Response to request from a Mr. Bernard Adams, received via Interwebs, to receive 35% of 18M USD merely for colluding in some kind of sketchy transfer involving illicit funds diverted from a jailed Chinese Bank Fraud Criminal, awaiting only my bank transfer information:

Dear Mr. Adams:

I trust you came in contact with me through the indomitable efforts of my butler, Smuthers.

Frequently I find Smuthers hard at work upon my computer, searching for exciting new business ventures and investment firms (when he’s not trading messages with that cyberfloozy “Lambypnts73”).

Your letter leads me to surmise that he may have found a more lucrative contact than that “Gravy-By-Mail” business plan that he hooked us up with last month. I had to admit: it sounded good: delicious, steaming gravy, delivered on your schedule, still hot because of a small phosphorus incendiary device cunningly concealed in the base of the “Steemi-Gravyboatpak.”

If any of your clients is aggressively pursuing a “Gravy-By-Mail” business expansion plan, you can tell them for me that the U.S. Postal Service has pending litigation with the “Gravy-By-Mail” Parent Corporation, Gravytech, due to some third-degree phosphorous burns evidently suffered by a couple hundred of their carriers. It’s a shame. Biscuits across the U.S. will be mighty dry without their mailed Gravy.

So, anyway, I do have my own corporation -Pulchritudinous Borax Inc.- and a specific business venture that requires some capital beyond the significant amount I can invest. (As you may know, I am the son of the man who invented the Thermidor, which is still used on Lobsters worldwide. (My father also invented the Lobster Humidor (but most people find a Humid Lobster too mushy to be toothsome))).

Say- is it all right to keep piling up parentheses like I just did there? My writing skills are primitive, as I was home schooled by my Uncle Mildred. Uncle Mildred was not so good with reading and writing, but he was a brilliant man in his own right. He won prizes for his macrame overalls.

So, anyway, my aforementioned business venture: Pulchritudinous Borax, Inc. is engaged in the purchase of Old Typewriters and Rotary Phones, which we get on the cheap at rummage sales and  “interface” with cornburning mini-engines (about the size of a shoebox (unless you’re a clown. Clowns have enormous shoeboxes, and the cornburning mini-engine is smaller than that. Are you a clown, Mr. Adams?)) to produce puffs of ancient Native American smoke-signal code which function to provide communication between technology-loathing survivalists.

Basically, the technology-loathing survivalist dials the number of  a nearby technology-loathing survivalist, types in his message, for instance: “I hear the grid goes down next week! I bet you’re envious of my powdered ham supply now!” and then turns a crank to fire up the corn. Puffs of cornsmoke are wafted aloft, coded in Native American smoke-signal language so that government spies are baffled, and the receiver of the message can puff back with his own message, for instance, “you can stuff your powdered ham. I’m sitting on 900 lbs.of Nutria Jerky!”

The business plan, which Smuthers and I have written in utterly indelible ink on terribly expensive paper, calls for this device to net 1.913 Billion USD by 2029. Convert that into euros and squirt with glee, why don’t you? You are a lucky, lucky man to have emailed me and Smuthers, aren’t you, Mr. Adams? Can I call you Bernard? Did you get a lot of Saint Bernard jokes in school? Tell me, also, do those dogs truly wear small casks of delicious brandy or something on their collars? If not, I am disappointed.

I have been so very lonely these many years since my Uncle Mildred died: he was, of course, the inventor of the “Pop Tart,” although, and here’s a piece of trivia for you, he originally had three unusual flavours in mind: Parsnip, Buffalo and Violet. The fools at Kellogg’s refused to produce any of those flavours, instead going the easy route with various fruit and cinnamon etc. I highly recommend the Parsnip ones, but you can’t buy them. I may still have some old demo models of the Parsnip “Pop Tart” around here somewhere, and could mail one to you if you like. One of the marvelous things about “Pop Tarts” is that you can mail them without packaging, as they are the same size as a postcard. Just write on the back, affix a stamp and “Pop” it in the mail.

You need not worry about my ability to keep this transaction strictly confidential. I am great at keeping secrets. Like, I never told anyone how I once surprised my friend Raoul prancing around in his wife’s negligee and feather boa. He was so embarrassed! To tell you the truth, he actually looked kinda cute. But I never told anyone about it. Except you and the free internet Viagra representative…

So, I guess what concerns me most about your otherwise excellent and really, really realistic proposition is this Yu Zhendong character. He’ll be 53 when he gets out of prison in China in 12 years, and what’s to keep him from coming after us, Mr. Bernard Adams?  After all, around Michigan in the USA,  US$18,500,000.00 (Eighteen Million Five Hundred Thousand United States Dollars) is not what we call chicken feed, and I suspect the same is true in Guangdong Province.

Even 35% of  US $18,500,000.00 (Eighteen Million Five Hundred Thousand United States Dollars) is enough of the long green to inspire a desperate individual to, for instance, disguise themselves as an old lady, rappel over the 15 foot-wall of my palatial new estate, cut an old-lady-shaped hole in my sliding glass patio door for entry and pour a basket of vipers over my head as I lay helpless, asleep.

Now, you ask, do I dare risk this? Sure. I have many enemies already. Black Pete McGillicuddy, “Flaming” Jorge Diego Arturo Fernando Snyder, Captain Harshly, “Ham” Glazier, and Charles Nelson Reilly, to name a few. But I confront you, thus: are YOU truly prepared to live a life of subterfuge, Mr. Bernard Adams? It’s not for everyone. You have to keep a false moustache in your vest pocket at all times. You have to have a dartgun that looks like a nosehair timmer. You have to be able to speak with a convincing Italian accent, like Chico Marx.

Think it over. Take a long, hard look in the mirror and decide if you really want to do this thing. Because as President of the Largest Pigfat Rendering Plant in Southeastern Michigan, when I commit, I’m commited 327%. So if I say I’ll do something, I’ll actually do it three times, and then I’ll do it a little less than a third more. That’s why they call me 327% von Borax. AND I’M GODDAMNED READY TO RIDE THIS MOTHER ALL THE WAY DOWN TO HELL for that 35% of  US $18,500,000.00 (Eighteen Million Five Hundred Thousand United States Dollars). Are you ready?  Or are you kind of a Nancy-Boy, Bernard? Do you wear Pink Lacy Knickers? Aw- do you weep easily? Do you collect doilies and “Precious Moments” figurines? Don’t take it the wrong way. I’m just asking.

Let’s Tango!

God Save the Queen,

Nitro von Borax
1134 Frottage Alley
South Detroit, MI 48131
Fax: 97
CB Handle: Rubber Goat

CLICK HERE TO PURCHASE the experience of having read this thing at your chosen value, and just like that, you are an exemplar of modern interwebs art patronage. Sincere thanks for your support!
~ Love, Nitro