by JIM KNIPFEL
September 6, 2009
About Goddamn Time
I don’t mean to brag, but I’m better than the rest of you. And I’m not the one who’s saying so—the United Fucking Nations is. When I checked my email Monday morning, I found the following note waiting for me:
THE UNITED NATIONS OFFICE AT GENEVA
WORLD WIDE WEB HUMANITARIAN SERVICES AWARD
UNOG, Palais des Nations, 12Geneva 10, Switzerland
THE UNITED NATIONS IN THE HEART OF EUROPE
Our Ref: TC/NN/UNOG/XX028
Congratulations!!! This is to officialy inform you that you have been selected from a random selection of individuals email addresses, from almost the entire internet email providers from 100 Countries around the World, whom will be awarded a contract worth of $3,000,000.00. (Three Million United States Dollars). This money is to be used to support humanitarian services/activities and to help carry out a selfless service to mankind e.g. helping the poor, building of Schools, libraries, care for the less privilege and as well as developing local communities around the world.
It is on this note that I, Ban Ki-moon the Secretary-General UNITED NATIONS contacts you. I once again try to notify you as my earlier letter was returned undelivered. I hereby attempt to reach you again by this same email address stated here and I wish to notify you that you have been AWARDED this GREAT CONTRACT and a total sum of $3,000,000.00. (Three Million United States Dollars) have been reserved for you under the safe custody of our approved central system,FEDERAL RESERVE BANK,NEW YORK.USA
Until today, U.N. have helped many lives in developing countries around
the world E.g. Vietnam, India, Ghana, South Africa, USA, Burkina Faso, England ,Congo, Denmark, Malaysia, Indonesia, Egypt, Kazakhstan, Japan
E.T.C and have also developed some charitable projects which have won the United Nations numerous of awards.
Yes, it seems these past two decades of selfless volunteer work with homeless retarded midget lesbian vets has finally paid off. According to Dr. Shamalama-dingdong here, all I need to do to collect that cool $3 mil is send all my personal information to the “UN Attorney General in Charge of Remittance Procedures,” and agree to give him any further information he might require, and he’ll cut me a check. So in a matter of days, that three million smackeroos will be ALL MINE! (To, umm, help the less fortunate lead richer, more meaningful lives, of course).
At first a few things seemed a little funny about Malachi-doodoo’s letter. I wouldn’t have expected, for instance, someone from the U.N. to use quite so many exclamation points. He also seemed to be having trouble with the shift and caps lock keys on his keyboard—but hey, he wouldn’t be the first guy, right? And why would they include “The United Nations in the Heart of Europe” in the mailing address? It’s not like it’s a hotel or anything. Also, I actually know a fellow who’s worked as a translator at the U.N., so I guess I would’ve figured that before sending a letter out—especially one as important as this—an official over there would get the grammar and punctuation checked over by someone who actually knows the language in question. But then again, maybe all the translators were on a lunch break, and Dr. Riptide-poontang wanted to get this out to the recipient (that being me) as quickly as possible. That makes sense. Finally, I never knew that the U.N. considered Japan, England, and the U.S. among the world’s “developing nations”—but who knows? In these hard economic times, we can all use a little boost, right?
Morgan suggested that I contact these people directly to stubbornly (even ridiculously) demand answers to these, and any other questions on any topic that might come to mind, before passing along any personal information. I decided against that, figuring these people know what they’re doing. They certainly know a deserving humanitarian when they see one (even if they just plucked the name at random off a list of millions of email address). A gentle, earnest, good-hearted soul—someone who puts the needs of strangers far above his own, even if the strangers in question are smelly and ugly and obviously undeserving to sup of the milk of human kindness.
Besides, why pester them for details when there's three million dollars at stake? Why not just accept it graciously? I mean, can you imagine what I could do with that kind of scratch?
That was the question. Bubbles-wingwang’s letter said something about a contract. That’s probably got something to do with that “good deeds” business.
Okay, there’s no way in hell I’m traveling anywhere to bring light and enrichment to the less fortunate or any other such crap. I’m no good with traveling. It makes me cranky. So if they insist that some humanitarian bullhooey get done, it’s gonna get done within walking distance, which is as far as I’m willing to go. Besides, why go all the damn way to North Symbionia or wherever when there’s so much good that can be done right here in our own backyard?
I took another look at the U.N.’s suggestions, and I’ll tell you, there are already enough schools in this neighborhood. Way too many, if you ask me, so we don’t need any more of those. What, to attract even more of the little bastards out here to cluster on the sidewalks and scream in the delis and ride their little scooters into me? No thanks. And Christ, there are already two libraries within walking distance, so another one would just be redundant. What are they good for, anyway? Libraries are just places where the homeless go to sleep and cheap asses go to read my books and rent eighties movies for free. Besides, do you realize how much it costs to build one of those places? You can’t buy a house in this neighborhood for three million, let alone build a new fucking library. So that’s out for purely practical reasons.
Okay, the big thing they seemed to be pushing was “helping the poor.” I guess that’s a good thing (depending on the poor person in question of course—a lot of them seem pretty pushy and ungrateful, if you ask me).
Looking around the neighborhood, though—because again, traveling to Burma or wherever’s out of the question—there don’t seem to be that many poor people around here. You look at those houses, you look at the cars and the clothes and the strollers and the shopping bags and the boutiques and crap, it’s clear these people have enough money to keep them happy—or at least to drown out the voices that tell them they aren’t. What’s more, wouldn’t you think that if you were poor, you’d stop having kids? I mean, kids are a big expense! So these people must be rolling in it. Walk around here and . . . Jesus!
In fact it didn’t take long to realize that if we’re going to be honest about this “humanitarian” and “helping the poor” hoo-hah, the poorest guy in this whole neighborhood is probably the one typing this story right now. If I didn’t have a sweet landlord and I hadn’t lived here for twenty years, there’s no way in hell I could afford to live here. Lucky for me I found a bar where I pretty much drink for free (depending on who’s bartending at the time). Apart from that I can’t really afford anything around here.
So yeah, I’m the poorest guy in the area, so I’m the one who deserves all the humanitarian support. Lord knows I’m not gonna be getting it from any of these fuckers. They’re too busy buying shit in Tibetan boutiques and sending contributions to PBS. If they see a homeless guy outside, they call 911. They don’t even like being in the same grocery store with me. Well fuck them, I say. Humanitarian or not, I deserve that fucking three million bucks, and just to spite their filthy sanctimonious asses I’m gonna blow it all on crap I can’t even use! Sports cars and giant flat screen TVs and solid gold underpants and gorilla fur shower caps and drugs! Lots and lots of drugs! Whaddya think of that, U.N. Smarties? HA! Tell me this—who the hell’s gonna spend that money more wisely? The goddamn Dalai Lama? Yeah don’t bet on it, him and his taste for speedboats and Asian hookers.
And while we’re at it, all those retard midget lesbian cripples can just blow me, okay? Goddamn stupid buncha whiners is all they are.
All right then. If you’ll excuse me, I need to send Mr. Dickwhack-hoodoo over at the U.N. all of my personal information and get me a whopping check.
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