More Metal Than An Iron Maiden Chamber Dipped In Titanium

DEAL WORTH USD45,275,000.00.‏

From:	Yuan Jinyang (****@yahoo.com)
Sent:	Sun 5/02/10 7:43 PM
To:

Business offer for you worth USD45,275,000.00. Are you interested?

AM I interested?

I’m sorry, that’s an unfair question.  Just between you and me, Yuan, I wouldn’t exactly say some theoretical Phish cover of The Grateful Dead's song “Deal” is worth $45, 275,000, I don't care how rarely they play that particular crunchy jam.  I wouldn’t buy it on iTunes, for instance, so to me personally it isn’t even worth 99 cents.  You see where that leaves us.  Impasse.  Hostilities are inevitable, Yuan, they’re a part of life.  I defy you to convince me Phish is capable of creating a song for which I’d pay 99 cents.  Pantera, now THERE was a misspelled-animal-name band.  Pantera is so metal one of their members got shot ON STAGE!  Shot in the FACE!  Dimebag Darryl (was there ever a more white trash name?  No.) getting shot in the face, even though it was after Pantera broke up, means Pantera is more metal than an iron maiden chamber dipped in titanium, say what you will about what a regrettable person Phil Anselmo turned out to be.

People don’t understand, Yuan.  Life used to be metal as all get out, then some Chinaman invented gunpowder and ever since then the strength of a man’s arm and his lust for battle has withered beneath the onslaught of faint-hearted Belle And Sebastian fans who have the ability to pull a trigger.  It sickens me.  It sickens me to my very soul, and although I’ve started carrying a sword around all people say is “Man, that’s so metal.” Do they have any idea what they’re saying?  I look at them with their non-corrective glasses and sailor tattoos and reedy, malnourished legs and all I can think about is how ashamed their fathers are that they wouldn’t even try out for football.  “Sorry dad, I’m just more passionate about yearbook staff.  Plus football’s just so competitive and Neanderthal.  ‘Ooh, look at what a big man I am, I can hit and run and bench press my own bodyweight.’”  COWARDS.  No age has embraced the coward with more relish than this one, Yuan.  Cowards!  How God hasn’t looked down from Heaven and punched this pathetic planet’s ticket before now I’ll never know.  He must listen to Tegan and Sara. 

Meanwhile, Satan’s having a 18 kegger raging party with Dimebag and Cliff Burton and the original drummer for Motorhead before they made it big, with blow and a girl poppin’ just one tit out of her Hanoi Rocks t-shirt and pellets of heroin you put in your rectum and some skank offers to give you a dry handy in the bathroom as soon as no one’s looking and she does and it’s the best one you’ve ever had, and you don’t miss your parents or teachers because school’s out baybay!  It’s party time in HEEELLLLL, YEAAAH!  C’mawhn lemme hear ya!  Ah seh, lemme HEAR YA!  WOOOOOOOOAAAAAAAH YEAAAAAAAAH!  PUTCHA HAN’S TUHGETHA!  YEW MIGH’ REMEMBUH THIS SONG FROM OUR FIRS’ ALBUM, IT’S CALLED “(WILL YOU BE MY) YANKIN’ SKANK? ”

I assume you see the appeal.  For me, Yuan, the gentle, stoned minstrels of Phish are emblematic of the crushed masculinity of this digital age.  They would have perished, and justly so, in any other time in history, due in no small part to their criminally underdeveloped upper body strength, not to mention their complete lack of hunting/gathering skills.  A part of me wishes for the end of this wondrous time, where the knowledge of the ages is only a mouse-click away.  If it ended, perhaps humanity could be free of these machines we strap to ourselves desperately seeking some shadow of the ecstatic experience our ancestors had every time there was an eclipse or meteor shower or the tribe discovered a new waterfall.  This LED torchlight we use to awkwardly grope our way to some imagined better future is cold and I find no comfort in it, Yuan.

Give Me Fire,

Malthus R. Stone, V

The Utmost Of My Enjoylence

Greetings To You‏

From:	Willis, William D. (****@UTMB.EDU)
Sent:	Fri 4/30/10 4:16 AM
To:	info@****.com

This is a personal email directed to you and I request that it be treated as such. I am Steven Walker, a personal attorney to the late Engineer Robert hereinafter referred to as my client" I represent the interest of my client killed with his immediate family in a fatal motor accident in East London on November 5, 2002. I would like to negotiate the terms of investment of resources available to him.My late client worked as consulting engineer & sub-comptroller with Genesis Oil and Gas Consultants Ltd here in the United Kingdom and had left behind a deposit of Six Million Eight Hundred Thousand British Pounds Sterling only (6.8million) with a finance company,I decided to search for a credible person and finding that you bear a similar last name, I was urged to contact you,I guarantee that this will be executed under a legitimate arrangement that will protect you from any breach of law, if you intrested in this transaction,contact me via my private email for more details Email stevenwalkerconfidentia12@****.com

Most Excellent Sir,

It is most opportunicious that you should be to sending this your aforementioned emails.  Please bear with me as I realize how much truly you are bountifying me and my friggin whole family.  It’s like, just the other night I was saying “Wouldn’t it be nice or whatever to all of a suddens have some jabrone give me a load of money, right?” And now here you are with all kinds of timelitude, for you see I have many bastard children of which I have just been informed.  One is with Gina from Longport, one of which is from Regina from Kingsplacefort, one of which however unfortunate is from Gina that skank who hangs around Del’Veccio’s over in Rangeplace, you know Del’Veccio’s with the ski ball game.  I tell you what, Steven Walker or whatever names you have, I am a friggin SUCKA for ski ball.  It is the utmost of my enjoylence.

Now, on to the pressing matter to regards in meaning these amounts of money.  I have a checking account with my ma, but she has to sign off on the transactions being the cause that I like betting the ponies.  The account is less with a bank per says and more with a guy.  This guy who you will be needing to get in touch with is Russian and is by the name Vlad The Inhaler because he takes nose candy.  His office as it is resides is in the back of Rack Time the pool hall down on Eighth, but not where Eighth hits the tracks Eighth where the hot dog place is you know the place.  Ask the weasely guy you “need to make a small deposit” and if he thinks you look on the up and up you get to meet Vlad.  If to the other hand he thinks you look like a one who talks with the yak yak talk, you will be shown the men’s room.  I hope for both of us greatly you are able to put this vastness of monies in my account.

Yo it’s like, my head’s friggin spinnin with the thought of this wealthness!  I’m straight-up getting a baby tiger in a silver cage!  If you have any problematic occurments please call me on my prepaid 54-214-553-2345 this is my neighbor’s phone who is after a matter of ways unconsciously loaning me this number.  Do not contact me if you hear I’m at Johnny Drill’s house.

Thanks Being To You And Much Life Also,

Vito "Little Vito" Guionne

She Might Set Traps For Me From Above

RE: Hello‏

From:	Melville Rector (****@hotmail.com)
Sent:	Mon 4/19/10 12:45 PM
To:	****@hotmail.com

V tw lAGRA $ 1, Cl uw ALlS $ 2 and LEVlTR dj A

But then, lions were not good at forgiving. As Ser Bronn of the Blackwater would shortly learn

Melville,

You are very right about lions, they hold grudges almost as long as they held my right arm after they ripped it off when I was leaning out of the window of the safari bus.  Do you know what my last thought was before it happened?  “That tour guide doesn’t know what he’s talking about, these lions look plenty well-fed to me.”  Well.  Egg on my face!  And blood.  And other people’s vomit.

But enough about me, Melville.  I want to know about you!  What flavor of pudding do you like?  Vanilla?  Espresso?  Would you kill a man to secure a lifetime’s supply of pudding?  I miiiight, it’d really depend on who my victim was.  If he was a good man, of course I wouldn’t kill him just to get at that delicious pudding, but what if he was a death row inmate?  Although I’m squeamish about the state having the power to kill on my behalf, if I take out the middle man, isn’t that a more honest relationship with crime?  Wait...wait.  Privatizing the death penalty!  Forget the pudding, forget the pudding for a second, THAT’S the future.  Dream with me, Melville… 

“Are you a billionaire bored with the same old hunting trip?  Tired of shooting at wolves from a helicopter like a total pussy?  Well then strap a rocket pack called LIFE to your back and match wits with the most dangerous game of all:  MAAAN.” 

I’m thinking Warren Buffett, Sir Richard Branson, the fat one from N*Sync, one of those Russian oligarchs, maybe an Olsen twin or two.  They’re tired of their caviar and canapés, Melville, they want the sweet stench of gunpowder in their nostrils and the hot, slick feeling of blood and fresh marrow on their hands as they pull the still-beating heart of their prey out of his chest!  THEY WANT IT MELVILLE, THEY WANT THAT SO BAD!  So bad they can taste it.  Every time a billionaire goes to some brain-dead fashion show he or she is really thinking about the relative strengths and weaknesses of the people around them.  “That waiter looks like he could run far, I’d probably need hounds to keep on his trail.”  “I wonder if that model is any good at climbing trees?  Her legs are certainly long enough…oh God she might set traps for me from above, I’d best take out one of her ankles, keep her on the ground!” This is all they think about!  MELVILLE I SWEAR IT’S ALL THEY THINK ABOUT YOU’VE GOT TO BELIEVE ME.

We’ll offer the death row inmates money for their families if they’ll agree to be hunted in our private game reserve located deep in the blackest heart of the Canadian Rockies.  We’ll send pay-per-view offers to everyone with an American Express Black card and, with the right market research, we can eliminate the bleeding-hearts who might be tempted to turn us in to the authorities (that old rascal Soros and his type).  Capitalism at its best, Melville, can’t you see?  The people win by having the cost of housing and feeding death row inmates taken off their hands, the state wins by having more cells to put non-violent drug offenders in, and we benefit by providing a unique service!  We’re establishing and filling a whole new market niche, doesn’t it just make your erection so, so painful?  You KNOW it!

I’m going to work on the perfect logo/letterhead, you get back to me with some possible locations, preferably where we can easily set up at least a T1 internet line for live HD video streaming.  This is an exciting time, Melville, and I’m sure I speak for everyone at Ultimate Prey, Ltd when I say

Happy Hunting,

Terry V. MacKultenlash, Esq.

An Emotionally Crippling Geyser

RE: Hello‏

From:	Boudewijn Mcgrath (****@hotmail.com)
Sent:	Thu 4/08/10 9:27 AM
To:	****@hotmail.com

Leviyutra, Vhriagra $1, Cialqlis $2

He was a very concentrated, very intense young boy, about eight year

Mister Mcgrath,

You’re right about Hitler, he WAS a very concentrated, very intense young boy when he was about eight.  I can remember hating Poland and Czechoslovakia a good deal when I was around eight, nine.  No good reason, I suppose.  Just…full of hate.  I channeled that hatred, for a time, into my ship-in-a-bottle hobby.  The HMS Blackadder, the USS Bonhomme Richard, the HMS Tayleur and their respective crews were my only companions while my parents’ marriage noisily dissolved.  “If we can only make the Straight of Gibraltar, Mommy will make a hot dinner again!” I’d say to my crew, from the normal-sized side of the bottle.  But the HMS Blackadder never made the Straight of Gibraltar, Boudewijn Mcgrath, and my mother left me adrift on a sea of fantasy while my father slipped inside an entirely different kind of bottle.  A bottle named Jim Beam.

I stayed tangled in the rigging of the USS Prepubescent Trauma for probably another seventeen months.  Eventually the clean dishes were all dirty, and I was convinced Jim Beam was a real person who got my mother to run off with him and that my father agreed to their arrangement as long as Mr. Beam kept his sweet, sweet brown bourbon flowing like an emotionally crippling geyser.  I hated Mister Jim Beam as a ten-year-old; I associated the smell of a glass with just a ghost of a sip of bourbon left in it with unopened Sunday papers and omnipresent cat hair and applying my own band-aids.

Eventually my hate found its perfect mate:  racket ball.  I controlled that three-inch blue ball like it owed me a considerable amount of money.  Let me back up a bit, though, and clarify by saying that I spent six months playing what I thought was racket ball before being told by Jaime my stevedore friend that what I was playing was not racket ball but jai alai.  By that time I’d become so adept at jai alai that some profligate Saudis “arranged” for me to compete in the infamous children’s jai alai circuit, to much acclaim.  Perhaps you saw John Stossel’s piece about the Dubai Underground Children’s Jai Alai League on 20/20 some years back? I only recently saw a tape of the program, and I have to say that 20/20 only captured 74% of the depredations I suffered under Salaid al Hazim al Yassir bin Quarzi.  20/20, ha!  More like 14/20, right?  That’s about 74%, right Boudewijn?

The thing about playing jai alai as a preteen is that they don’t exactly make a jai alai cesta for a moderately tall young man who’s about to turn 12 so for the first three years I played with a cesta that came up to my chest.  Let me assure you that that poses its own set of problems, which I’ll address in a future email.  Eventually the F.D.A. agents who rescued me (the DUCJAL doubled as an illegal hummus manufacturing/distribution ring so technically it was the F.D.A.’s problem) returned me to my father who had found Shiva and was as sober as the judge who dealt with Barney Frank’s boyfriend’s prostitute racket, which is to say my father was moderately drunk.  This was a vast improvement from several years prior, however, and so I trotted down to the library one breezy Saturday and looked up what “racket ball” really was.  To my delight, this “racket ball” shared some characteristics with jai alai, but without the threat of being conscripted into playing for the pleasure of an aircraft hanger full of swarthy, oil-rich Arabs.

I don’t need any Leviyutra, by the way.  Whatever that is.

Be Well,

Scott  Belsob Tumbelsorn

Wallpaper Her Hospice Room

Assistance'''''‏

From:	Mr Terry Owens (terryowens90000@****.com)
	You may not know this sender.Mark as safe|Mark as junk
Sent:	Tue 1/05/10 6:45 PM
To:	****@hotmail.com

Dear friend, Greetings to you in the name of our heavenly God. This mail might come to you as a surprise and the temptation to ignore it as unserious could come into your mind; but please, consider it a divine wish and accept it with a deep sense of humility. My name is Mr Terry Owens . I'm a 65 years old man. I am British living in Dubai (UnitedArab Emirate). I was a merchant and owned two businesses in Dubai. I was also married with two children. My wife and two children died in a car accident six years ago. Before this happened my business and concern for making money was all I lived for. I never really cared about other values in life. But since the loss of my family, I have found a new desire to assist helpless families. I have been helping orphans in orphanage/ motherless homes. I have donated some money to orphans in Sudan, South Africa, Cameroon, Brazil, Spain, Austria,Germany and some Asian countries. Before I became ill, I kept $15 Million in a long-term deposit account in a finance company . Presently, I'm in a hospital where I have been undergoing treatment for oesophageal cancer. I have since lost my ability to talk and my Doctors have told me that I have only a few months to live. It is my last wish to see this money distributed to charity organizations. Because relatives and friends have plundered so much of my wealth since my illness, I cannot live with the agony of entrusting this huge responsibility to any of them. Please, I beg you in the name of God to help me collect the deposit and the interest accrued from the company and distributes it amongst charity organizations. Use your judgement to distribute the money and feel free to reimburse yourself when you have the money for any cost you incure during the process of collecting and distributing the money to charity organizations. . I'm willing to offer you a reward If you are willing to help; please reply as soon as you can. May the good Lord bless you and your family

Regards,

Mr Terry Owens

Heavenly Greetings Brother in Christ! 

I took the initiative and contacted several AIDS-related charities about your wonderfully generous offer, and all the children are very excited.  Little Jennifer told me her weeping sores hurt just a little bit less knowing that Mister Terry was going to help wallpaper her hospice room.  It is good that you realize there is more to life than millions and millions of dollars, and I am saddened that it took the horrific deaths of your wife and children to give you that realization.  I came to much the same conclusion when my Christmas cactus died, which was around the time my whole family suffocated under their plastic house (it melted).  My bank account is with Wachovia or, as I like to call them, Walk All Over Ya!  Oh MY.  I’m quite the cut up at Brillstein, Von Gundersen, Heathridge & Smith.  Anyway, my account number is 453-2543-23536, and if you need to give the girl a password, it’s “kegel.”  I look forward to hearing back from you, and hope this message finds your faith strong as the shields of David’s Mighty Men! 

Faithful Blessings,

Morgan Thighburn

We Could Blast The Earth With Dynamite

CAN I TRUST YOU???‏

From:	Anneke van der Meijer Meer (****@scopescholen.nl)
	You may not know this sender.Mark as safe|Mark as junk
Sent:	Wed 5/26/10 2:03 PM
To:

Hello.

Although you might be apprehensive about my email as we have never met before. I am Dr. Bruce Moore, a Banker,Head Of Operations with (NatWest Bank Plc) No. 5 The Parada, Qadby, Leicester, LE2 SBB. There is the sum of £20,000,000.00 currently in my branch,there were no beneficiary stated concerning these funds which means no one would ever come to claim it.

That is why I ask that we work together,I will be pleased to work with you as trusted person and see that the fund is transfered out of my Bank into another Bank Account. Once the funds have been transfered to your nominated Bank account we shall then share it in the ratio of 60% for me, 40% for you.Your urgent response is been awaited as this is an opportunity of a lifetime for both of us.

Contact me: ****@hotmail.com
Full Name: Dr. Bruce Moore

Thanks,
Dr. Bruce Moore

Doctor Moore,

Let me put it this way:  I’m pretty sure I’m the only one of the two of us who’s completed all the objectives in The Great Waldo Search, so maybe your email should be asking if I can trust you.  Found Waldo in every scenario?  Check.  Found all the scrolls?  Check.  Proud of myself?  You better believe it.  I may not be a Banker,Head but I, like my father before me, know my way around a corn dog stand.  

Now twenty million pounds is nothing to be sneezed at, Dr. Moore, so I won’t insult you by pretending to know what a bank is.  You seem to understand where the money goes once I put it in the money hole and that’s enough for me.  However!  I have stipulations.

First I want five extra hours in the day.  I propose we accomplish this by blasting the Earth just a few thousand miles further away from the Sun (just a few thousand).  We could blast the Earth with dynamite, we could blast the Earth with just about anything, really.  The point is I need those five extra hours to plan and perfect a working Vulcan Nerve Pinch because it’s just time.  It’s time, Dr. Moore.  

Second:  I’ve been coughing a lot lately and so I want to get a tattoo.  Maybe on my face, maybe on my chest or neck, but it will read STOP COUGHING in Lucida Blackletter font that is reversed so I can read it in the mirror while I yell “Stop coughing!” at my reflection.  I’ve found that reinforcement is an effective way to incorporate new life skills.

Third ----- As trusted person, I would like to nominate Nelson Mandela’s bank account.

Finally, I think we should use your share of the money to get one of those petition things going to try and rename a thing something else.  See what you think about renaming cars “Autodrive Monsters.”  Let it roll around on your tongue for a minute!  “Pretty sweet new Autodrive Monster you got there, Harv.”  “How many miles per gallon does that Autodrive Monster get, Mary?”  Ready for the twist?  Harv and Mary…are the same PERSON!  BOOM!  DOUBLE LIVES DOCTOR MOORE!  SECRETS UPON SECRETS!  CAN YOU HANDLE IT!?   OF COURSE YOU CAN.

Let me wrap up by saying I’m writing this from a moving bus and I think I can see The Parada, Qadby, Leicester, LE2 SBB through the window.  Oh, that might have been a homeless shelter.  And not one of those heartwarming ones where people turn their lives around.

Safely Tucked Away,

Mitchell Ghiss