lovecraft, but Wells has him beat like the Rangers are going to butt-fuck the Yankees in the ALCS. Wait . . . just forget that I said that last part, since I’m notoriously wrong on my sports predictions.

          • Well, I don’t follow baseball. I’ve watched a few games, but I lost interest in the game a long time ago. If I could get my finances looking better, I’d be able to keep up better with football and hockey instead of relying on the internet to see who won.

            As if what they each were able to come up with on their own wasn’t enough, imagine the awesome if Wells and Verne had ever had the chance to work together. Still, both deserve some metal. At least Wells’ legacy does have its foot in the door musically in War Of The Worlds, thanks to Jeff Wayne. Still one of my favorite albums.

            • I’ve never heard that album. But it looks like Jeff Wayne is putting on a touring spectacle of the album, though I don’t see any U.S. dates:

              • I’m not entirely sure you’d like it, unless you have a taste for some old school progressive rock, dripping in keyboards and effects. And is has Justin Hayward and Phil Lynott singing on it, so there’s a big plus. To some, it may sound dated, but there are elements heard in WOTW that can still be easily found in progressive rock and metal today.

                The album still gets frequent playing, and now with the anniversary of Orson Welles’ infamous broadcast coming ever closer, I’m going to have to add that CD to my current playing, even if only for one more spin.

  8. Fuck I’m so looking forward to the third edition of this. The bit about gold dust is priceless! (As is the rest pretty much.) Those fuckwits better reply to you soon so you can do the needful again.

    • Thank you Niek! The fuckwits are maintaining an ominous silence. I’m particularly disappointed that Mr. Agyeman has not answered. Maybe I made a mistake in telling him my last name isn’t Waterman.

      • Considering he has a self-imposed 50% interest in this transaction (at least until he sees your counter-offer), I’m sure such a detail isn’t going to matter much. However, methinks the dust won’t fit on an ATM card. Or in a zip-loc bag. You are going to ask to have the dust itself and not what it’s currently worth, right?

        • Absolutely! I want that damned dust! I want to sprinkle it all over the floors and under the bed so that gold dust bunnies will be formed.

          • Just promise you won’t snort it or waste it like those pricey restaurants do and use it to decorate food. Granted, the amount they use is very little (I read that these golden indulgent dishes use less than $10 of gold), but every bit counts. On the other hand, snorting it could lead to golden sprays when you start to sneeze, so that might be fun to get on camera. Buy a high speed camera first.

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