“Book”

I’ve mentioned from time-to-time that I’ll soon be appearing in print. Well loyal Duck fans, that time is now. The lovely Thumper has created Boxer Shorts, an anthology of short stories put together to raise money for the Head Monkey’s bandwidth, which we drooling fanboys have been burning up at an alarming rate. I’m represented by “King Kong Memorial High”, the edited highlights of my schooldays, featuring genitalia, random acts of violence, pornography and near-death experiences. I’m led to believe that the other works in the anthology are pretty damn good.

You, dear reader, can own this piece of literary history by the wonders of Interweb mail order. Either follow this linky to Amazon (where the three to five weeks dielivery is hugely pessimistic), or direct from the publishers Inkblot Books, paying either through paypal or by snail mail. If you go this route, tell Thumper that Scary sent you. Buy-o!


"This time next year, Rodders, we'll be millionaires"

A month ago, I decided to see just how much spam I could get in the space of thirty days, and the result is an all-too-predictable "fucking loads". Instead of deleting my spam unread, I have opened every last item looking for two things: Penis enlargement offers and Nigerian scam e-mails.

The 419 Project: It's quite possibly the biggest industry in West Africa, dangling the carrot of millions of dollars in the face of the gullible to get them to part with thousands in fees and bribes, and you'll be amazed how many people are foolish enough to get sucked in. This scam was doing the rounds even before Al Gore invented the internet, and e-mail just happened to provide a cheap alternative to those expensive faxes and old-fashioned letter-writing.

In thirty days, I received fifty-one Nigerian-style e-mails from various parts of Africa, the UK, Europe and the United States. The largest sum was 82,000,000 US dollars offered by the family of the Iraqi finance minister, while the smallest, and most common, were the dispossessed Zimbabwe farmers who could only offer me 10% of five million. It was a common theme, that these scammers would jump on any tragedy to make a buck.

In total, I was offered USD 1,170,306,000 in one calendar month, or twice the Gross Domestic Product of Djibouti.

The best mail, however, was this one - a tragic tale of death, devorse (sic), and an evil mother who won't let her loving son touch the inheritance:

"Dear: Friend. Good day. I am Mr. Tony Fred I am 14 years old I live in Inverness Scotland (UK) before my father die, now I live with my mother in London (UK). My father is from Inverness Scotland (UK) and my mother is from London (UK). My late father Mr Fred was an engineer in Inverness Scotland (UK) before he die in a car acedent last year July 5th 2002. He left $50M (fivty million dollars in his account before he die."

London? That's only just round the corner. I shall befriend the erstwhile Master Fred, and rip the little fucker off for every penny he's got.

The Wang Project Ah! The whole point of the experiment, as it were. I spent June collecting e-mails which promised they could increase the size of my old man from anything between one inch and five inches in length, by means of pills, potions, creams, anything short of heavy weights and drastic surgery.

Naturally, it's all a massive swindle, the only thing that's going to grow is the scammer's bank balance. For a similar effect to what's actually in the crap they send you, I advise going out into the garden and eating the first plant you can lay your hands on. Actually don't, I don't want your death on my conscience.

OK, so the long and the short of it. In the thirty days of June, I was hit with 187 Grow Your Penis e-mails, offering a total growth of my mighty mallet of fifty-two feet and seven inches. Additionally, I've also been offered the chance of getting "bigger balls", and frankly that comes as quite a relief with a wang that huge - it was getting totally out of proportion; and a special cream that will grow my breasts by fifteen cup sizes. At this rate, I wouldn't want to leave the house.

I am now entertaining offers for a career in the porn industry, or a starring role in Viz Comic alongside Buster Gonad at the very least.

I've lost count how often this tripe has crashed my mail browser, locked up my PC or just thrown up unwanted porn onto my screen. After this month's ordeal by filth, I'm just pleased to have my life return to the relative sanity of the genuine correspondance that makes up the other 5% of mail I receive. The conclusions to be drawn are simple. No right thinking person ever looks at spam, it is a modern scourge that should be eradicated, by violent means if need be. If any politican wants a hand despatching the wankers responsible, they've got a more than willing executioner in myself. I've got enough rope.

The movie poll results have been held over until later in the week.

Shit.

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