An open letter to The Society Of Agrictultural And Biological Engineers, care of Mr. Erickson George, Group Co-Ordinator UNDP

>> Sunday, January 15, 2012

(No Subject)‏

SOCIETY OF AGRICULTUR​AL AND BIOLOGICAL ENGINEERS


From: SOCIETY OF AGRICULTURAL AND BIOLOGICAL ENGINEERS (eric_george2@aol.com)
Sent: Sat 1/14/12 9:19 AM

SOCIETY OF AGRICULTURAL AND BIOLOGICAL ENGINEERS
AND UNITED NATIONS ORGANISATION
(UNITED NATION DEVELOPMENT PROGRAMME)
OFFICE OF INTERNATIONAL AWARD PAYMENTS AND TRANSFERS.
LIASION OFFICE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA.

Beloved Sir/Madam,

This is to inform individual that the united nations development department is currently initiating an agricultural programme as to help meet the 2012 world food scarcity challenges following the search down last year by our agricultural/food department,we are therefore offering financial support and assistance to beneficiary of this E-mail and the sum $500,000.00.This fund is to be used to establish the underlisted programmes,Fish farm,Poultry farm,cassava farm,crop farm,animal raring and husbandary etc.This programme is designed for second and third country citizens.
(1) Full Name
(2) Address
(3) Telephone Number
(4) Age
(5) Occupation
(6) Country
(7) Sex
(8) Province and state.
(9) Scan of copy driver's license,international passport,working identity card to be attach to your response to this mail.

Our sincere thanks for ur anticipated and good co-operation.

Best Regards,
MR.Erickson George
(GROUP CO-ORDINATOR UNDP)
Email:eric_george28@aol.com
Tel:+(44) 704 572 9282


Dear Society Of Agrictultural And Biological Engineers, care of Mr. Erickson George, Group Co-Ordinator UNDP,

Thank you very, very much for your letter! It arrived at the perfect time, a point in my life when I find myself questioning my direction in life, choice of career, ultimate destiny, etc. I recently entered my fourth decade in life, and I suppose it's inevitable that one finds oneself asking all sorts of existential questions. "Why am I here?" "What is the point of it all?" "What am I doing?" "Where do babies really come from?" (I'm kidding about that last part: I know, babies come from the same place plates are made.)

But you get the idea. I found myself casting about, wandering in my mind, wondering if any of the ambitions I had for myself when I was younger might be fulfilled, when I came upon your letter in my e-mail folder, and there it was! An answer, a light at the end of the tunnel that wasn't the diminishing tail lamps of an accelerating train speeding away from me to leave me to the cold damp darkness!

I have wanted, you see, to be a farmer for many, many years. Most of my life, really. It is an ambition I can trace back to my early childhood, and a song I heard in my adolescence that has always stayed with me. Perhaps you know how it is: some seemingly trivial thing inspires you. It might be a movie, it might be a poem or a short story.

In my case, the story really starts with a song I heard when I was maybe five or six years old; I was riding in the car with my parents, I remember, and the DJ played a song--this was still the era of album-oriented radio--and this amazing, glorious song came on. I remember my parents tried to change the station, but I put up a huge fuss--the panoply of notes coming over the speakers were utterly heavenly, the vocals delivered with magnificent power and the words unfathomable mysteries.

The last notes faded away--a little quickly, I thought, even at that tender age--and then the radio announcer came on and apologized. I will never forget that, how strange it was that he played this incredible, magical song, only to come in afterwards and say that someone had put a record in the wrong sleeve. And then he added something along the lines of, "But if anyone cares, I think that was 'Obelisk' by Spine Tape [sic]. Here's the Deep Purple I meant to play."

I was obsessed, utterly obsessed. I nagged my parents, nagged them for a "Spine Tape" record until they finally relented, and there, under the Christmas tree that year, the very first album I ever owned: Spinal Tap's 1980 metal opus, Shark Sandwich. I tell you, I played that thing to death. Almost literally: when I was nine there was a tragic housefire in the apartment we lived in (happily, the damage was almost entirely confined to my record collection and my favorite shirt, a "Moustache Rides Five Cents" tee that a drunken uncle gave me when I was ten).

Sandwich is an amazing and impossible to overrate album (sadly, I've never been able to find it on CD, though there is a minor label, Braggadocio Records, which is currently reissuing a deluxe edition of the album on 8-track; if only I had an 8-track player). And there is one track on it which has stayed with me forever and is relevant to the lifeline you fine folks have offered to throw me. I am, of course, referring to the legendary song, "Sex Farm".

Now, I have to admit: I'm something of a city boy, and I'm not actually sure exactly what is raised on a sex farm. No doubt it involves much hard work, plowing and planting, really getting in there and bending over, using your hands and perhaps spending a great deal of time on your knees. But if I'm given a chance to become a sex farmer through your offer, I promise you that I will really get in there and pound away at it until the ground is flush and lively, exploding into full bloom. I absolutely think I can rise to the occasion, poking and prodding from dusk to dawn if that's what it takes, or even sweating away all night long if I have to.

I promise that your investment will not be wasted. Invest in my dream, and I promise you, you will be able to visit the most fecund sex farm in the world before I am done.

Now, I recognize, of course, that "sex farm" is not one of the categories you've listed. I hope that this will not prove too formidable an objection, and that your list was not exhaustive or some waiver can be made. Surely, if you're willing to work with people who make animals rarer, you could be willing to work with a humble sex farmer. (If not, perhaps you could suggest an appropriate program offering support and protection to those who want to enter sex farming. If there's a high turnover, maybe I could slip into whatever a current sex farmer is withdrawing from, or perhaps there's some kind of rear entry to sex farming, a way to get in through the backdoor with proper preparation and/or money or connections to lubricate alternative passages?)

I also note that you are very explicit that you are looking for programs in the Second and Third Worlds. At the present time, I am residing in the United States and therefore would be ineligible (I don't live in Alabama). However, I am willing to relocate, and would have no problem starting my sex farm in just about any part of the world you might think needs a hardworking sex farmer. I am also willing to take over an existing concern or perhaps join some sort of "gang" if you know of any sex farm cooperatives or communes looking for someone who can make up for in enthusiasm what he lacks in experience and other attributes. (I also like to think I'm a fast learner.)

Since I don't want to waste your time by turning in an application which will be turned down because sex farms are somehow ineligible for funding, I will refrain from providing the requested information until you've responded to my overture and indicated whether you're receptive to my proposal. I certainly don't assume your program is easy, and if it would help to take you to take you to dinner and get you drunk, I can certainly take that under advisement. (Or would it be even easier still to just give someone the money? I'm flexible.) Whatever, just let me know.

Thank you for the chance to make my deepest dream come true.



Sincerely,
R. Eric VanNewkirk
Standing On The Shoulders Of Giant Midgets




1 comments:

LucyInDisguise Monday, January 16, 2012 at 11:09:00 AM EST  

Actually, since Montana actually meets most qualifications as a second world nation, I think I'd rather aspire to become a dental floss farmer.

Something about all that waxing sound so coooolllllll.

Lucy

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