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:
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.
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” <email@example.com>Date: October 1, 2010 2:49:20 AM PDTTo: <firstname.lastname@example.org>Subject: Your mail han been noted
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
BRITISH HIGH COMMISSION
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: email@example.comDate: October 10, 2010 4:31:07 AM PDTTo: firstname.lastname@example.orgSubject: pay your security fee
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.
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.
Let me speak clearly here: I AM NOT PAYING ANY FUCKING COURIER FEES. I AM NOT GIVING YOU ANY FUCKING DHL ACCOUNT NUMBER. MY NEEDFUL RECOMPENSE IS NOW $350,000. SEND THE FUCKING PRE-FUNDED ATM CARD WITHOUT FURTHER JACKING OFF.
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” <email@example.com>Date: October 11, 2010 10:00:13 AM PDTTo: undisclosed-recipients:;Subject: MY PROPOSALReply-To: firstname.lastname@example.org
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
name 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(email@example.com)
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 . . .