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The grande finale: a round table letter to Mr Davies Okafor.


A personal message for Mr Davies Okafor.

In a quiet keyboard area of suburban Melbourne, a man sits at a computer and searches for inspiration. Let's call him the Moderator.

Around him is a spectral circle of advisers. There is a buxom young girl called Rhonda Vu, or to close friends, Min. Her real name is Minestrone. Beside her is her brother, Plato Souppe, a quiet, dull sort of man. Beside him is a small, plump lady wearing an apron. She is their mother. Her name is Consomme, or Connie to her friends. The final member of the group has a bedsheet over his head with two eye-holes cut in it. His name is John Smith. He is nervous and fidgety and keeps glancing at his watch.

Smith
Come on, can we get this meeting over with?
Rhonda
I still haven't got over my last meeting with you, thank you very much.
Smith
You deserved everything you got, tart! [She flings herself at him, kicking and scratching. Her brother drags her back and Smith rearranges his linen. He has trouble aligning the eye-holes.]
Rhonda
I'll make you a few new holes, bastard.
Moderator
Okay everyone, perhaps we had better start. I have brought you all here to help me write a farewell message to Mr Okafor. Who wants to start?
Plato
Is his name Mr Davies or Mr Okafor? It is a bit unclear.
Smith
Mr Davies, of course. He's Welsh.
Plato
You dumb bastard! The guy's from Nigeria. He's probably six foot nine, black as the inside of your miserable heart, built like a brick shit-house and has a four-foot long prehensile donger that can pick up bricks and would gladly demonstrate it if he could be allowed to smash your head in as part of the demonstration.
Smith
Black?
Rhonda
How long?
Connie
Never mind the length, how thick?
Plato
Mother!
Smith
What do you mean "black"? I thought...
Moderator
We're not getting far here. To the best of my knowledge Mr Davies Okafor is a false name. The guy is probably a public servant and...
Plato
Ask him why Nigerians always type EVERYTHING IN CAPITALS.
Moderator
...and he probably paid to be allowed to 'perform' this scam. Someone else is responsible for all the 'paperwork' that turns up; certificates and things.
Smith
Black?
Rhonda
Oh, shut up, you pathetic little pile of tattered laundry. And I say 'little' deliberately. You may be tall but you ain't not long.
Smith
Slut!
Rhonda
Limp dicked nobody!
Plato
Min! Stop it!
Moderator
As we want to wind up this little charade and resume our normal lives the question is: what do we want to say to Mr Okafor as a farewell message?
Rhonda
May I begin? [takes a deep breath] Hello Marvellous...
Smith
Marvellous? You've got to be kidding!
Rhonda
Shut up! ...it's me, Love. I am sorry we could never get it together. It would have been quite an adventure but I fear it would have been the death of me. As if I haven't got enough problems. Console yourself with a bowl of Ogbono Soup. Take care and give your secretary an extra cuddle, okay?
Smith
My turn. Listen you Con Artist. How dare you be black and not tell me; pretending to be Welsh all this time. Unbelievable, unforgivable. I don't take back anything I said to you. Why should I? I hope your Ogbono soup gives you dysentery and your bum heals over.
Connie
Really! That was uncalled for. Well, I hardly knew you Mr Okafors. I just had the misfortune to 'die' while you were corresponding with our Min. I didn't mean it to happen. One seldom does. Tell me: is your penis really four feet long? And this prehensile bit...
Plato
Mother! Really! Mr Okafor, for your attempts to at deceiving our Min I cannot forgive you but I wish you had managed to get some money out of this slug beside me.
Smith
You're no better than your sister. Plate of soup! Ogbono soup, I bet.
Moderator
That's it. Show's over. For your information Mr Okafors, you are about the tenth offer I have received from various Nigerian con-men with vast amounts of NNPC money to launder. I have to be amazed that people still fall for it but it shows no sign of stopping so I guess they do.

All characters are entirely fictional. Except me. I think.

I probably owe you an apology for 'Mr Smith': I tried to make him as obnoxious and as insulting as possible to see how you would react. The lure of the money must be very strong as you put up with his insults for much longer than I could have.

As for the lovely Rhonda...now you know why she didn't want to speak to you! I am no good at pretending to be a female over the phone!

It is interesting to see how readily a man will play along if his vanity and sexuality is caressed and the possibility of a sweaty romp with a loose moralled, big breasted blonde is in the offing. As a man, I wrote her as I would like her to be. Part of the time, at least. But, sadly, that only happens in fiction. Life's tough.

And certainly this has been fiction. All of it.

I hope you had as much entertainment as I did.

I'm off for a beer. Or two. Cheers!

PS: WHY DO NIGERIANS ALWAYS TYPE IN CAPITAL LETTERS?


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