Some people turn to crime from a sense of desperation or urgency. I prefer to think I was born to it, although it took a lot of patient study, combined with some barking up the wrong tree to find my niche. Or what I thought was my niche. For a while my partnership with these enterprising young thugs seemed to hold some promise. The business plan, like so many that have generated fabulous wealth, was simple enough in conception. The nerve to see it through was there. Damn if there wasn’t nerve.The artistry required to put it into play is all that was lacking. That is why I have to say I was born to this. It’s the only excuse I can come up with.
Extortion is a pretty old game; and you can’t always depend upon the judicious application of force to liquify people’s assets. There are just too many fucking legal remedies. You’ve got to have an angle. We at Mealy Bros. sought to generate income with a three-tiered approach.
First, we’d drop  our demo at your nightclub, radio station, or small, struggling record company, along with the pertinent contact information; then, after things had a chance to cool off a bit, we’d drop another one. If there was still no response, we’d appoint a member of the group (usually me) to drunk dial our contacts and ask them if they were just pussies, or tone deaf poseurs fronting for A&M, MCA, or worse, Green Linnet. Oh, and had they ever noticed a large tattooed male in pajamas standing outside their office window with a crowbar and a brick? Like, right about now?

From left to right: Rick Naismith, accounting. Thor Gunderrson, block and brick. Twiggy Scarfozzi (AKA Coozledad), telecommunications.

Well, like I said, we lacked virtuosity, and a fourth element of the business plan which would have given us some clue as to what to do with the shoeboxes full of CDs we had printed. For awhile we considered using them to heat our homes, but that would have been environmentally unsound, at least after the cardboard had been consumed. They’re probably occupying a moldy corner of a thrift store somewhere, just waiting to be sampled by a discerning hip hop artist.

I’m not ready to give extortion up entirely, however. That’s why I’ve meticulously preserved this (and other) photographs of a certain young man who went on to achieve deserved fame with an extremely well written (and received) book. He’s one of the nicest, most gracious people you’ll ever meet. But he couldn’t see his way to part with the mere $2,000.00 I asked in exchange for not printing this photograph on my widely read blog.

Only one of a series!

C’est la guerre, professor Tyson.

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