Monthly Archives: May 2015

Replies to Exciting Emailed Totally Legit Interweb Opportunities: Hannah Rasheed’s 8.7 Million Dollars

Response to request, received via Interwebs, to accept a percentage of 8.7 or 10 Million USD for colluding in some vaguely described bank fraud with an allegedly religious, allegedly sick alleged widow allegedly from South Africa, awaiting my bank transfer information:

My Dear Mrs. HANNAH RASHEED,

With much Infilligration have I read the fritulitous missive of which you are sending me. I am so woeful to hear of your most tragic and sporadic loss, and of the prenditious predicament which now you and your blessed offspring are finding of yourselves. How mopeful you must be, you poor woman.

But GOD is most vehement in his righteousness! And Praise be to GOD, who maketh us to drink fulsomely of HIS nectars, and HE doth layeth upon the filigree of our escutcheon! If I can be of assistance to you, surely it is because GOD hath anointed me to be thy own personal winsome angel of SALVATION AND STUFF!

You need have no fear or tendiliciary attributes that I should abscond with your USD $ 8.7m { Eight million Seven hundred thousand Dollars} cash: for I have grave amounts of currencies at my disposal in the nonce. My mother was a smallish famousy starlet in the Hollywood of USA, perhaps her name is a wink of familiarity to you: Loni Anderson? And though I do not speak to or associate with my mother anymore because I cannot condonify the blasphemous pit of turpitude and Babylonian nudaliciousness that is the EVIL Hollywood, still I am not above taking of her money for the sake of my own children, which shall number one and twenty. For is money itself not an innocent commodity, without regard of its lascivious origin? I think so, maybe.
What Heavenly Ordainment of Fortune grinned down upon you to have contacted me, of all worthy causes in this World of Weird Expensive Horrors which Require Investment of Time and Money and the LOVE OF GOD?!?!?!?!

As Minister of the First Church of the Pulchritudinous Borax, I have lived a life of relative asperity, that I may give all to the poor and needy and dispossessed and drunken and lewd. I have forsworn that second Honey-Glazed Partridge at luncheon, that I may buy umbrellas for moist Widows, who cannot afford umbrellage of their own. I wear nothing under my vestments but the oils the Nun anoints me with, that I may spend my lingerie money on fresh Pineapples for Queer Mr. Quincy, who lives alone in a Quartered Quonset.  That Nun doth also cutteth my long flowing locks of gorgeous hair with a sharp rock, that I may save moolah to buy moustache wax for the Locally Zoo’d Walruses-GOD’S OWN CREATURES-JUST LIKE YOU AND ME-(although, hopefully, my darling Hannah, you do not RESEMBLE a walrus as closely as I do)- And even do I give unto the lowly insects, for it has long been my habit to afford a daily spoonful of sugar to the hardworking carpenter ants that inhabit the altar- though I should dearly love to eat that sugar myself, maybe baked in a tasty little cupcake with pink frosting and sprinkles, or simply sprinkled upon the bosoms of the Nun. Yum!

SO you need not fear that your CHRISTIAN CHARITY will be besmirched and bewasted: for with your 10 Million Dollars, I will be able to dedicate the Church to its ultimate purpose: CLEANSING FIRE. There is so much that needs burning here in America: Rubbermaid Lawn Furniture, Hot Pockets, Travis Tritt CDS, Lincoln Navigators, the NSA, the TSA, the Cellphones of Girls With Long Sweaters, Sans-a-Belt Polyester Pants, Leaf Blowers, Jet-Skis, FOX “News”, and of course, our flags. I will build a giant stove in Pittsburgh, and heat a ginormous orphanage with it, and feed the orphans marshmallows and weiners that they can roast themselves over the scorchy detrius of this decadent America.

My stove (which I will call the Mrs. Hannah Rasheed Memorial Stove, with your Prehumous Permission)  will be so big that it will heat all of Pennsylvania and Ohio, and speed up the Global Warming process so that it’s less chilly for the poor, and even for me, for I would dearly love to shed even these vestments and frolic naked in a new Eden, probably located somewhere near Akron.

Oh! Sorry about your husband dying, and you being about to die and everything. That kind of sucks, even when you know that you’re going to go sit upon the knee of God, and play horsie there. For in that sleep of death, what dreams may come, without the mortal coil and all? How can we be sure?

Personally, I hedge my bets a little. Besides all the Super Christian Praying and Genuflecting,  I drop off the occasional plate of gulab jamun to Krishna, I skip mindfully down the eightfold path of the Buddha,  I sacrifice the occasional mackerel to Astaroth, I sent Tom Cruise 5 bucks, and I’m pleased to say that I just had my Bar Mitzvah. L’CHAIM!

But I’m mostly Christian. Unless that all turns out to be a scam of some sort.

So, what do you need now? Are there any Transfer Fees, or Shipping Charges, or Lumbrage Tariffs, or anything? I will work with you on this quick like a bunny, dear Hannah, lest you suddenly croak before I can lay my sticky paws on the Samoleons.

If you find it in your heart to render me a percentage of your USD $ 8.7m, I will protest, but weakly and without much conviction, provided you yourself are deep in the gravy. I will assist you foremost because of GOD and the way you talk about HIM, which is nice, but if you should choose to cross my palm with silver, then I will be heliod with rapture.

And so what do we step in next? Let me know the finicky requirements of your necessities, pronto, Tonto.

WITH WORRIES OF EVERLASTING BARBECUE FLAMES OF SATAN, AND FAITH OF THE HARMONIUM OF GOD, Parsley, Sage, Rosemary and Thyme!
Rev. Nitro Von Borax
1134 Lambinator Lane
Melvindale, MI 48122
Fax: 97

Rodent Station Number 9

Rodent Station #9

I am not proud of spending time
In Rodent Station Number 9.
I’ll own regrets, and these are mine:
I did ignore each posted sign.

There’s four below and eight above,
And none of them was made with love,
But all the rodents push and shove
(And do not wear their boxing gloves)
To be admitted to the station,
There allotted rodent rations,
And allowed a brief inflation
With a broth of dissipation.

As far above as I could see
Was Rodent Station Number 3,
Where fatter rats looked down at me
And ate their brie and poisoned tea.

There’s lotteries for Station 1,
A fabled hall of feasts and fun
And Champagne fountains in the sun:
It’s guarded by a thousand guns.

At Station 9 the rodents preen
Themselves above Station 13
Where starving rats will shave one bean,
Kept desperate and never clean,
And so I knew it could be worse,
But Station 9 felt like a curs-
Ed place to wait upon my hearse
And watch my spirit just disperse.

So I escaped, I ran away-
The path was dangerous and grey:
I almost died nine times that day,
But ah, the place I’ve come to stay!
For once I fought and did not yield,
And came into this sunlit field,
I leaped for joy and danced and squealed
With happiness at truth revealed!

There’s nuts and berries, fat and fine,
There’s lovely friends, they’re truly mine,
The sun above! (It never shined
On Rodent Station Number 9).

My plea: Come see: you rats are blind!
Leave Rodent Station Number 9!

rokoskull

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