We’re Behind You…

Hello world, and watch your backs, because Email, She Wrote now has a permanent home. At least until the Internet collapses. As it doubtless will. Email, She Wrote play the prank game, jumping on open email accounts, composing eloquent and eccentric missives to send to the most random of targets. We now share them with the world for your own personal enjoyment. Dip in!

And We’re Back!

Hey there, Email She Wrote fans! We’re back and in dramatic fashion, if you’ll pardon a deliberate pun! Aspiring impresario, Sinéad McMahon, is fishing for high-powered backing for her highly-punctuated musical.

Hello,

Firstly, I would like to say that I am a MASSIVE fan of all your work Mr. Weinberger, I think you sing very well (I particularly enjoyed your drunken {ironically} version at that karaoke bar of ‘The Drinking Song’ from ‘La Traviata’ {do you remember that night? [I don't, because I was drunk]})! One could say I admire you. And for that I thank you.

In some ways I envy you, Mr. Weinberger.

Secondly I was THRILLED to imagine that you are keen to promote and publicise ‘MONIKER!!!: The Sinead McMahon Story…’ my self-written bitchingly-awesome musical. My singing teacher, Mr. Thraxby, said that it’s “mediocre at best” and after this affirmation I am VERY excited! Can’t wait to start working with you. The run begins on Tuesday and I am delighted that you have agreed to put your name to the project.

Given the inevitable success of the production, I have already gone ahead and affixed your logo on the 30,000 posters which I have plastered around Dublin (AND BEYOND!) and also the quote, “THIS IS QUITE POSSIBLY THE BEST MUSICAL I HAVE EVER SEEN! YOU CAN QUOTE ME ON THAT SINEAD!” – Josef Weinberger, and “SHIT! THAT’S GOOD!” – The entire staff of Josef Weinberger Ltd. Thank you for your support! I’ll send you a DVD.

The run begins in my front room (mum said I could) from Tuesday and is on for the foreseeable future, every day at about half four. It’s going to be very (VERY) good! It can seat, at capacity, about 672 (I tried it the other day).

Needless to say, I’m really exciting!

And excited!

Bye bye

Sinead x

An Issue With A Marvel Character

Christina Matthews is loaded and ready to fire. This is one lady who shoots from the hip.

TO: Jeff Klein of DKC for Marvel Comics

10th June 2009

Dear Marvel Comics,
 
My name is Christina Matthew Upson, and above all, I do fires. I read your Fantastic 4 comic novel. Are you aware that poor Johnny Storm aka The Human Torch, is on fire!!!! Surely this counter productive to his team’s efforts to save the planet – I recommened you follow the proper guidelines of the ‘Put People Who Are On Fire Out’ Code and use the pink fire extinguisher to put him out as soon as possible.
 
Thank you and I hope the poor boy is ok,
 
Christina Matthew Upson
Fire and Safety Officer
Sam Bucket Theatre
 
PS: The same goes for Ghost Rider!

Fat Chance!

Marc (with a C) Atkinson ponders something that’s been bothering all of us since the credit crunch hit.

TO: Northern Rock

10th June 2009

Dear….

How does one address a rock?

All my best,

Marc Atkinson

Pillage and Plunder

Guess who’s back? Yep, it’s our old friend Ross Dungan. You just can’t keep this kid down. This time, he’s ready for some rape and booty…

TO: Viking Direct Stationery Suppliers

9th June 2009

Dear Viking Direct
 
My name is Ross Dungan, or Thorsten Hargood, king of all the Norse. No doubt my name will be familiar to you and my reputation will precede me (does it? [it does {it better}]). As the leading Viking lord of this 9th Century, I have a fearsome history and will surely be honoured in Valhalla, if not in this life (my origami skills are legendary). I have recently begun my summer pillaging programme and will be, as usual, targeting the fishing villages on the eastern coast of Brittania. The long-boats are loaded with supplies, my warriors have donned their horned helmets and herring-bone armour and are lean and supple (so supple…), ready to go a-plundering. We have been offering up long-sacrifices of gutted reindeer and praying night upon night to Odin, all in the name of a good raiding season. As you well know, my long-sword, Ravenous Fireflash, is hungry for blood (oh, how well you know it). It would seem that all is ready and that the many monks and impoverished fishermen of Brittania ought to be quaking in their leather sandals. I am of course eager that we will fare well – the long-wife has been dropping hints all winter that she quite fancies a new golden torc and a silver chalice or two, and far be it for me to deny the buxom love of my mortal life her merest whim (plus she has quite the temper, as the Archdeacon of Lyon has no doubt told you, and I am loath to tempt her wrathful wrath [she's a dab hand with the long-sword {you should see her fillet a snow-pig}]).
However, the one outstanding issue remains my poor sense of long-direction. Ever since I got lost in that ill-fated hunting trip to Stockholm, I have been wary of setting foot outside the front door of my long-hut without consulting the stars and winds and the AA long-website. I once cowered in fear beside the umbrella-tidy for an hour when faced with the prospect of needing to drop down to the local merchant’s for a gourd of goat’s milk. “What? You, Thorsten Hargood, king of all the Norse? Cowering in fear?” I hear you ask (I have very good long-hearing). Yes, ’tis true. I am not proud. And it is for this reason that I beg this simple request of you at Viking Direct. As I look ahead to this long-awaited trip to Brittania, I would be not ungrateful if you could issue me with the appropriate directions to reach this isle of many plunder-worthy riches from my own long-citadel at Furstbingjen, 2nd fjord on the left, Norway (it has a green door [and a weather-vane]). If you were to furnish me with a map, or even a comprehensive set of directions, you will be much rewarded with 2 hearty slave-girls of your own and a sack of finest mead. If you refuse, prepare to lose your head to my own Ravenous Fireflash, and your blood will flow like the tears of the mighty goddess Freya when her pet snow-snails were crushed beneath unthinking Loki’s careless boot.
 
I anticipate your swift reply – I may be reached at this long-address or by homing snow-pigeon.
 
May your children be many and heterosexual (mine are).
Yours bloodthirstily,
 
Thorsten Hargood, king of all the Norse

A Request

Paul Musiol contacts everyone’s favourite motoring programme, Top Gear, with a very special request.

TO: Top Gear

9th June 2009

‘Sup
 
Can I score some top gear?
 
Yours,
 
Anonymous (c/o Paul Musiol)

Lovely Jumpers?

Ross Dungan returns to the Email, She Wrote scene with a shocking accusation for Marks and Spencer.

28th May 2009

Dear Sir/Madam,
 
As a valued customer (and I bloody well am {I own much of your ‘Blue Harbour’ range, INCLUDING the ‘Blue Harbour’!}), I feel you should know that I find your “turtle-neck jumpers” abhorrent and feel they are very cruel to turtles.
 
Have you anything to say in your defence?
 
Yours outraged,
 
Ross Dungan

Bullying, Please Help Me Fat Duck!

Heston Blumenthal’s Fat Duck Restaurant is called upon to offer advice about coping with being an oversized mallard to Matthew Smyth.

TO: The Fat Duck Restaurant, England

19th May 2009

Dear Fat Duck,
 
I am writing to you this day because I am being quite badly bullied. Many of my friends pick on me for being, like yourself, a fat duck. I don’t really know why I chose to contact you about this (I’ve been thinking about it for some time now {in my alone time on the other side of the pond [within the rushes <please don't tell the other mallards!>]}), but have finally plucked (for you see I am a duck {my little joke}) up the courage to contact you about this, and wondered if you could advise me, or had strategies for coping with the incessant bullying (I don’t use that word lightly {they do it in shifts}).
 
The problem started when I became the favourite duck of the local Reverend (I believe you know him, the Rev. Teuton Folkesbury?) and he would feed me bread, well, at the start, at least… Since then he has been plying me with Danish pastries, bagels, saffron buns, Cornish hevva cake and steak and kidney pudding. I fear he wants to have his wicked way with me (thankfully not yet!). Now don’t get me wrong, I am, in many ways a DELIGHTED fat duck! I am well fed and do like a nice croissant of a morning, but the other ducks pick on me for my girth. I have, on more than one occasion, been called “Tubby tubby fat beak”, “Big twatty mallard”, “Chubby McDuckpants” and “Lardy Fatquack”. And it hurts, it hurts a lot. Yes, I am large (very large, for a duck), but why must they taunt me so?
 
As a self-confessed fat duck, I was wondering if you endured the same kind of abuse as me for being “of the larger persuasion”? Or does your acceptance of your obesity mean that you are left alone? Should I be honest with myself? Should I too call myself ‘The Fat Duck’? I just want the abuse, casual violence and stone-throwing (these are very clever and nimble ducks) to end! Is that too much for a fat duck to ask? Is it Fat Duck?
 
I have, of course, flirted with the idea of ending it all, but am not sure I could bring myself to it. Though, should you know someone who requires a big, dead fat duck, let me know. It may be all I’m useful for at this stage, I do take a lot of room up in the pond. Perhaps I should say, “Stinky Big-Bill Hippofeathers” takes up a lot of room in the duck pond. Or, as my subjugators have been calling it, “The fat-f**k pond”. I am literally crying duck-tears as I write this…
 
Please don’t dismiss my duck-call (a little joke {but still I weep}) for help. It has literally taken me hours to write this with my big and clumsy webbed feet. They just don’t make keyboards for ducks, and it’s all wet now. I know I can trust you Fat Duck. I look forward to your response.
 
Speak soon, I promise I’ll hold on until you offer me guidance Fat Duck,
 
With love,
 
Matthew the Duck x

Playa Lookin’ For Some Muhfukkin Gunz An’ Shit…

Matthew Smyth continues to display his “unique” prose style in another email, this time to Gilbert’s Guns, Frankfort, Kentucky.

TOL Gilbert’s Guns, Frankfort, Kentucky, USA

15th May 2009

What up fool?
 
Playa juss droppin’ y’all an e-mizzle cause I’z gotta get mahself some muhfukkin heat. Y’all know I wouldn’ be droppin’ yo a line, but a Playa gotta “exact some sweet revenge” (I actually sayz that to mah mum).
 
Y’all bettah knowz tha backgroun’ to mah issuez and unnahstan’ why I gotza get some gunishment… Playa be cruisin’ in his hoopty (real smooth, like a muhfukkin alligaytor), when some punk-ass bitchez comez outtah the local playgroun’ an Playa (who be doing forty in a thirtizzle zone with some Dre comin’ outtah tha soun’system {real bassy, I got some muhfukkin’ JBL bass bins [word]}) gottah hit hiz brakes real hard. Anyway, I end up hittin’ thiss kid (who shouldn’ oughta been in the muhfukkin way anyway, cause Playa knowz these roadz like the back of hiz hand) an’ the kid got some broken bonez an’ shit.
 
Anyway, tha kid’z mum come outta tha playpark an’ be cryin’ an’ shit and I windz down mah window and she be all cryin’ an’ callin’ me a shit drivah. She waz sayin’ mah drivin’ waz totally whack. I tellz her thiss only tha third time I ever hit no one (last one was some chick who was drunk, an’ the time before was mah gran {but she waz real oldz anyway [ya dig???]}). Anywayz, I put up with her verbal fo’ some time, when I’z all, “Fuck this shit, I gotta get me some heat an’ cook this fool”.
 
Anyway, I drive home, tellz mah mum what I’z gottah do, an’ she unnahstan’ so she let me use her computer. This happen about twenty minutez ago, then I be e-mailin’ y’all lookin’ for a gun. I need a piece that could cook a fool from a distance (like, twenty yardz) an’ that a Playa can hide in the small of hiz back. I know y’all got summa that shit, cause my main man Timmy ‘Skip’ F got humselve some sweet-ass bitch-muhfukkin trippin’ Scooby Gang bad-ass gunz from y’all. Plus, apparently thah Gardaí iz all ovah mah ass on thiss one, so I’z gonnah need it real fast.
 
Anyway, word to ALL your motherz, ’specially if y’all can post that shit to Dublin, Ireland. Cause that be Playa’z stohmpin’ ground. He be down to reprezent the D14 massive (thass two biggah than D12).
 
Hit me back, y’all. I be waitin’ on yo wordz. I gotta lotta money, so y’all say an’ Playa will give y’all extra dollah for this heat.
 
Peace out, fools.
 
Matthew ‘The Dog Whisperer’ (I’s real good with dogz) Smyth x

What’s this I been hearing??!?!?!….

Matthew Smyth, Sea Turtle, writes to Fighting Bear Antiques, Wyoming, USA. Why? Read on and find out…

TO: Fighting Bear Antiques, WY, USA

15th May 2009

Dear Fighting Bear…
 
Make no mistake about it…I’m calling you out.
 
I’ve been hearing an awful lot of ‘this’ (miming talking with hand) and an awful lot of ‘that’ (as before) about your bears and how they would (and I quote) ‘leave so many claw marks on my face, I could be used as a washboard in a folk group’. What’s that about man? That don’t even make mother**king sense…
 
I mean I know a brutha’s gotta represent, I know it all to well (brutha is a brutha himself after all), but why you gotta be saying that s**t to me and about me? Do you think my kids or baby-mama’s wanna be hearing that s**t about their boy?….(they don’t)… In short FB, why you gotta be disrespectin’ me?
 
I know our two cliques haven’t always gotten on well in the past (or have battled twice every year in a vicious bout for supremacy), and the bear-sea turtle feud has been pretty high of late, but do you really think running your mouth of like that is helping anyone? I mean I remember the last rumble, and how that one went down…and I don’t think all your ‘bears’ (as you like to be calling them) came off that well that time….I fully recognise that the fight was in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean, which is traditionally ‘turtle stomping ground’ and several of your boys couldn’t ‘hack it’ (swim)…but just remember who walked away with the title and just remember who be polishing it and caressing it as I write this sea-mail from my pad in the Gulf Stream (brutha be on holidays!!!!) and just remember it when we meet again next time.
 
I know your boys be fancying you chances on the terrain where are next fight is supposed to be held, ‘Bear Island’, but just remember that we motherf**kers not only live long, we motherf**kers never forget…and I sure ain’t going to forget the image of me ramming your bitch-face ass with my motherf**king tail fin, and I’m sure you motherf**king face-bitch a** ain’t going to forget anytime soon.
 
Just to let y’all know…it’s on…it’s on like a motherf**ker…and you betta be watching your back every step of the way before next Autumn (Do y’all know any good travel agents a brutha can use to get there…brutha don’t know s**it) when we be meeting y’all motherf**kers on Bear F**king Island….I think I made my point as clear as your beady-ass lifeless eyes…It be hunting season motherf**kers, and you bitches be all over that menu….
 
Peace out,
Matthew Smyth – Sea Turtle (Atlantic Crew)
 
P.S I’m gonna f**k you up…

Dr. Who? Dr. Me!

Tim Forde seems unaware that the role of the Doctor was recently filled. However, it doesn’t deter our intrepid, aspiring actor.

TO: The BBC

11th May 2009

Dear Vagrant,

I’m never much good at beginning these e-mails (I was going to opt for Bumpkin, so as to assert my authority {I deemed vagrant more suitable [you commoner]}), but if you don’t know who I am, then I pity you. However, I have been in a lot of of theatre pieces, a number of “plays”, if you will, and feel I am ready to take on that great leading male role, the eponymous Doctor in Shakespeare’s ‘Dr. Who’.

Presumably this is not the first e-mail you have received of this ilk, but I KNOW that after reading this you’ll have to cast me! If I were to distill it to a mere three reasons they would follow thusly (as the Doctor may say!!! {I’ve not seen the show, but have heard he’s often good with his words [can you clarify this? ]})

• I intend to study a PhD.

1. I am something of an enigma

• When people say my name to others it is often followed by the person they are conducting the conversation with saying, “Who?”

I am very good at acting, and have a range of facial expressions (numbered 1-47B). I’ll show them to you all.

Please contact me on this address.

Thanks you fool!

Tim Forde