Part IV of IV

"Is he feeding Bananarama?!" McDougal yelled, frightening the server under our table and knocking a ramekin of syrup to the floor.

There are many offenses McDougal classifies as punishable by death. I didn't think feeding bananarama was one of them, but I decided I wasn't going to stick around to find out. I grabbed one of the unspilled ramekins and threw it at the man's family. This caused a slight commotion, just enough for me to put a sack over McDougal's head and run out to the parking lot.

Sack over his head. What a terrible idea. As soon as my foot hit the pavement, I felt a giant mitt come down with the force of a steel press on my right shoulder.

McDougal must move at the speed of light.

I turned and began to recite the lyrics to "Gimme Three Steps" (which is a kind of McDougal lullaby), but it had no effect. The sack was still over his head.

"They are free," he moaned and I looked, the Denny's father had unchained two of the Bananaramans. They were clambering into his Honda Odyssey.

The ground began to tremble under my feet.

I turned back to face McDougal, who had inhaled the bag and was swallowing it as I laid eyes on him.

"Sinner," he said. "REPENT!"

I'm a Branch Davidian and am unsure of how to repent. I told McDougal as much.

It was at this point he pulled out his PDA and looked up the "Repentance" section of the "Catholicism" entry on Wikipedia. We sat down for about 15 minutes while he read aloud to me (around the bag in his throat) and answered any questions I might have had (of which there were 3). Once we agreed eye to eye on the finer points of the concept, we resumed positions and he punched me in the neck.

You know how freakin' big McDougal is, right? And strong. Like a goddamn bear. So, obviously, the neck punch took my head completely off. I felt like such an idiot ... my head just lying there on the ground, staring up at my body as it teetered and after a moment or two, collapsed in a heap.

McDougal then picked my head up by the hair and hurled it as hard as he could at the fleeing Odyssey.

As much as I hated going through the rear window of the van, I was absolutely delighted when I landed face down in one of the bananaramans' crotch.

And that's basically how it was the whole way until we got to Tampa.

Which Pills?

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Smokestacks and Pipe Bombs (Part III of IV)

I pull the lichen off my sack and throw it at the blonde one in Bananarama, and she quickly eats it. McDougal never lets the Bananarama girls eat on these kinds of trips and I feel bad, I usually hide fries and stuff in my pockets and sneak them when McD is asleep. She kind of grunts at me in appreciation.

"Okay Max, stop this car and let's find some drugs," he yells, even though the car is sitting quietly in a Denny's parking lot and my name is not Max.

"Will do," I say, and open what's left of the passenger door. We walk into Denny's, where people get shot all the time, and sit down in a sticky booth. I try to imagine what we must look like, McDougal with his He-Man costume and giant stuffed purple tiger, me completely nude. God, how did I come to this.

"We'll have the best drugs you have, and some flapjacks," he orders, and then adds "and I'm running for President."

Next thing I know the server is under the table sucking off McDougal, I'm smoking PCP out of a Chinese bong, and we have more blueberry pancakes than we need. I offer some (pancakes) to the family sitting next to us and they decline, so I quietly ask the dad if he'll sneak some out to the 80s girl band chained to the axle of our car. He agrees, and I relish the small victories of life.

Moss Back Lichen (Part II of IV)

I woke to find a mouth ful of Flexerol. Or Flexerel. Flexiril? The one where in the commercial the woman is throwing a dying mouse to her cat and Still the Same is playing behind the medical warnings: you could lose your genitals, don't take with Prohaxenol, you may have reflux, don't run faster than a fast walk, you could die.

I look over and see McDougal is asleep at the wheel. Well, at the wheel is generous, as he is actually in the back fucking Bananarama, and asleep, but you get the point. It's a colloquialism. I drop my eyes down and see that the accelerator has a brick on it. I look up and see the sunroof has a flag of Switzerland flying out of it. I look down and see my scrotm has lichen scotch-taped all over it.

"McDougal!" I whisper.

What the crap are these? Raisins? (Part I of IV)

McDougal stole a boat. Not like a yacht or anything. Just some stupid-assed row boat or john boat or canoe or something.

Thing is, there's no goddamn water here.

Nights I can't sleep because I never know when I'm gonna open my eyes to see the big man standing at the foot of my bed with a molotov cocktail and a disemboweled otter or something.

He wants to raft the Tennessee Tombigbee, raping and pillaging the power substations along the way. Says we'll live off the fat of the land, we'll get our food from trees, our sex from local shops and gas stations, our spirits from drinking methanol.

There's no such thing as methanol.

I tell him, you can't run for president and rape people at gas stations at the same time. He responds by cuffing me with a broken chalice and eating my Wii.

"You have NO IDEA what men of power can do," he says to me.

"That was a line from Revenge," I tell him.

"No way out," he says.

"Oh yeah. I forgot those were two different movies. Man, Costner loves him some formula drama doesn't he?"

"No way out," he says again.

"I Know. I know."

"Seriously," McDougal says. "You're going to die here."

So I grab a satchel and pack the necessary accoutrements for a boat trip with McDougal: lotion, pears, grenadine, four mongol (mongrel? Maybe both?) children, boom box, pack of blank cd's, some rainwater in a goose bladder, eight Fortune magazines from 2003, and a pile of nickels.

"That's it?" McDougal asks. He seems pissed.

I run through our last outing. What the fuck am I forgetting?

"Banana-fucking-Rama!" McDougal barks.

Shit. I forgot Bananarama. And I got no idea where they are.

"Relax," McDougal says. I follow him outside where he opens his trunk and there they are ... the angels, Siobhan, Sarah, and Karen.

"Hello, Ladies!" I say with a smile.

Karen immediately and violently vomits all over the trunk, my pants, and the asphalt.

"GUFFAW!", McDougal guffaws.

"Three of my world famous Syrup of Ipecac Martinis and look who can't hold her jelly!"

I feel bad for Bananarama, but fuck, they signed up for this shit. No pain no gain.

We peel out of the driveway, McD and me in the front seat, Bananarama in the trunk, and the satchel left back in the puke on the asphalt. All of us are nude and bruised from the neck down. I can see that McDougal is heading South, which is in no way the direction of the Tombigbee, but I don't bother to tell him.

I know what's south, and all I can do is drift to sleep to gather strength.

Treatise on the Retarded

Treatise on the Retarded
A position paper for the McDougal for President Campaign

By Xavier Alonzo Mercado McDougal IV

I've killed a man.

That is not to say, "In my lifetime, I have killed someone." As a veteran soldier, freedom fighter, and lifelong meth addict, I've killed scores of men.

I mean that as in, there is a bleeding corpse at my feet as I type this treatise.

In my lifetime, there have been men whose deaths I have lamented. I've even wept at the passing of some. I have, however, no second thoughts, remorse, or concern for this headless sack of shit lying crumpled now at my feet.

The Red Robin offers infinite steak fries as an integral part of the Red Robin dining experience. They offer infinite french fries, towers of onion rings, and some of the best Goddamn hamburgers in the business.

Last evening I dined at the Red Robin.

And this until-very-recently-bumbling bag of monkey shit was assigned to service me.

My dining expectations are not extravagant. There are no complex riders or special requests for hand jobs from Peruvian nuns or dodecahedron-shaped mackerel fillets. My requests are simple. Keep the beer and steak fries coming (don't ask, just bring them), deliver the appetizer in under eight minutes, and my meal within six minutes following, don't speak to me unless spoken to, never look me in the eyes, and NEVER touch me.

These are the understood rules of the serving class. They have been passed on from medieval serving winches to Elizabethan footmen to college students and flunkies working in chain restaurants.

This festering sack of horse entrails must have missed that communication.

These corporate deals, they have training programs. Days of training focused on how to roll silverware, pre-bus tables, and refill my Goddamn Dr. Pepper. It's not codebreaking for the NSA for fuck's sake. It's delivering food to tables of diners. If you're too stupid to remember MY FUCKING TOWER OF ONION RINGS, yet you irresponsibly accept the position as foodserver, then you deserve whatever fate I as patron and holder of the American Express Black card deem appropriate.

Should you fail to live up to your end of the deal, you deserve torture, mutilation, and eventual death at the hands of a 450-pound meth addicted gorilla. For fuck's sake, he never even mentioned the infinite steak fries!

The bleeding heart anti-death penalty banana peel humping hymens who would weep for this man's passing would do well to spend a little less time bemoaning the fate of sinners and a little more time lessening the need for future executions.

I do not know from whence came this notion that all human lives are to be valued as equal. Is Tonya Harding to be considered of equal value to John Wesley? Is Albert Brooks of no lesser value than Albert Camus?

We all start valueless ~ creatures of the happenstance of those who made us. We add or subtract value with each passing day. We define ourselves by our actions, thoughts, and deeds. This value is cumulative. Beat a hooker to death with a rubber mallet on Tuesday, and rescue a chimney sweep from a rabid alligator on Wednesday and the impact to your value score is a net zero.

But it is not only in matters of life and death that one gains value. Did you properly wipe your ass? No? You've just lost value. If you chose to live as part of society, brush your fucking teeth and CONTRIBUTE.

I don't care if you're the mayor of Shitville, Indiana, or a fucking bathroom attendant. If you're going to live off the fat of others - that is sell your time and skills as a service to someone (e.g. corporation, private business, pimp), then fucking do your job.

You don't deserve a paycheck and you sure aren't going to get a Goddamn tip from me.

Show up at my table 19 times with the same shit-eating question, "You doin' alright here?"

No I'm not fucking alright.

Where are my Goddamn onion rings?

Oh, you forgot.

Now I have to cancel my plans for the night, wait until you get off work, club you in the head with a bag of oranges, toss you in the trunk of this stolen Buick Electra and spend the rest of the night teaching you the intricacies of foodservice.

Look, shitmouths. No one is going to fix your shit for you. Figure out what you want to do and do it. Do it to the best of your ability. Don't fuck around. If you can't do the job you've whored yourself out to do, then find another job.

Otherwise, I'm coming for you.

Oh, the Hu-Manatee!

Lakehurst, Florida - An explosion at a political fundraising barbecue has caused the death of seventeen endangered manatees in a Florida wildlife sanctuary. The cause of the blast is still under investigation, but initial reports indicate that strong winds caused a large inflatable gorilla to topple over, striking several grills. Sources close to the campaign indicated that the cash-strapped campaign had filled the decorative pink gorilla with propane gas, rather than rent fuel storage tanks for the grills. Officials from the Lakehurst Manatee Sanctuary reported that seventeen manatees were killed in the blast, and an additional twenty-four were injured. The manatee is listed as an endangered species.

The fundraiser was for the campaign of a mysterious independent candidate know only as "McDougal." The candidate's campaign manager requested that the Lakehurst Manatee Sanctuary serve as the location of their fundraiser because, until this incident, the candidate had been billing himself as strong on environmental issues. However, McDougal provoked a public outcry after the explosion when he quipped that the charred bodies of the deceased manatees were to be ground up and canned under the name "Beef of the Sea." McDougal's campaign manager issued a statement apologizing for these remarks and stating that the meat would be donated to area homeless shelters. The manatee is also known as the sea cow.

Campaign Manager's Journal

My new management philosophy (don't try to direct McDougal's behavior, only try to control the damage) had done wonders for my health, however I'm afraid it has caused the campaign to slow to a crawl. The big man is easily distracted and it his hard to keep his momentum up. I thought the unveiling of our new Iraq strategy would be the shot in the arm that the campaign needed, but the Liberal Media has cast doubt on the abilities of Manuel Noriega to effectively subdue a war torn nation like Iraq, given that he has been out of the military strongman game for so long. Some of them have even had the gall to suggest that the Middle East does not need another despot. I would suggest that dictatorship is the only form of governance that those people understand, but we'll save those talking points for the debate...

But, to my surprise, the issue from McDougal's platform that attracted attention this week was not foreign policy, but the environment. Since the United Nations recently released its report on climate change, reducing emissions has become the hot-button issue of the week. McDougal seems an unlikely candidate to be leading the pack on environmental issues, but the other candidates have only offered vague solutions. McDougal, on the other hand, has been coming up with concrete solutions, like his plan to produce biodiesel using the algae that grows in California's Salton Sea.

This plan recently came to the attention of the good people at the Sierra Club, who invited McDougal to speak at one of their fundraisers. Unfortunately, as our Campaign Convoy was pulling in to the convention center, McDougal chose that moment to open up the emergency escape hatch in the bus's roof and throw out several pounds of assorted fast food cups and wrappers. Several members of the Sierra Club were struck by this errant garbage, walking away splattered with ketchup and chocolate non-dairy milkshake product.

This could have spelled disaster for the campaign. It does not look good for a candidate for President to engage in littering in front of dozens of prominent environmental lobbyists. The old me would have been tearing his hair out. But that would have been a waste of time. Instead, I sent the interns on a trip to the city dump, while the speech writers and I went to work at a furious pace.

Half an hour later, McDougal took the podium in front of a hostile crowd, carrying a large black Hefty bag. They immediately confronted him about the litter. McDougal calmly smiled, reached into the sack and pulled out a bulky white item. While the crowd worked themselves into a frenzy of indignity, McDougal surveyed the room. He picked out a man about halfway back, who seemed to be shouting the loudest and hurled the item at him. If the he had caught the bundle he probably would have been OK, but he just stuck out his arm, like a sissy, to shield his face. The bundle burst open, showering him with its contents.

"You know what that is?" McDougal asked.

The man just stammered and started to retch.

"That's right," McDougal continued, "it's a disposable diaper. A very used disposable diaper. One of the earliest, in fact. As you can see, it is much bulkier than the current version. I doubt I could have gotten one of the new ones much beyond the third row. I got it in your city dump."

A murmur was running through the crowd as they backed away from the retching, shit-covered man.

"Now, in the open air, that shit would have dried to a crust and flaked off decades ago. But there's a funny thing about garbage dumps... Here, take a look at this..."

McDougal reached into the sack again. The crowd cringed. But McDougal only pulled out a newspaper. It was somewhat yellowed, but otherwise intact. He glanced at the date.

"1952."

McDougal paused for affect.

"See, organic matter really needs two things to break down. Oxygen and water. But what happens at a landfill is, all this garbage is packed into a plastic-lined hole in the ground, then sealed with a clay cap. So the trash just sits and builds up, higher and higher, year after year, and even the most fragile material never gets a chance to biodegrade. Don't take my word for it though, take a look for yourself!"

McDougal began tossing items from the sack. The members of the Sierra Club jumped up from their seats and made a mad dash for the doors, which, of course, we had locked ahead of time. We wouldn't want anyone escaping before McDougal got his message across. Meanwhile, the campaign staff remained seated in the front rows, clutching plastic sheeting like the crowd at a Gallagher show, and cheering wildly. I was too busy ducking under this plastic to avoid the occasional stray maggot or drip of putrefaction to see all of the items McDougal threw out, but I do remember seeing an open jar of spoiled mayonnaise, a dead skunk and a sickly gray-green T-bone steak. It was like Mardi Gras in hell, and the Sierra Club, still crowded around the locked door, made an easy target.

"Nasty, isn't it? And the hell of it is, in the open air... say in a parking lot, for example... most of this stuff would have been completely gone in a month. What really chaps my ass is, we're paying for all this! Waste disposal is a multi-billion dollar industry, and most of it is just smoke and mirrors. We're lining their pockets so they can hide stuff that would otherwise rot for free. Out of sight out of mind, right? Well, that's just the way they want it. The less time you spend thinking about where your trash goes, the better for them. Of course, we can't just throw our trash in the ditch... Because littering is ILLEGAL. And in most cities you can't even burn your trash. You know who is behind all these laws? THE GARBAGE LOBBY! They've been paying off the politicians left and right so that they will legislate away every option other than sending your garbage through them. For a price. Hey, Gretta Granola, better watch out, they'll be coming for your compost heap next! That's why, if elected President, my first priority will be repealing all litter laws! I don't want my trash hidden away by backroom deals, I want it out where I can see it! I demand accountability!"

McDougal marched, triumphantly off stage. We, the campaign staff, filed quickly out after him before the shell-shocked members of the Sierra Club had a chance to think about what had really just happened in there. I heard that they were stuck with a pretty hefty clean up bill from the convention center. I also heard that, after seeing the bill, a few of them were grumbling about "the garbage lobby." That's just what I heard though...

We hope you have all enjoyed Behind the Scenes Week!

As promised, the Friends of McDougal Behind the Scenes week is being capped off with a Special Announcement! In a few weeks we will be giving one lucky reader the chance to...

WIN AN INTERNSHIP WITH MCDOUGAL!

The winner will be appointed to an unpaid internship with the McDougal Presidential Campaign! They will do valuable work for the campaign, shaking hands, kissing babies and bribing local officials! The winner will attend several campaign appearances and even have the opportunity for McDougal himself to make a campaign appearance in their own home town! Your friends will be surprised and your enemies dismayed when they see what a big shot you have become, hobknobbing with important National Political Figures! Best of all, the winner will have the pleasure of seeing photographs of themselves in the commission of their Important Campaign Duties posted on this very internet web page! Contest rules and dates will be announced as we make them up, so stay tuned to this weblog, your official home for the McDougal Campaign Internship Contest 2007!


Void where prohibited. All internships are unpaid. Winners will provide for their own travel expenses, food and lodging. Contest ends when we say it ends. The terms used in selection of the winner will be completely arbitrary, and subject entirely to the whims of the authors of this weblog. Friends of McDougal takes no responsibility for any injury, dismemberment, death, mental or physical handicap, alcohol or drug dependence or any other ill effects experienced as a result of service in the McDougal Presidential Campaign.

From the Legal Department

After a week of intense searching, we here at the legal department have been unable to locate a loophole that will allow us to avoid participating in this Behind the Scenes Week. It appears that we are contractually obligated to contribute one day's worth of content, including, but not limited to, the answering of questions from readers. That said, after careful reading of the Behind the Scenes clause in our contract, we have determined that although they can require us to post on the blog today, they cannot make lawyers be funny.

First a quick word about our duties here in the legal department. Our most important duty is to prevent McDougal from being imprisoned as a result of his behavior. This takes up 75% of our time. For legal reasons, we cannot go into details about how we accomplish this. An additional 20% of our time is spent fending off lawsuits from various parties who have become injured in some fashion as a result of McDougal's everyday activities. This can be accomplished much more easily than dealing with the criminal courts because nearly all of these suits can be resolved by a generous cash settlement. The remaining 5% of our time is spent reviewing this weblog for possibly libelous content. In order to educate the public, we will be using a few reader-submitted questions as examples of the type of libelous content that our screening process removes from this blog on a weekly basis. All libelous content contained in these letters is solely the opinion of the authors of these questions, and does not reflect the views of Friends of McDougal or any of its parent or subsidiary companies.

Our first example comes from Carl Spackler, who writes:

does mcdougal know where osama bin laden is hiding?

McDougal's legal department objects to the use of the word "hiding" as it suggests that Osama bin Laden is a sissy and a coward. McDougal wishes it to be known that this objection is not meant to be an indication of support for Mr. bin Laden, nor an approval of his actions. McDougal denies any knowledge of the current location or activities of Osama bin Laden. Any resemblance between Osama bin Laden and the night manager of the East St. Louis location of the DoogMart chain of convenience stores is purely coincidental.

Our next example comes from Damnsle, who writes:

How many licks DOES it take to get to the center of a tootsie pop?

While this is not an example of libelous content, it does present a possible copyright issue, as "Tootsie Pop" is a registered trademark of Tootsie Roll Industries. Its inclusion here is not to be meant as an endorsement by McDougal of the aforementioned product. McDougal does not promote the use of candy on sticks, as the sticks may present a safety hazard. Where eye protection at all times. McDougal does not recommend that candy of any kind be fed to tortoises or owls, and is not responsible for any injury or death that may occur as a result.

The best example of libelous content we received comes to us from Josh Williams, who writes:

Is it true that McDougal caught Mick Jagger and David Bowie in bed together, offer not to drown them in the semen pumped from Rod Stewarts stomach? All for a cut of the profits, a handsome cut my people tell me.

McDougal denies ever taking part in any schemes involving the withholding of damaging information in exchange for money, persons or property. McDougal denies all knowledge of homosexual activities involving any and all prominent British rock stars, with the exception of Elton John. All references, by McDougal, to Rod Stewart which included the phrase "cum guzzling" were taken out of context and were meant in no way to suggest that Mr. Stewart has engaged in any type of homosexual activity.

There's nothing funny about poor financial planning.

Greetings from FoMcDCorp's Finance Sector. Our job is to manage the millions of dollars that roll through the McDougal empire on a daily basis. Things like campaign donations, revenue from selling clothing and trinkets on Cafepress, gambling winnings and earnings from various black market enterprises. These funds are then dispersed into Swiss accounts, Cayman Islands holding companies and low budget independent films.

Early this morning one of those monkeys from Fact Checking tossed a rock through our window, around which several letters were duct taped. I can only assume that we are to answer these letters as part of this ridiculous "Behind the Scenes Week" that the writers dreamed up. Very well...

First up, our daily question from Josh Williams:

Does McDougal pay himself as a body guard for himself and if so what tax form is required for hiring yourself to protect ...yourself.

McDougal does not pay himself to act as his own bodyguard. He does this work pro bono, just for the sheer joy of beating the ever-living piss out of anyone who makes a misguided attempt at threatening him. Since this takes time out of his busy schedule, and is actually also a service to the community, we closely record this time as charity work so it can be used as a tax deduction.

Next is a letter from Carl Spackler, who writes:

if mcdougal were given $1 million what would he do with it?

He would probably wipe his ass with it Carl. He loses that kind of money in the crack of his sofa. McDougal is worth in excess of $163 Billion Mr. Spackler. Do you have any idea how much money that is? It's enough that he could make your family an offer so big they would sell you to him without a second thought, and still leave him more than enough to purchase an island in the Seychelles and fly you there on a chartered space shuttle so that he could hunt you for sport.

Actually, I don't think he would really wipe his ass with it. I bet he would spend it on drugs.

Ah, what the hell, let's answer another question from Josh Williams... He seems to have a genuine interest in the world of finance:

How does McDougal Launder his cash income?

He used to use a complicated network of shell corporations and third world banks, but after September 11th any cash that flows into the U.S. through third world banks is more likely to draw the attention of the Department of Homeland Security. Fortunately, money laundering has been made much easier now that he is running for President. Now, once the money has been transferred to a shell corporation, this corporation can then make an extremely generous "campaign contribution" to McDougal. Politicians have done everything they can to make it look like campaign finance is open to public scrutiny, while making sure as much as possible stays hidden, so this type of thing is able to slip by largely unnoticed.

Our next letter is from Ibrahim Alpher, of Ouagoudougou, Burkina Faso:

FROM THE DESK OF:MR IBRAHIM ALPHER
AFRICAN DEVELOPMENT BANK
HEADQUARTERS
OUAGOUDOUGOU BURKINA FASO
WEST AFRICA

Dear client,

I am MR MR IBRAHIM ALPHER, credit officer of African Development Bank. I
have an
urgent and very confidential business proposition for you.

In June, 2000, a German property consultant and importer of used cars ,Mr
Andreas Schranner made a numbered time (Fixed) Deposit for twelve calendar
months, valued at US$30,000,000.00(Thirty Million United States Dollars
only) in my branch. It was to our utter suprise that we heard of his death,
wife and children in an AF4590 plane crash in July 2000. See website below:
http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/world/europe/859479.stm


On further investigation,I found out that he died without making a WILL, and
hitherto, all attempts to trace his next of kin was fruitless. Mr Andreas
Schranner was residing at No 1 Rue de Avenida, G.R.A.
ouagoudougou, burkina faso.

I therefore made further investigation and discovered that Mr Andreas
Schranner did not declare any kin or relations in all his official
documents, including his
Bank Deposit paperwork in my Bank. This sum of US$35,000,000.00 is still
sitting in my Bank and the interest is being rolled over with the principal
sum at the end of each year. No one will
ever come forward to claim it. According to Laws of burkina faso, at the
expiration of 5 (five) years, the money will be declared frozen and
forfeited to the burkina faso Government if nobody applies to claim the
fund.

Consequently, my proposal is that I will like you as a foreigner to stand in
as the next of kin or business partner to Mr Andreas Schranner so that the
fruits of this old man's labor will not get into
the hands of some corrupt government officials. This is simple, I will like
you to provide immediately your full names and address,phone and fax numbers
so that
the i can prepare the necessary documents that will put you in place as
the next of kin or business partner.Your role in the transaction is to send
an application for claim of the funds to our bank. Then, as top officials of
the bank, I shall work behind-the-scene to make sure that your application
is approved by the management of the bank, and the funds transfered to your
nominated bank account.

Please note that there is no iota of risks at all as all the paperwork for
this transaction will be done legitimately and with my positions as top
officials of the bank i would ensure a successful execution of this
transaction. If you are interested, please reply immediately to my email
box.

Please send me your confidential telephone and fax numbers for easy
communication.

You should observe utmost CONFIDENTIALITY AND SECRECY in this transaction,
and rest assured that this transaction would be most profitable for both of
us because I will require your assistance to invest my share in your
country.

I look forward to your prompt response.

Thanks and regards.

MR IBRAHIM ALPHER

Mr. Alpher,

We have sent you the telephone and fax numbers you requested, as well as the credit card, social security and passport numbers of everyone here in the Finance Section. Hopefully the money transfer of $3,500,000 (10% of the total, as requested) from FoMcDCorp will arrive first thing tomorrow morning. I look forward to receiving the $35 million.