The
Kiddo Scam: Gimme the Money!
My
phone got thugged yo. And you won’t believe where this happened - Nakumatt. I
am not saying that he did it. My mental process simply can’t come to grips with
the fact that this happened right after I ran into Bobi Wine.
Yes,
that will be the weed guy.
I was
told by the security company (Securex, which is Indian owned) to take a receipt
to prove that I have in fact ever owned a phone. I didn’t have one. Most of the
phones I use are donations (I saw your phone, liked it, took it, and then drunk-told
you about it at a later date). I definitely wasn’t going to show up without a
receipt because there was a 30-70 chance that I would be compensated. I went to
my boys over at Mutaasa Kafeero to ‘make a receipt’ for an imaginary Samsung
Galaxy Y. The price of the phone?
350
G’s. Like, Three Fitty G’s.
Let
me tell you something about Indians – those garlic reeking, chili pepper
motherfuckers will never give you free shit; and by never, I mean even-if-you-killed-yourself-twice
never. You’ll have to shag his mother to get a second glance from him. He said
I shouldn’t expect any financial remuneration from the company, that the most
he can do is track the phone.
Ay, Muyindi,
there is no phone to track. Here, have some garlic and a pat on the back.
That
was my simple kiddo scam. It backfired.
The Badass Scam: The Four One Nine.
2a.m:
Inbox blip on my facebook.
Hello dear,
Am Linda Harry, nice to meet you <blah
blah blah> please I want to know about you more and I also have a special
issue I want to discuss with you, please contact me on <some email>. I
will send you more photos in my next mail…
The
first thing I did of course was check out her pics, it is like facebook reflex.
I don’t care about mutual friends (as in bitch, ani akumanyi?). Nah, I don’t discriminate - just touch up that
pout and I’ll accept your request with open legs.
Kinda
like what Miss Linda did.
Babe, I don’t care if you are retarded and
you have AIDS;
with those looks – you have a VIP pass to my drawers…and wallet.
Wallpaper
that bitch.
I
feel fortunate that I was born in this era. My only complaints are Lady Gaga and
Global Warming. See, a Gazillion years ago, you had to have balls to get
anything. Whether it was getting food, respect, a place at the drinking joint
or girls – especially girls, you needed cojones,
big ones. You had to fight
cock-swinging cavemen, kill leopards, sing, and dance and run over coals of
fire for your rights to access a little piece of ass.
These
days, it is much simpler. All it takes is some rubber and an email declaring
that you’re really all that…and a bag of chips. A little “haha” reply will earn
you a direct flight out to Pound City. But even if it is that much simpler, this is too simple, too easy.
I
sent her an email, telling her that she was really hot and that I was having
trouble keeping the lotion away because, ‘your open legs are all over my desktop.’
She replied with all those whore-laced fancy honeys and shit.
Then
she told me that she was a refugee in some Senegalese camp and that she was an
heiress to a 7.5 million Euro fortune but she couldn’t claim it. That she
wanted me (recently promoted to darling) to be the one to get the money like
some sort of trustee. All she needed was
my full name, age, occupation and phone number.
I am
not saying I did not want to fuck her like Hurricane Sandy fucked the East
Coast and that after I got done with her, she’d probably thank me and be a
better whore for years to come(ain’t that right, whore?); I am just saying I
know bullshit when I see it.
I’m
quoting Chris Rock, “There’s something about a woman pulling out money from her
own wallet that just dries up the (**that word is too razor sharp, I can’t type
it**).”
I
said to myself, “Self, this is a good one. Now, how the fuck are you going to
answer this bitch?”
Dear Millionaire Bitch from the Banks of
Beyond,
First of all I just want to go on the
record that that dress could cure cancer. You killin it yo. I would also like
to mention, in passing, that a pair of leather pants and a gag ball would bring
out the slut in you better. Secondly, I am not big on salacious interwebular
activities (cyber sex). If you want some dick, you’ll have to escape that
refugee camp. I don’t care if you gang bang the whole rebel battalion or if you
ride on the back of a frog to get it done. I am not leaving UG for love or
money because the rolexes here are simply the shit.
I spent the last hour looking for a single word
that fits the description of, ‘really thick, dimwitted, panty waste of a bitch’
and the most accurate answer zeroed on was you, Miss Linda. First of all you
are a dude, or at the very least, an ex-dude. Now, let’s talk a little about
your balls, what they produce and your brain, how it works. You are giving your
money to someone you have never met but trust completely, right?
Good. Personally, I don’t have any experience
on managing my own money. I have what they call a menstrual salary – it comes
once month and gets done in three days. I will blow your cash on prostitutes,
drugs and alcohol with no second thought. My country just dropped from 2nd
to 8th position in the CNN Global Alcohol Consumption report. I’m
pretty sure 7.5million euros worth of liquor would give us a little boost.
Yes, we can be in a long distance
relationship, I am your boyfriend from the future. After this email, you are
going to tell me to send an email to your bank. The bank (which of course won’t
actually be the bank) will then call me and I’ll get all excited and shit and
send my account number. With my name and account number, you have all you need.
You’ll then sweep out my account.
But that’s okay.
Because my account is always empty. Not
even you can sweep money from there faster than myself when I get a deposit. You
see, I have many debts so I try to spend as much as I can before the loan
sharks strike. So here’s my account number 879-5578-1147-382, DFCU. Although I
think it is safer if you just shipped the money in coffins. That way it won’t
be detected. I saw it in a movie, it totally worked.
PS: Send me more pics…
PPS: If a bomb was dropped in your refugee
camp, what would the world lose? A bomb – the world would lose a fuckin bomb.
Yours truly,
Gigolo from the Other Side of Beyond
***
You know me, always imitated, never duplicated.I'll be MIA this weekend.
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