Happy New Year Dear Friend

From: AISHA GADDAFI Monday, January 4, 2021 6:13 AM To: Undisclosed Recipients

Assalamu Alaikum!

Dear Friend,

I am sending to you my special greetings and Happy New Year from Oman at the city of Muscat.

It is just a Day one gets in contact with someone either by physical approach or through correspondence and by chance I got your email address on frantic google web search and by choice i considered you as my partner and I need your acceptance to stand on my behalf as my Project/Investment Manager/Partner.

My name is Aisha Gaddafi from Libya the only daughter to Former President of Libya Late Col. Muammar Gaddafi. My beloved Husband (late Col. Ahmed al-Qahsi) was killed during the civil war along with my Father and I have three (3) Children with him.

There are available investment funds worth "Twenty Seven Million Five Hundred Thousand United States Dollars" ($27.500.000.00 ). I need a trusted person to be partnered with to invest the funds on my behalf as my Manager,my current asylum status here in Muscat Oman has restricted me the freedom to handle the management of any investment by myself, however, I am interested in you for an investment project assistance in your country, maybe from there, we can build business relationship in the nearest future.

I am willing to negotiate an investment/business profit sharing ratio with you based on the future investment earning profits.

If you are willing to handle this project on my behalf, kindly reply urgently to enable me to provide you more information about the release of the investment funds.

Your Urgent Reply to my private email ( mrsaishagadafi314159etc@qmail.com ) Will Be Appreciated

Best Regards Aisha Gaddafi Email: mrsaishagadafi314159etc@qmail.com

 

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Have anything worth adding? Then try sosayseff@nullabigmail.com
Me? Could probably use the money.

Yeah, Lord - That Would Be Me

I am the lord of the universe. My name is The High & Mighty Thwadmeister Buffletwink. If you displease me I will zap you with my zappy thing, assuming that it's working today. If not I can always step on your tail, That works too.

I am the lord of the universe. You might know me by my other name, Fred, from down the block, but don't let that disguise fool you. I am a mean puppy and must be obeyed, etc. So, if you will excuse me now, I have a can of beans waiting for me on the stove. (Yum!)

I am the lord of the universe. Yo — How's she hanging? Got any idea where I can get my shoes shined?

I am the lord of the universe, and I mean it. You don't think so, eh? Well gimme a minute to get organized and change into my costume and then stand back, cuz Ima gon show you a thing or two. Betcha.

I am the lord of the universe. My middle name is Bob. Yes, I have a middle name, and it's Bob. I tell ya — you don't want to mess with no Bob. Bobs are not all warm and cuddly like the usual Twadmeisters, at least where I come from, but if you behave yourself I might let you buy me a beer next Thursday afternoon, weather permitting.

I am the lord of the universe and I'm not that good at checkers. Does anyone play checkers any more? I haven't really kept up on the latest in the world of table games, but I'm still a mean S.O.B., except around my pussycat. After a busy day of throwing lightning bolts around and all such-like, I really enjoy coming home to my friendly pussycat. His name is Elmo. We eat pizza and have a few beers and watch cartoons on TV. Pineapple and ham pizza, and I dare you to make a face, smartypants, I just dare you.

 

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Have anything worth adding? Then try sosayseff@nullabigmail.com
Me? Having fun. Never tried this before.

Father Bother

There are many benefits to becoming a father. So I hear. Please send me your top 10 list in a stamped, self-addressed return envelope so I can send it back to you without messing with any of the stuff inside.

I hear that there is a thing called "Father's Day". I have been, am now, and plan to remain completely ignorant of everything that entails, especially all of the secret rites and rituals. End of story.

That guy across the street? The one with the paper bag over his head? No the other one — the one hiding behind the bush — I hear that he's a father. Seems to have it figured out. But I don't want to be like him either.

Mom asked me if I want to grow up and become a father. I asked if she had anyone in mind, and she said "No, but definitely not like you-know-who." Yeah, so maybe I'll stick with growing lettuce.

If I were to become a father, there would be only one more bad example to point at, and what sort of future is in that? Another guy riding the bus all day, maybe, muttering to himself. And that's what I do now anyway.

 

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Have anything worth adding? Then try sosayseff@nullabigmail.com
Me? Nope.

Eee Ell Eff

Dear Diary: I've decided to become an elf. You might have already heard about this, so I shan't write down all the details for you. The tailor says that my outfit should be ready soon, except for the feathers, but I'm hopeful.

Dear Diary: I finally remembered to wash between my toes last night. Still feels a bit strange down there.

Dear Diary: I think I'm glad to be as tall as I am. If I wasn't this tall, how tall would I be anyway?

Dear Diary: Today is the anniversary of the day I graduated from kindergarten. Sadly, things have not been the same since.

Dear Diary: Did you hear that sound? I'm not sure if I did. One of us should probably go and take a look around.

Dear Diary: I wonder if toilets ever get lonely. Just a thought. I'll probably leave it at that for now.

 

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Have anything worth adding? Then try sosayseff@nullabigmail.com
Me? Already got my pointy cap on.

Lonesome Alone Always

I am the Lonesome Cowboy. Never been kissed, save by blowing sand and dust, always alone, drifting like a thin haze, habitually silent and still, waiting. Waiting for "her", or for what, I perhaps cannot say, but waiting, ever alone. Still.

I am the Lonesome Cowboy, hair on my head, hat on my knee, sitting here against a tree, shaded by uncaring leaves, humming a simple tune while waiting for the night, my single friend.

I am the Lonesome Cowboy, reminiscing, remembering all my friends throughout the decades. I do believe I had a mother because I must have, though I know little beyond that. Nothing in fact beyond that, being only a supposition in itself. And now, here and into the future? Not a glimmer, my friend. Nothing at all to light my lonesome life.

I am the Lonesome Cowboy, startled awake by a sudden sharp noise. I should know by now — only a horse fart. Time for a tune-up then. So it is back to sleep now and up early then to face another day full of emptiness and nothing to do.

I am the Lonesome Cowboy, walking alone by night, content to move by candle light, scuffing the earth in my heavy worn boots, giving now and then, on my flute, an occasional toot.

I am the Lonesome Cowboy. Any time I suggest to my horse what he might do, he only votes "nay", as if we both indeed had such a vote. That is why I try to stay off by myself, even when I am alone, which is always.

 

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Have anything worth adding? Then try sosayseff@nullabigmail.com
Me? Yes, I am. And you?

Invites d’Eeeps

My love, Echinoia Eeeps, is the real deal. She had me dig my grave yesterday so we'll be ready when the big day comes. For now though, she's using it as the temporary Eeeps Family garbage pit and cat litter recycling center. I think maybe I can hardly wait.

My love, Echinoia Eeeps, has been a bit sleepy as of late. While she naps I am required to lie on the floor at the foot of her bed and shoo away the rats. (They love her dearly, possibly even more than I do, but they cause her no end of sneezy fits.)

My love, Echinoia Eeeps, is flying a flag of truce. Once she gets it properly aired out and is sure that all the spider nests have been shaken free, she wants me to wear it for a while, or at least until I offer to surrender. Until then there's a good chance that she'll probably keep shooting.

My love, Echinoia Eeeps, invited me to the Eeeps Family ritual end-of-year pig immolation. It's quite a thing down at the Eeeps Family compound. (And no, they don't actually burn any pigs. These days they just show their "grand prize winner") a photo album of days gone by and generally receive complete compliance. Instead of a ritual bonfire, the family forms a ring and dances around the lucky porker while holding aloft an array of flaming torches. After they're all tuckered out from the dancing, they slaughter the pig (SURPRISE!) and roast it, so some things haven't changed, but at least the agonized squealing is a thing of the past, and the meal is pretty much as good without any of it.

My love, Echinoia Eeeps, is experimenting. She wants to make strawberry shortcake with wheels, for people who prefer their dessert to go. One distinct obstacle will be training desserts to follow simple commands like "go", "stay", "serve yourself", and so on. So far, she's gotten a dog or two to cooperate, but they don't taste good, even with whipped cream. Still...

My love, Echinoia Eeeps, wants to build a new home for her pet budgie, Hermann the Terminator. She wants this thing made from common and natural materials like dirt, twigs, and dried elephant droppings. (Natural to her world, more or less.) I'm supposed to be in charge, since my appearance doesn't usually frighten Hermann, though it can at times send him into a homicidal rage, which is the story of what happened to the local kindergarten teacher a while back, if you remember those headlines. But luckily we have a lot of elephant turds around here, and my body armor is all polished and up-to-date, budgie-wise.

No Pants Today

I came home early and caught the cat driving around the living room in his tank. He knows that he's not supposed to be doing that. (We have a formal agreement on this.) He does know, yes, but it is his house, so I try not to nag too awful much.

The cat is going on vacation, so I'll have to be doing all the napping for the next couple of weeks. At least I won't be having to eat stale dog food this time, and I know where the catnip is hidden. Wish me luck.

All suggestions relating to staffing changes must be approved by the house cat. No exceptions. Catnip bribes will not work this time either, but if you want to try licking me, I'm game.

Are pharmaceuticals hard to make? The cat doesn't think so. I may go into business. Anyone ever try depressants? Seems like there could be unrecognized pent up demand for something like that. I'll get around to it when I feel a bit more chipper.

Dear Diary — Poop on it. Poop on it all. Except for Merton. No poops on Merton. He's my P'Cat Overlord and does not accept poops on his self. So OK then — Poops all around but only for the ones what can handle it.

I just got off the phone with my bank. They don't like my money. They say it's too old and dirty, and no, they won't give it back, because. Just because. And if my attitude doesn't improve, they're going to repossess my pants and take away my cat, Fred. Fred says that he knows nothing about all this, though I happened to notice that his suitcase is packed, and he's wearing my pants.

 

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Have anything worth adding? Then try sosayseff@nullabigmail.com
Me? Can't seem to keep my litter box clean any more.

Been That Done There

Captain Anonymous spent the afternoon at the Captains' Table with Captain Automatic, reminiscing about old times, after which they went back to their jobs as contract janitors.

Captain Desperate respectfully requests you to send money, starting now. Or sooner.

Captain Doofus is claiming to be my father, which sounds about right. Mainly he wants to be sure that he will have someone to inherit his rubber band collection (the world's largest, he says). I can't wait. (Ummm — though maybe I can, come to think of it.)

Captain Hemorrhagic Fever isn't usually invited to weddings and such, but still, surprisingly, does manage to get around and have a lot of fun, sometimes with people you already know.

Captain I Ain't No Dang Sissy bit a snake, and then the snake returned the favor. We all cheered. The funeral is tomorrow at 11. (Nobody is going.)

Captain Mumblebunny really went to town yesterday. He's been threatening to do just that for years, and now here we are. First thing, we locked the gate behind him and turned out all the lights, after hanging a "For Sale" sign on the fence. And as soon as we get a few minutes of free time we'll plant a bunch of land mines around the perimeter. That should hold us for at least a few days while we gather our thoughts. So we hope.

 

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Have anything worth adding? Then try sosayseff@nullabigmail.com
Me? Having ever longer talks with the cat about the real Meaning Of leif. Lefi. Lief. Life. Whatever.