Extort this.

So a little while ago this came in the email. I think it's a very very poor extortion attempt.

From: sumadi wayan
Subject: Emergency
To: su_birdwalk@yahoo.com
Received: Tuesday, 1 November, 2011, 4:33 PM

Hope you get this on time, sorry I didn't inform you about my trip in Spain for a Program, I'm presently in Madrid and am having some difficulties here because i misplaced my wallet on my way to the hotel where my money and other valuable things were kept. presently i have limited access to internet, I will like you to assist me with a loan of 2,950 Euros to sort-out my hotel bills and to get myself back home.

I have spoken to the embassy here but they are not responding to the matter effectively, I will appreciate whatever you can afford to assist me with, I'll Refund the money back to you as soon as I return, let me know if you can be of any help. I don't have a phone where I can be reached. Please let me know immediately.

Regards
sumadi wayan



So I responded like this:



Hey Sumadi, I'm so glad you wrote, I had no other way to contact you but now I have your email address! So anyway, its a good thing you wrote when you did because I needed to talk to you about some things. So after you left on your mysterious trip to spain (i know, you're buying sperm so you can impregnate yourself, its ok, i told your parents and they agreed it was the best thing to do as you have had difficulty finding a man to remain faithful to you), anyway, after you left some things happened that you really should know about. Where to start.

Well, the police raided your home and found your frankly astonishing collection of home made child pornography. For some reason you decided to keep it together with loaded pistol and about 6ft of surgical rubber. I don't know what the mask was for and frankly, I don't care. And all that cocaine! You must have been stealing from your company for years! And I did not realise that you had a room in your house that only had butt plugs in it, arranged smallest to largest. How long have you been collecting them? Even the federal police were surprised, and those guys have seen EVERYTHING! And those videos of you being fisted that were on repeat, no wonder your dog is scared of you. Hell, even I'm a little afraid now. Do you shit or does it just fall out of your body like when you have a mouth full of food and lean over and and it just tumbles out? Purely for scientific reasons, I would be interested to know.

So send me some photos of your cunt like you promised. Get some fingers in there you dirty bitch.


When no response was forthcoming I wrote another letter.


Sumadi, I'm sorry if my last letter was a little off colour, I think it's kind of obvious that you have forgotten how we parted ways, so let me refresh your memory.

Your pimp beat me real bad Sumadi, real bad. I spent a week in hospital and my eye is only just getting better. And I don't know why Sumadi, I don't know why. I paid you to let me tear that ass up, and I did, I paid you well, I told you what was going to happen and you were fine with and so I did it girl, I tore yo ass up like it ain't been tore before. You remember girl, how there was shit blood and cum everywhere and you were laying there panting and you said that if I gave you a thousand dollars you would let me shit in your mouth and I did, well, I felt something then, something I've never felt for someone before, and when you went and told your pimp that I had abused you, well, it broke my heart, just like they broke my face.

I loved you Sumadi, and I don't care that you are a crippled transsexual dwarf with an eating disorder and are the victim of a dermatological holocaust, I don't care that you're incontinent and narcoleptic at the same time, I don't care that one time you broke into a rehabilitation center and forced an Iraq war veteran to stump fuck you.

Sumadi, I'm upset because you let mum beat me up like that. I mean, we're brother and sister, couldn't we just have fucked it out?

You broke my heart, Sumadi, I loved you and you broke my heart.

So far I have had no response but still I wait. If you would like to send a really dirty email to su_birdwalk@yahoo.com you just go right ahead, but please send me a copy.

Mean things.

Every now and then I see this old guy on my tram and it’s obvious that he works for whatever company runs our public transport system now because he’s all decked out in the uniform and all his buttons are shiny and he wears a very official looking conductors cap and I’m pretty certain he would have had to ask for it because not every tram guy has one. He looks like he has been working with trams for the last fifty years, since back when being a tram driver was a career, when there were conductors, when it was a respectable job that came with a uniform and a hat and brass buttons that you shined and the passengers knew your name, back when shit used to mean something.

And it kind of kills me. And don’t get me wrong, I am not nostalgic about a past that I have never experienced, oh no, I am being entirely selfish in my effected sadness. It kills me because I am thirty years old and all that I know how to do is work a cash register and say ‘Hi, how you going?’ in a way that makes everybody in the room want to kill themselves. I’m thirty, I work in retail, I have a twitter account called Masturbation Blues and I think that pretty much says it all really.

I don’t even know where I was going with this. White persons problems. The usual Will I lose my job and am I competent enough to find another one, what skills do I have, if any, that would allow me to live my life but perhaps of a slightly higher standard, is it even necessary? When you compare my life to say, that of an infant in some malaria stricken village in Africa, sure, I’ve got it pretty good but that doesn’t stop me from wanting nicer things.

Am I what’s wrong with the world? I am the unsatisfied youth that is youth no longer. I am neither satisfied nor dissatisfied. I am unhappy, belligerent and complacent but not outwardly so. I never got what I was promised as a child so I want it all now even though I’ll never have it. It sucks and I blame the media and anything else within reach because that what we do now. I’m like this because that happened, it’s got nothing to do with the fact that I am naturally a total arsehole and indeed excel at being one.

I’m getting off track. I guess what I’m trying to say is that now that I'm thirty I'm beginning to feel like a man repenting on his deathbed, in the sense that if I don’t do something now then later will suck even worse, you know? Only, he’s worried about the after-life and I’m worried about being homeless when I’m fifty and then being recognised by someone whom I was a prick to. I think it’s a fear we all have.

Anchor point.

My boss is dying. Right now he’s lying in his house and going through the last stages of aggressive brain cancer. Surrounded by his family he is breathing his last breaths and I am heating a burrito.

This is surreal to say the least.

We had a staff meeting at work today and were told that he had only days left, that the company had been sold and that there would be a take over by a larger company whose job it is is to eat other smaller companies. None of this matters.

When I think of my boss dying I think of an old king dying on the throne, only he wasn’t old. He’s only ten years older than me.

It’s so fucking weird and sad and scary. There is nothing that anyone can do. How many words can you say, are awkward gestures and silence a substitute?

I can’t stop thinking about it, its like an avalanche. I have no anchor point, I am buffeted by thoughts and emotions and before I can even deal with them more come. I can’t think straight, I found myself singing ‘who let the dogs out’ for no apparent reason and I keep shaking my head as if to clear it.

I wonder how I will sleep tonight. Probably ok. And the thought of that kills me. Should I be wailing, gnashing my teeth, should I be driven mad by grief and pounding at my breast? I haven’t cried. I probably won't, although it would be nice to.

When I think about going into the store tomorrow I will be all the more aware of everything around me. Everything that is there he designed and built, standing at the counter I will say to myself, ‘He put this here”.

It will seem very empty for a long time.

When I was transferring my burrito from the tray to my plate I was so absent that I grabbed the hot tray with my bare hand. My mind is elsewhere at the moment.

I am going to miss him.