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I worked out the pace of the slap to start with a slow buildup so that I could maintain his interest. It ends with an understatement.
Mr. D.e.n.n.i.s J.o.n.e.s
I am glad Brother Pipin waited for me before he did anything with the Western Union. I have talked to people while I was gone and they convinced me that you are what they call 419 scammers. I am very disappointed in you. You were going to take our Mission of Mercy money for your personal gain. You were going to steal money going to children with their pleading eyes and emaciated bodies with flies crawling on their faces. From poor disheartened peasants living in the squalor of huts made of dried dung and old billboards. From your fellow man that has nothing to drink but tepid sewage, and nothing to eat but raw maggots. You were going to take money meant to feed them and uplift their spirits.
I have totally given up hope for your salvation. You are beyond redemption. I am so angry that I am having impure thoughts. I pray that the people of the universe will join hands and denounce your wretched acts of depravity. I pray that they will mock your miserable stupid soiled soul.
I pray that you will be cursed by Allah, Jesus Christ, Buddha, Shiva, Lao Tzu, Confucius, Mother Theresa, and Zeus. And that they will line up to piss in the pit of your quartered bowels. That they will besmear your decaying flesh on the dry sands of the desert. I pray that even vultures will refuse your dismembered viscera as too revolting for sustenance. The Scepter of Death will tear out your gonads, and ravage your genitalia, and mock your shriveled placid penis, so tiny that your own fleas and lice lose balance on it. Your nipples will be twisted 360000 degrees. I pray that your own tape worms and parasites will abandon you in disgust.
On the day of your imminent death, I pray that Necrophiles will swarm to you and commit lewd carnal acts on your dead tissue. Bulimics will vomit unto your face lying cold with glassy eyes staring lifelessly. You will be stuffed naked and face down into your coffin, and it will be filled brimming with the entrails of pigs and dogs. Your funeral will be attended by nobody; not even jeering children whose money you tried to plunder; not even your homosexual playmates who wearied of you as an easy prey, and are now cursing your sexually transmitted diseases.
I pray that God, the Supreme Being and Omnipotent Master of the Universe will join hands with Satan, the Prince of Darkness and sneer at your condemned degenerate miserable soul for eons of perpetuity, and affirm that your dim dismal spirit will never ascend the abyss of absolute anguish.
No brother of yours. S.c.o.t.t O.l.s.e.n
In our exchange of emails, I always ended with a cheerful "Maximum Sanctimum, Brother S.c.o.t.t O.l.s.e.n." The ending salutation above is a sort of understatement and nice back reference to that. Yes I know, the alliterations in the last paragraph are a bit overbearing, but I could not help myself.
There is more to our correspondence than in the above reference. About a week has gone bye and he hasnt' replied, and most likely never will.
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