Time-Delay Crime (The World's a Husk)

This is interesting. ES and I are going to be the next suckers caught out by some shady syndicate. We know this. They've told us.

How?

Well, through an unfortunate blend of naivity (on my part), desperation (on our part) and internet banking.

For those of you that don't know, buying and maintaining a house, feeding a herd of cats and trying not to drown under the constant flux of inflation rates is hard work. Sure, people see the outside: they see the things we try so hard to pay for and just assume that we're leading the easy life.

That's unfortunately not true. I drive a luxury vehicle, yes. But what people don't know is the only reason I bought one was because it was the only way for me to escape from the R 50 000 loss I would have made had I kept my 'practical' car - a GM product. And we all know what's happening to those poor SOBs at the moment.

In a sick way, the luxury market's major drawing card was also the fact that it offers me contractual security against such losses in the future.

Yes, it's flashy. And, yes, both ES and I enjoy the car. We wouldn't swap it out now - even if it was practical. But we have so little that we enjoy, does that make us materialistic and shallow? Appreciating something we work hard and honestly to afford?

It would seem that in this husk of a world, that is possibly the case.

Let's get back to time-delay crime.

We've been struggling recently thanks to my one cat being reduced to 7/8ths of her former self. The bill was phenomenal. Let's just say it cost us more or less what most people earn a month. Then ES fell ill and was hospitalised. Thanks to Nationalist right-wing dildos, her medical aid was declared insolvent and she was moved over to a new scheme that essentially fucked us even more. Unfortunately, we only found out about the "fucking" element when they decided it apt to dig into ES's account.

That's where the desperation came in. We had a PS 3, games and a few accessories that, if we could sell, we'd be able to cover our debts and avoid the beloved black list.

Naturally, being desperate, we turned to our friend the internet and placed classifieds for an amount for the entire package. Long story short, this dude asked for my bank account number and he made a transfer straight into my account.

I subscribe to one of these notification-SMS-things, and I was led to believe that the transfer was legitimate (there was no mention of it actually being a - wait for it - cheque deposit). It reflected on my ATM slip. (Can anyone say "Inside Job", by any chance?) I, in all my naivity, felt awful that this guy had paid the money but I still had the product, so I sped up the delivery process and gave him what he'd bought.

Oops.

The next morning while checking to see that my house had been paid, I noticed something very interesting: the amount that had reflected as available was suddenly repeated in the uncleared column.

I called the gentleman concerned. He answered and when I asked him when the cheque would clear, he was, for all intents and purposes, going to go to his branch and arrange a special clearance.

This happened twice.

Later in the afternoon, I called again to see whether he'd been able to make it to the bank (what a schmuck, right?). I got to speak to the gang, who were very friendly and all, and they eventually told me that they don't want me to waste my airtime: This is fraud.

The beauty of it: It hasn't happened yet, because the bank will only finish its processes to clear the cheque on the 14th, when it will bounce.

They're probably reselling the machine to ten or twenty guys at a drastically reduced price, pretending to be acting as agents for me. So, by being honest, naive and desperate, I've possibly become the perfect frame for a well-experienced, well-organised criminal ring.

Yes, they do warn you about these sort of things. But, you know what? I never knew they were this fucking smooth! I actually take my hat off to them, in a wierd way.

The Bible says to forgive those who trespass against you.

I say: You're good. But fuck you, anyway.

You've shown ES and I yet again that we're wrong in our belief in the fundamental good inherent in people. Most - and I say most because I pray to God that are at least a few good people out there - are absolute husks. Empty, devoid of morals and opportunistic. People who don't work hard, but have everything without any strings attached.

I hope that you don't go to Hell.

No, I want you writhing in torment with meat cleavers on chains hooked into your flesh, ripping hard enough to peel the connective tissue off your subcutaneous fat in purgatory for eternity. And I'd like to be able to see you there once in a while, so I can pour a little bit of spirit vinegar on your smiling slits, you organ-grinder monkeys.

Why purgatory?

Because I want you to know how it feels when you're misled into thinking there might be hope.