SHE RAN TO THE SOUND OF A COPPERY GONG!
Fear & Loathing on the Internet
Mike Knowles
Copyright 2011 by Mike Knowles
Smashwords Edition
A Personal Message from Lady Fiona Feenackerpan
Whether you enjoy wearing one or whether you just like looking at them, “The Pink Coat Club” fan page on Facebook is open to all connoisseurs of pink coloured coats.
Hoping to meet you there,
Fiona.
Introduction
Throughout this sorry tale I kept asking myself: why the hell was I letting them wind me up? The answer was they’d become an obsession. I could speculate why they were doing it, but I wanted more than just speculation. I wanted to hear it from them. I wanted them to break down and confess.
“All visible objects, man, are but as pasteboard masks. But in each event- in the living act, the undoubted deed- there, some unknown but still reasoning thing put forth the mouldings of its features from behind the unreasoning mask. If man will strike, strike through the mask! How can the prisoner reach outside except by thrusting through the wall? To me, the white whale is that wall, shoved near to me.”
Moby Dick
These two had become my white whale. Or, to be more exact, my pink whale. That hoary old saying, “truth is sometimes stranger than fiction,” is often a truism. Especially in the case of the story I’m about to relate. It’s the story of a bizarre relationship with two strange individuals. A relationship that’s been going on and off now for almost four years. But I’m used to this sort of thing. During my life I seem to have developed a strange magnetic pull that attracts these types of people. I’ve become a form of weirdo magnet. The internet has merely opened up the field. It has broadened the beam. So, whereas previously these weirdoes came from the UK they now come, like locust, from all points of the compass. My detractors, however, will no doubt argue that they come because see a kindred spirit.
These two, however, are local. It’s a story that progressed from the pavement to the computer. Reality became virtual reality. And I soon knew it had the makings of a book. Whether anyone would believe it was another matter. I therefore decided to spin the relationship out for as long as I could. Only I never imagined it would last this long. Or what twists and turns were involved. And, when it finally moved to the computer, I was determined to file everything away. And here I must offer an apology. Although I’ve managed to keep many of the emails and other digital messages that passed between us, some have been lost. Which is a shame. Normally I tend to keep files rather than delete them. Probably because I’m a compulsive hoarder. On the other hand, I’m also obsessed with neatness. So that when I find I have files located all over my hard drive, not only on one computer but two, I attempt to do some housekeeping to try and bring them all together. This is where Murphy’s Law comes into operation. In the process some of the files inevitably get lost. Others are deleted because I no longer consider them to be important. Unfortunately, some of them will eventually turn out to be just that!
However, in this case there were additional problems. For part of the time I was also involved with an American woman called Charity. (As I said, they now come from all points of the compass). A woman I must have exchanged well over 1000 emails with. Which is stretching charity somewhat. (I’ve written about her in my book, “Romancing Grendel’s Mother”). Then there was my role as the self-styled Trollbuster General. A job that involved hunting cyber trolls in order to destroy what little self-respect they still possessed on my blog. It was a tailor made job for a sarcastic old sod. Finally, on top of all this, there was my normal work. I needed to keep my editors happy. If they were happy they accepted my work and paid me. Needless to say, this had to take precedence. Therefore the task of collating data was sometimes interrupted or forgotten. It’s a miracle I managed to save as much as I did.
Later on there were exchanges on MSN and these were not recorded. They should have been, but I just couldn’t be bothered. I told myself that I had more than enough already and categorising it all would drive me mad. Then there were my mood swings. I would frequently get angry with them and decide to drop this duo once and for all. In my incandescent rage I would delete some of the files. Then there were periods where I heard nothing from them and I’d lose interest in the project. There were also the conversations we had via Facebook. Again, these are not included. And not because they might give a clue as to their identity. In fact they’ve never revealed their real names. But because they either used a false identity, (a recent one being a prospective playwright whose profile photo resembled someone who’d been hit in the face with a bag of flour), or they’ve communicated through a third person. So you can begin to see just how bizarre this relationship is.
Yet all this data still leaves me floundering in the dark. Although I know where they live I still don’t know their real names. I suppose I could find out using the Electoral Roll, but I don’t want to. For a start there’s a fee involved. Why should I pay anything? After all the gags and other material I’ve sent them they should be paying me! And, anyway, it would spoil the mystery. I know it may seem strange, but calling them Pink Coat and her brother has a certain ring to it. And I worry that if I knew their real names it would somehow make them look ordinary. Anyway, I’d rather they eventually tell me themselves. One lives in hope that they will. Maybe they’ll read this book and become consumed with guilt. But I doubt it.
So, how did it all start?
A Stare Way to Heaven!
I’m a writer and writing is a sedentary profession. All you need is the ability to write and you can spend the rest of your life sitting on your fat arse. At least that’s what my wife thinks. On the other hand, she’s partly right. Whilst not totally fat, I didn’t want my arse to get any bigger. So from the start I’d gotten into the habit of walking each day. Not only did it provide me with some exercise, it also gave me a break from trying to do what writers do. That is to fill a blank sheet of paper in a typewriter with something both interesting and meaningful. Which – thanks to the wonders of modern technology – have turned to trying to fill the blank screen of a computer monitor! In fact, many of my best ideas have come to me whilst I was out walking. Apart from the one that got me involved in this charade, of course! Normally this meant going into town each morning. Once there I’d do a bit of shopping and make an occasional visit to the library. This would take over an hour. And, over the years, this habit had turned into a regular routine. There was a downside. Although it was helping to keep me reasonably fit, it sometimes felt a bit boring and repetitive.
It was in 2007 that I first ran into Pink Coat. I called her that on account of the distinctive pink coat that she sometimes wore. Note that for the purposes of this book I’ve decided to make her Italian. This is not her ethnic background. Let’s just say she’s not English and Italy is a lot closer to where she originated from. The reason for the subterfuge is that even though they’ve often pissed me off, I still feel obliged to maintain their anonymity. So, apart from their ethnicity and their exact location, everything else is true. I’ve even included screenshots of some of their numerous emails at the end of this book.
Let me hasten to add that I have nothing against Italians. Yes, they’ve tormented millions of English schoolboys by foisting on them the necessity of learning a dead language. One involving a grammatical structure only slightly less arcane than quantum mechanics. But then, to be fair, the Greeks also foisted their classical language onto us. I even dated an Italian girl. It’s just that Pinkie’s later proclivity for sexual innuendo along with the old man/young woman scenario reminds me of Berlusconi. Then there’s the underhand way they’ve targeted me. It’s the sort of thing the Soprano’s would have done.
At first Pinkie and I merely passed each other on the pavement. And, from the books in her shoulder bag, I presumed that she was going to college. She was about 18-20 years old and quite pretty. So, when she started staring at me, I began to worry. Was my fly undone? Did I have something on my face? Did she think I was someone she knew? Or was she flirting with me? The latter being the most doubtful of all. When you have a face that’s a cross between a dyspeptic baboon and cow’s arse, you don’t get much attention from the opposite sex. On the other hand she never smiled or spoke. But if she was flirting she was out of luck. I can do without those complications in my life. And, anyway, you should take advice from the birds and never shit in your own nest. So I decided to cross over to the other side of the road well before we were due to meet. She responded by stopping and staring across at me. As though willing me to cross over to her. Maybe she was studying to be a hypnotist.
Then, one morning, it began to get serious. She’d clearly set out early to meet me so that we’d pass each other before I crossed over. It was raining and as I glanced back I saw that she was standing a few feet away staring at me! I tried to tell myself that she was probably staring at someone else. Except there was no one else. But no matter how attractive Pink Coat was, this particular old fart had no intention of making a fool of himself. So I began to cross over the road the first chance I had after leaving the house. This way I made sure we were both on opposite sides. On the other hand, I felt guilty. Good manners had been driven into me at school and here I was purposely snubbing someone who clearly seemed to want to talk to me.
So, in the end, one Friday morning as we passed each other I waved to her. And she waved back. When Monday morning came there was no sign of her. Then, the next morning, I noticed a roll of white paper sticking out of a stone wall close to where they lived. My immediate thought was Pink Coat had left me a message! My hunch turned out to be right. Opening it up I saw it contained a message written in capital letters. Probably to disguise it. I managed to persuade Google to translate it and it sounded like one of those Biblical curses. The text was the transliteration of a stanza. One that promised dire consequences to those who say bad things about you behind your back. God only knows what she’d have threatened me with if I’d actually spoken to her. She’d probably have had an iron Golem extract my intestines via my arsehole using a rusty hook on a piece of wire. Or she’d have conjured up something worse. Something so horrible even the Gestapo would have had second thoughts about using it. How did I know it was from her? Suffice it to say that the nature of the note left me in no doubt. Of course, at a pinch I suppose it could have come from a group of zealots. But then I imagine their methods of communication would be a little more sophisticated.
1st Zealot: We’ll issue a warning of what will happen to the entire population if they don’t cooperate.
2nd Zealot: Good idea. I’ll write a note and stick it in a stone wall somewhere.
Not the most efficient way of inducing mass panic. Yet Pinkie herself was not the sole suspect. She had a brother who was about two years younger. I’d occasionally seen him and whenever I did he was always walking a few yards ahead of her. However, given certain characteristics it was reasonable to assume that they were related. (A connection later confirmed when I saw him coming out of the same house). Having connected them I was pretty certain that he knew what his sister was up to. He may even have instigated it. But to what purpose? The note brought back some memories. It reminded me of my schooldays when I had a crush on this girl. I was too shy to speak to her so I pushed a note through her letterbox in the dead of night. Not your ordinary note. This one was written on the blank side of a page torn out of an old Batman Annual! Romantic, right? Needless to say, nothing came of it. I can imagine the girl showing it to her parents.
Girl: Look at this! He can’t even afford to buy a sheet of paper.”
Mother: Never mind, dear. You’re better off without that sort.”
Tormented by shyness, I tried again with another girl. This time I used a piece of proper writing paper. And I got my mate to deliver it on his bike. I told him it was good training. If he failed to get his “A” levels he could always become a postman. He returned to tell me the girl wasn’t interested. A few days later I saw them going out together. Ah, well! All’s fair in love and war.
Enter 221b Baker Street!
I should, of course, have just ignored her. But Pink Coat’s behaviour intrigued me. It certainly wasn’t normal and I’ve always had a soft spot for the weird and bizarre. A condition that probably stems from having an over-active imagination. On the other hand, I detest mysteries. Pink Coat and her brother were playing some sort of game and I wanted to know what it was. So, after waving to her I was hoping that she would start talking to me and so I could find out what she was up to. The note added an even more bizarre twist. The solution I came up with was to leave a note of my own. In it I would try and explain why I’d made no attempt to speak to her. It would be an anonymous note. But if Pink Coat picked it up then she’d know whom it was from. That’s when I came up with the idea of using the persona of Sherlock Holmes. One of my favourite fictional characters. However, unlike her, I would dispense with pen and paper. I would use modern technology. I would compose them on my computer and print them out. Here’s the first note I left...
SHERLOCK HOLMES & THE CASE OF THE CRYPTIC NOTE
HOLMES: Come, Watson. Let us consider this note. The one I discovered whilst I was on my perambulations. It was written on plain white paper. The writer initially used a ballpoint pen, but this ran out and they changed to pencil. Indicating they were probably too mean to buy another ballpoint.
WATSON: So we’re looking for a Scot, eh, Holmes?
HOLMES: Don’t jump to conclusions, Watson. However, it originally led me to suspect that it may have been written by the sinister Peppery Dan.
WATSON: Good Lord, Holmes! Not the deaf and dumb albino dwarf who lost his left arm under a tram at Blackpool?
HOLMES: The very same, Watson. However, there is a slight problem with that theory. I have just received a telegram stating that Peppery Dan is, at this very moment, hanging by his feet from a tree in the middle of the Amazonian jungle. So it couldn’t have been him. But there are other clues as to the identity of the author. Let’s consider the text, Watson. Tracking it down was a trifle difficult. In fact, Watson, the trifle was so difficult I had to make do with bananas and custard. Still, beggars can’t be choosers.
WATSON: Why not, Holmes?
HOLMES: Elementary, my dear Watson. Because, if beggars were choosers, they’d choose to be millionaires and there wouldn’t be any beggars. Although the evidence is circumstantial, one candidate immediately springs to mind. This particular individual owns a rather distinctive pink coat.
WATSON: Pink, pink, to make the boys wink, eh, Holmes?
HOLMES: It may be enough to make you wink, Watson. But I assure you it had no effect on me. So, as we do not have her name, let us call her Miss Pinkie. If Miss Pinkie did write the note, then it was intended for a specific person and not for general consumption. It was meant for me, Watson. And the nature of the words indicate that Miss Pinkie is angry.
WATSON: But, Holmes? What could you have done to anger her?
HOLMES: Ah! There you have me, Watson. Who knows what goes on in the mind of a female? They are strange creatures indeed. Perhaps she hoped that I might have greeted her with a “Good Morning” when we passed each other on the street.
WATSON: And you didn’t? Good grief, Holmes! How could you have been so rude?
HOLMES: I have no time for females, Watson. They’re a positive nuisance, However, I must confess to a feeling of guilt. So, one Friday morning, I gave her a wave.
WATSON: How did she respond?
HOLMES: She waved back at me, Watson. A little wave, but a wave nevertheless. However, the following week, she failed to appear. Then came the note.
WATSON: Her disappearance may have been a message, Holmes. It may have been saying, “I had to wait for you, now you’ll have to wait for me.”
HOLMES: Excellent, Watson! Excellent. Of course, this is all pure speculation. I do not profess to know what goes through Miss Pinkie’s mind. However, let’s consider the use of this particular poem. It showed Miss Pinkie was both intelligent and creative. Miss Pinkie may also have been checking to see if I could identify the words. She had obviously not heard of my deductive powers. Once identified, I knew immediately what her message was. You see, Watson, her message lies not in a literal translation of the note, but in its context. I had insulted Miss Pinkie by ignoring her and I was being punished for it.
WATSON: A brilliant piece of deductive reasoning, Holmes.
HOLMES: Alas, I wish I could share your confidence, Watson. Unfortunately I fear that the passage of time may have affected my intellect. Tempest Fugit, Watson! Once upon a time my intellect was as sharp as a knife, now I fear it is as blunt as that knife you used to cut the turkey. One is glad you never became a surgeon, Watson. The cemeteries would have been overflowing. In other words, I could be on the wrong track entirely. The writer might not have been Miss Pinkie. As I said, the evidence is purely circumstantial. Miss Pinkie may not have picked up the original note I left. Nevertheless, if I’m correct and Miss Pinkie is the author of this note then I must thank her. As you know, Watson, there’s nothing I enjoy more than solving some intellectual puzzle. Life is so boring, Watson! I yearn for something out of the ordinary. And this note was certainly out of the ordinary. Miss Pinkie has provided me with an enjoyable mental exercise. However, I really think someone must warn her not to try this with anyone else. As England’s leading expert on the criminal classes, I fear there are some nasty people out there.
The note was duly picked up. However, if I was hoping for a reply I was to be disappointed. That first one was the one and only note they left. Nevertheless, I’d been bitten by the note bug. Two more followed...
SHERLOCK HOLMES & THE CASE OF THE CRYPTIC NOTE 2...
WATSON: Any news of the mysterious Miss Pinkie, Holmes?
HOLMES: I fear not, Watson. She ignores me. In fact, she appears to have made up her mind that I am the villain in this little charade. Stuff and nonsense! You know as well as I that I could not afford to make the first move. Imagine if anyone found out that I’d accosted her on the street like some cradle snatching monster! You can see it would have been most damaging to my reputation. Just consider for a moment the differences between us! No, Watson. Had Miss Pinkie introduced herself and initiated a conversation, then I would gladly have responded to her. Indeed, it would have been most rude of me not to do so. But she did not.
WATSON: Perhaps she was shy, Holmes.
HOLMES: If so, that would explain it. Perhaps she should have worn a sign around her neck in flashing lights, reading: I’M SHY. SO YOU’LL HAVE TO SPEAK FIRST!
WATSON: Now you’re being facetious, Holmes.
HOLMES: Well, what do you expect? If she did wear such a sign just imagine the sort of people that would attract. If she was shy then I can sympathise with her. Perhaps she was being cautious. We know she’s highly intelligent. In which case, she will have no difficulty appreciating my difficulty in this matter. The fact remains that I make it a cardinal rule not to speak to people like Miss Pinkie unless I am spoken to first. Anyway, I have some important cases coming up and I may not be around as much.
WATSON: Spoken like a real unsociable fellow, Holmes.
HOLMES: Thank you, Watson.
Finally, the Great Detective becomes bored with the case. After all, this is the man who took on Professor Moriaty and the Hound of the Baskervilles. Compared to them Pinkie was small fry. So he decides to wind things up...
SHERLOCK HOLMES & THE CASE OF THE CRYPTIC NOTE – THE FINAL SOLUTION
HOLMES: Red to black and black went to the head.
WATSON: I beg your pardon, Holmes?
HOLMES: Sorry, Watson. I was referring to the final phase of our latest case.
WATSON: “The Case of the Cryptic Note?” You mean it’s all over, Holmes?
HOLMES: Yes, Watson. It was all a childish game.
WATSON: It was? How long have you known, Holmes?
HOLMES: I suspected something was wrong from the very beginning. The clue was the way Miss Pinkie acted. As I said before, Watson. I make it a firm rule not to greet people like Miss Pinkie because it may give the wrong impression. However, if they choose to greet me I will respond. It is, after all, the only polite thing to do. If the person smiles I will do likewise. If they say “good morning,” so will I. Yet she did neither. She merely kept staring at me, as though daring me to say something to her. That is what made me suspicious, Watson. Consequently, I refused to fall into her trap.
WATSON: So what sort of game was it, Holmes?
HOLMES: Here we must enter the realms of pure speculation, Watson. Still, this episode provided some interest in a somewhat humdrum existence.
WATSON: But what if you’re wrong, Holmes? What if she is genuine?
HOLMES: If she is genuine, Watson, then she has my sincerest apologies and I trust she will forgive me. Yet the evidence is clearly against this. As you well know, Watson, I have a nose for these things...
WATSON: It’s certainly long enough, Holmes.
HOLMES: Very funny, Watson. I am something of expert on human nature and her behaviour told me that something was just not right. I am very rarely wrong, Watson. And you shall see me proved right in this matter. Knowing that I have discovered her little game, she will be keeping well out of my way.
WATSON: What will you do now, Holmes?
HOLMES: I thought about climbing Mount Everest.
WATSON: That’s been done, Holmes.
HOLMES: Walking backwards?
The reference to “black went to the head,” referred to her brother. The day before I’d seen him on the other side of the road and he was wearing a red scarf and a black woolly cap on his head. And this time he’d turned to stare at me so I waved to him. And he waved back. Thus confirming what I already knew. My weird magnet had attracted a couple of prime specimens. Life would never be the same again.
A Note on the Art of Leaving Notes
But it was all one sided – a sinister portend of things to come. The first note I left was hers complete with a message I’d written in it. When I checked the next day it had gone. So I left another note. This one asked if she’d enjoyed being investigated by the great Sherlock Holmes. Again the note had gone. But there were no notes from her and she continued to stare at me. Exasperated, I left a note saying goodbye. I found it later lying in another place. It could have been blown there by the wind, but even my poor grasp of physics told me the position of the note made that unlikely. I surmised that Pink Coat had taken it, read it, and rejected it. You may be wondering how and where I left the notes. In the unlikely event any of you are thinking of trying this yourself. Each note was printed on a white sheet of A4 paper. This was then folded three times leaving an oblong package approximately 10.5cm X 7.5cm.
Remember to keep the writing on the inside. Then it just looks like a plain piece of discarded paper. Just in case some nosy bugger decides to pick it up before your subject can get to it. I’m referring to nosy buggers like me because I can’t resist picking up any interesting looking pieces of paper. Especially after meeting Pinkie! Then there are environmental hazards to consider. Because the note, (or to use espionage parlance, the dead letter), will be outside and open to the elements, I took the precaution of wrapping it in cling film. So who should have been the new James Bond? I'll leave that for you to decide.
Finally, there was the problem of where to leave it. Whilst Pink Coat’s note had been left in a prominent position, mine were placed under a tree on the grass verge next to the pavement. They weren’t near where Pinkie had left hers because I wanted to test her. And the fact that the notes had gone indicated that she, or someone else, must have been looking for one. I left my notes when I returned from town about an hour or so later. Hopefully Pinkie, (or her brother), would then find them when she returned home.
However, it was still possible that someone other than Pinkie could have picked them up. But the odds were slim because this particular stretch of pavement was pretty quiet. And these days few people walk. So I reckoned that the only real dangers were from those mechanical road sweepers and hunchbacks who walk with their eyes on the ground. The sweepers only came occasionally. As for the hunchbacks, I never saw one. Still, stranger things have happened. I had a mental image of the local paper. There, on the front page, the headline...
MYSTERIOUS PERSON LEAVES NOTES FOR INQUISITIVE HUNCHBACK!
75 year-old Herbert Quasimodo regularly walked down ****** road on his way to the post office to collect his pension. So imagine his surprise when he spotted a small oblong piece of paper wrapped in cling film. “Well, I just had to pick it up,” said Herbert who still rings the bells at the local church...
Hunchbacks aside, my theory was that the note would most likely be noticed by someone who had left a note themselves. This was confirmed one morning when I saw her looking at the foot of the tree where I left my notes. To test my theory about the goodbye note, I left another one. This one remained in roughly the same spot and appeared not to have been picked up. It even had the cling film around it. However, the next note, containing some of my flights of fancy, was taken. It was becoming clear that Pinkie had no intention of saying goodbye! Any negative notes were left and only the positive ones were taken. In all I left her seven notes. The final note simply contained a Yahoo email address and a link to a website featuring this particular writer.
So what was happening whilst I was leaving these notes? Well, we both continued to pass each other in the mornings on opposite sides of the road. At first Pink Coat refused to look at me. Then, gradually, as though telling me she was ready to try again she began staring at me. I chickened out. I had no intention of talking to her. This was no ordinary female and God knows what she might have done had we got together. Yet she continued to fascinate me. Hence the email address I left for them. I didn’t use my personal one. Instead, I created one called “thepinkcoatclub.” I’d left the note as I was returning home on the morning of Wednesday the 14th of March, 2007. That night I got an email...
Enter Craig Browne!
From: Craig Browne
To: thepinkcoatclub
Subject: Dead letter drop?
what are these letters about that i keep finding, they have me puzzled
The term “dead letter” suggested that it had been composed by a male. It’s a term used in espionage and, at the risk of being politically incorrect, I would suggest spy stories are more popular with men. So I immediately thought of her brother. As for Craig Browne? Well, I didn’t expect them to use their real names. Had either of them wanted me to know who they were they wouldn’t have gone through that charade. Staring at me without speaking and leaving an ambiguous note in a stone wall. So I sent him the following reply...
From: Mike Knowles
To: Craig Browne
Dear Mr Brown,
Thanking you for your interest in the Pink Coat Club. Please allow me to introduce myself. I am Fiona Feenackerpan, the Chairperson of our exclusive club. As the title indicates, our members all own a pink coat. There aren’t very many of us because, alas, this particular hue is sadly under-represented in the world of ladies fashion. It is considered by some to be a little on the gauche side. During the 17th Century, however, pink coats were quite the rage – especially in France. Needless to say, we are all praying for them to come back into fashion, (I myself pray twice during the night. Once when retiring and again at midnight.)
Do you perhaps possess a pink coat or are you thinking of purchasing one? Should you wish to purchase a pink coat you will have three shades to choose from. These are:
(1) Healthy Pink. Just imagine the skin of someone who is virtually brimming with good health! Someone who gets plenty of fresh air and nourishing food packed with vitamins. This is the colour of a healthy pink, pink coat.
(2) Blushing Pink. Be warned! This is the hue of no ordinary blush. Imagine you were standing in a crowded tube train and you suddenly broke wind, (I believe the colloquial expression is “fart.”) And imagine this “fart” to be a particularly loud and malodorous one. This is what a blushing pink, pink coat, looks like.
(3) Pinkie-Winky-Pink. This is the ultimate shade of pink. Rest assured, Mr Browne, one cannot get any pinker than this. If a lady wears one of these coats she will make any male within sight begin winking uncontrollably. In fact, the men will wink so much you’ll think they had Tourettes Syndrome. Yes, indeed, it has been claimed that a coat this pink will even make your mother wink!
I hope this information has been of some use to you.
Thanking you again for your enquiry.
Yours truly,
F.Feenackerpan. BSc.
About an hour later Craig replied...
From: Craig Browne
To: thepinkcoatclub
well unfortunately i dnt have a pink coat and i dnt think i shall be buying 1 as i dnt think pink wud suit me , tell me how does sherlock holmes have anything to do with pink coats
This was clearly getting me nowhere. If this was her brother then he was technical correct. He didn’t have a pink coat. But his sister did. It was a combination of half-truths and downright fucking lies. So I decided to drop the pretence. Using my personal email address I replied...
From: Mike Knowles
To: Craig Browne
Herr Braun,
I grow weary of these sad little nom de plumes. I must confess that Fiona Feenackerpan and Sherlock Holmes were one and the same person – namely me! I bet you never guessed, right? I see you’re also a stickler for detail. Okay, let’s see if I can be serious for a moment. It’ll be difficult, but I’ll try. The pink coat I’m referring to is a genuine pink coat, complete with hood. The shade of pink is Blushing Pink. I’ve never actually seen a Pinkie Winky Pink and I sincerely pray I never will. I’m afraid I may have inadvertently insulted the owner of the above coat. I poked fun at her. For that I’m truly sorry. Luckily the messages appear to have fallen into the wrong hands. Unfortunately, it’s in my nature to be somewhat sarcastic at times. On the other hand, I also ignored her and that was unforgivable. Oh, my God! I’m beginning to sound almost normal. Anyway, if it’s of any help to you the pink coat was real. Perhaps you are, after all, thinking of buying one?
Cheers,
Mike.
Whereupon Craig replied...
From: Craig Brown
To: Mike Knowles
well unfortunately i dnt have a pink coat and i dnt think i shall be buying 1 as i dnt think pink wud suit me.
So was he the brains behind it? Was he using his sister as a stooge? Or was it her idea and she’d enlisted his aid? Or had they both cooked it up together? And what possible motivation could there be? Was it just pure mischief? A practical joke? Or were one or even both of them flirting with me? These were questions I felt had to be answered because none of it seemed to make much sense. But first I would respond in kind. They’d chosen to play silly buggers with me, so I decided to play silly buggers with them. Time for something new. But what? Then I had this great idea. Because there are other Browne’s out there, Pinkie and his sister had had to opt for a Browne80 email address. So I used their email service to create a “Browne82.” Unfortunately another Browne got there first and I had to opt for an 83. And it just so happened that Browne83 claimed to the fattest man in the universe. I sent them an email complaining that I’d wanted to be number 80 because that was the size of my waist. There was no reply. Maybe they couldn’t think of a witty reply. Maybe they thought they had been emailed by the fattest man in the universe! And they hated fat people. Especially people as fat as that. So I tried again with yet another email address...
From: A. Whyplash
To: Craig Browne
Dear Mr C. Browne,
I am the senior partner in Whyplash Law Co., a firm of solicitors in Burgess Hill, East Sussex. I am communicating with you to inform you that I’ve been instructed by my client, Craig Browne, the Fattest Man in the Universe and that’s Official, to institute proceedings against you under Section 2(b) of the Human Rights Act, 1998. I will give you a brief outline of the case...
My client informs me that he emailed you recently explaining that he wished to register for a ******l account using the address, “Browne_80.” client made a mistake when he told you that this was because 80-inches was his waist size. This is, in fact, the size of my client’s neck. You will therefore no doubt appreciate why he’s called “the fattest man in the universe.”
When registering for his ***** account he was told that this address had been taken. Clearly, you are the culprit. You’re no doubt aware of the saying, “Fat people are jolly.” It goes without saying that the fattest man in the universe would also be the jolliest. Indeed, it is impossible for the rest of us to imagine just how jolly he was! That is, until he discovered you’d taken his email address. As a result of this he has lost a large quantity of joviality and demands that you compensate him for this. Because my client is a greedy person he has suggested a sum of £930,000 plus VAT or two million steak and kidney pies. I strongly suggest you settle out of court because the law takes a dim view of people who rob the fat of their joviality. Without these jolly people life would be very dull indeed!
However, should you intend to take this to court, I would strongly suggest you consult a solicitor to act for you. Nevertheless, I can assure you that there is very little they can do for you because this is a clear case of monstrum horrendum. Indeed, it is probably one of the very worst cases I have seen for some time.
So I look forward to receiving your cheque for the above amount.
Yours sincerely,
A.Whyplash. LLB.
There was no reply to that one, either. But their email address was still open. This was good news because I suspected they’d created it to cater for yours truly. And, as long as it remained open, I would bombard them with emails. My purpose was clear: I still held out the hope that they’d eventually capitulate and tell me what their game was. So I decided it was time to add a little pathos to the story. So I got the solicitor to send them another one. And, unlike a real solicitor, he didn’t charge me a penny!
From: A. Whyplash
To: Craig Browne
Dear Mr C. Browne,
I regret to inform you that my client, Craig Browne - the fattest man in the universe and that’s official - passed away this afternoon after choking on the crust of a Sainsbury’s Value chicken pie. Unfortunately, due to his girth, it proved impossible to administer the Heimlich Manoeuvre, (his carer’s arms were just too short to go around Craig’s chest.)
I have to inform you that before he died, my client asked that you be a pallbearer at his funeral. Please confirm that you will be able to attend. I have to tell you that the other people selected by my client have refused to perform this function, so it looks like you will be carrying the coffin of the fattest man in the universe and that’s official, on your own.
Please let me know as soon as possible. My client’s corpse has taken over all the available space at the funeral parlour and the funeral director needs to get him moved ASP.
Thanking you in anticipation.
Yours truly,
A.Whyplash. LLB.
This was followed by...
From: A. Whyplash
To: Craig Browne
Dear Mr C. Browne,
I do hope you’ll be able to act as pallbearer for my late client, the fattest man in the universe and that’s official. If you can’t then the undertaker may have to cut the corpse into more manageable pieces and remove it himself. This is because my late client’s earthly remains are taking up too much room in his funeral parlour.
I have some good news for you. As my late client’s executor, it’s my duty to inform you that you’ve been named as one of the beneficiaries of his Will. My late client has left you a pair of trousers and a golden signet ring. I will describe these to you. The trousers are black cotton twill, medium leg, waist size 200 inches, (1080 cm.) I do hope they’ll fit you. The signet ring is in plain 9 carat gold. Needless to
say, considering his title as the fattest man in the universe and that’s official, my late client’s finger was rather larger than normal. The circumference of the ring is 11 inches, (27.94 cm), and it weighs 5.3 kilos.
The items are here in the safe of my office at number 196, the High Street, Burgess Hill, East Sussex.
I look forward to hearing from you.
Yours truly,
A.Whyplash. LLB.
Still nothing! I’d tried humour, so I decided to try insulting them. More specifically, insulting Pinkie herself. I’d seen her sporting a Manchester United scarf and I reckoned she probably considered herself one of the lads. So a bit of misogyny was called for...
From: Mike Knowles
To: Craig Browne
Hi, Craig,
I’m sorry, mate, I still can’t get over the death of the fattest man. What a tragic loss to humanity.
Please forgive the confusion about your gender and your age. The problem is your syntax. A Chinese psychologist has shown that some young females have problems finding the “shift” key on their computers. Being mature Alpha Males, we both know that when you press this key it produces capital letters. And sentences begin with capital letters. So does the letter “i “when one refers to oneself in the singular. They also have problems with full stops and starting new sentences.
I can only assume you have a younger sister and you’re using her as your secretary. Shame on you, mate!
Mike.
This seemed to do the trick...
From: Craig Browne
To: Mike Knowles
wow mike , ive got sum bad news i am ov the male gender, how can u comment on my age wen u dnt know my age tell me this mike im intrigued? ok mike let me ask you , who is miss pinkie and how do you know her?
He didn’t deny he had a sister! I may be wrong, but in a subtle way this email seemed different. I felt it had a feminine air about it. “mike im intrigued?” It’s an expression a woman might use. Did Pinkie compose this one? But their obstinate refusal to come clean was starting to annoy me. Only I wasn’t about to let it show. Misogyny was replaced with flattery.
From: Mike Knowles
To: Craig Browne
Mr Brown Esq.,
As you don’t seem to know our Ms Pinkie, let me tell you about her. From what I can gather she’s intelligent, creative, tenacious and strong willed. Quite frankly, Mr Browne, she scares the hell out of me!
They didn’t rise to the bait...
To: Mike Knowles
From: Craig Browne
ok mike lets see, i checked out the link u aslo left on the dead letter, so you used to write for annuals and comics?
thats very intresting. films well i like the last samurai that was a good film , pearl harbour was also very good film , music ? well im realy into hip-hop i enjoy the message that the artist gives , and no im not the fellow who sells big issue, hey mike cud you do me a favour could you write me a persuasive letter you see im looking to start an apprenticeship in joinery or plumbing , you know a letter to send out to employers who might be able to help me out , that would very helpfull cheers
All sweetness and light, I told him I’d be only too willing to help. And, to make sure he was accepted, I offered to compose a threatening letter.
To: Mike Knowles
From: Craig Browne
Thanx for the advice , yeah not a threatining letter i dnt think that would help the cause , i dont want to be a cowboy i wud much rather do it properly,by the way im 20 just incase u need to put that within your letter thanx
The atrocious spelling didn’t fool me. I figured it was simply a disguise along with his false name. At this point, frustrated that I wasn’t getting the answers I wanted, I decided I’d had enough and confronted him. I told him I knew who he was and accused him of using his sister as a stooge for whatever twisted schemes he had in mind. Internet flamers are people who deliberately insult other users and start arguments. As the self-styled Trollbuster General I’d fought fire with fire and virtually brought one flamer’s forum to a standstill. And had my privileges revoked on another. So I know how to dish it out. After that there was silence and I reckoned I’d heard the last of them. As for Pinkie? I would occasionally see her on the opposite side of the road. And as soon as she spotted me she’d start running. At first I found it amusing. Eventually I just changed my routine so I wouldn’t meet her. The Pinkie Saga seemed to be over.
But those false emails had given them ideas...
The Sorry Tale of an Incompetent Spammer!
Although the Pink Coat Club and the Fattest Man in the Universe had provided me with some amusement, I was no nearer to learning anything remotely useful about these two. Apart from the fact that they seemed to like playing tricks on people. Had they tried this on anyone else? Or was I the only one? And the more I thought about it the more intrigued I became. This was a case my fictional hero Sherlock Holmes would have revelled in. Forget the Red Headed League or the Dancing Men. This was far more perplexing. Especially when, a few weeks later, this email arrived...
From: "Kristine Presley"
To: Mike Knowles
when he casually mentions feel pressure to be credit inquiry and information someone struggles and other play complaint about words, in real world skills, investment advisory service same problems. and organized the investments within is so often misunderstood, But so does living which details the more complex. feel why not," complaint about science, and learning theory, instead allowing reference report forever! design problems, and better a pediatrician at The Children's Hospital that the firm so that you can spend she says, she Having reviewed all you want to learn the feel why not," which you want about up a creek without begin as early as infancy. complaint against the FSA. his stunningly clever use of Command, such as blocks and dolls, if you are interested in it
I’d had the odd spam email before I met Pinkie and her brother. And they all seemed to want me to buy Viagra or one of its derivatives. From this I naturally assumed there were well meaning people out there on the internet who were concerned about the state, or non-state, of my John Thomas. And they wanted to help me. They wanted to stiffen my resolve, so to speak. So, whenever impotent men feel they’re shunned and unwanted, they can take some comfort from the fact that spammers love them. But this particular email was different.
It wasn’t the random sentences in the email that alerted my suspicions. Apparently these are a popular device used by spammers to get past the filtering programs. No, unlike any spam I’ve ever received that was all there was. Just random sentences. No mention of any product. No links to any websites. Nothing. Had some genuine spammer, in his rush to get these things out, forgotten to put the vital information in there? The information that might persuade people to part with their money? Or had this spammer completely lost his marbles? Had the strain of sending out millions of emails proved too much for them?
As for their email address? Needless to say, that didn’t exist. They clearly hadn’t lost that many marbles. And that’s what it may have been. A simple mistake on the part of a spammer who, contrary to popular opinion, was only human. Had it not been for the simple fact that I usually got about three or four of them a week. And they all followed the same pattern. No products or links. Some with just random strings of text, others with just four of five random letters. I thought it might be code. But, with just these few letters, it would have been impossible to decipher. Was it a rogue spammer gone mad? Had a mental aberration caused them to forever forget to add the most important part of the email? What had caused this aberration? A clot in the brain, perhaps? Or a stroke? Alcoholism or drug abuse…maybe both? No! I could imagine a spammer making the mistake once, but not this many times.
Although I had no proof, I fired off some emails to Craig Brown accusing him of sending them. He didn’t reply. Not that I expected him to. But it made me feel better. Then I got one that seemed to contain a reference to the book Adam Bede.
From: maude.abbott@ejlby.dk
To: mike_knowles@*********
I think you did a great job, Roshni. How did Ben and your mother get along? This country was founded with principals that no government figure can be completely trusted.
Checks They all stood while Mr. false Irwine passed.
Adam and Seth
Cliff continued, there are a large number of people who believe but kept hold of the food story
Adolfus Irwine was the rector of Broxton and Seth Bede is Adam Bede’s younger brother. As you probably know, the book had been written by George Elliott. The pen name of Mary Anne Evans. A female writer pretending to be a man! That’s what finally convinced me that these “spam” emails were coming from my two friends. Was the message saying that Craig was really Pinkie! They were clearly trying to muddy the water. To sow confusion. And they were doing a good job of it.
After a while I started to get images showing pills. They were getting more brazen. And some of these did have links. But initially the links proved to be dead ends. No wanking material there. It was as though they were teasing me. It was only until much later on that they sent me a link to a sex dating site. Or at least to a page on the site that was displaying a photo of a vagina. The more I told them I wasn’t interested, the more they did it. I began to dream about vaginas. Not a good thing for a man my age. Of course, one explanation is that they were telling me I was a cunt. A cunt to fall for their tricks. And they’d be right. But I’m not just any cunt. I’m a cunt with an inquisitive nature. A nosy cunt. A cunt that wants answers!
But we’re getting ahead of ourselves. The email headers indicated they came from various places around the world. How were they doing it? One of their “spam” emails seemed to give a clue when it referred to a server that promised anonymity to its users…
From: Sam Majonga
To: mike_knowles@********
We present Bullet Proof dedicated servers & Antiabuse hosting for direct mailing, all types of adults (child porn, rape), logs, fakes and other projects.
We have:
100 Mbit channel, Guaranteed uninterrupted power supply, Support service, Anonymity,· Remote access to power supply (APC PDU) Standard server configuration: Pentium 4 3.0G/DDR2 1024Mb/HDD 80Gb Sata2 Also, any configuration can be ordered. After the server will b We present Bullet Proof dedicated servers & Antiabuse hosting for direct mailing, all types of adults (child porn, rape), logs, fakes and other projects. After the server will be ordered setup is done within 24 hours. All types of spam and porn is allowed.
You can pay us by: webmoney, E-gold, paypal.wire transfer
My only question is, just what the fuck is E-gold?
In Which I Bug Their House and Listen In to Their Conversations!
Oh, dear!
Had I been summoned to the Leveson Inquiry I could have told them that I was doing a similar thing it back in 2007. Still, it’s a good thing Leveson didn’t call me because it would have been a waste of his valuable time. My hacking was purely fictitious. The result of an over-active imagination coupled with a desire to ingratiate myself with Pinkie and her brother. I wanted them to open up to me. Faced with the brilliance of my jokes they would eventually that admit that they were behind this fake spam. The sad truth is I can barely operate a mobile phone let hack one! In fact, I hate mobile phones and the only hacking I’d every want to do involves the vigorous use of a butcher’s cleaver. Nevertheless, as the fake spam emails poured in I pretended I was listening in to the deadly duo’s mobile phones. I sent them transcripts of these “hacked” phone calls. In one of their messages to me they’d made certain disparaging remarks about Jews. And I’d pulled them up over it. However, I couldn’t be sure if they were anti-Semitists or whether they were just trying to wind me up. Probably the latter. So I created a fictitious Rabbi called Goldberg…
To: Craig Brown
From: Mike Knowles
Subject: Transcript
(Sound of mobile phone)
Goldberg: Goldberg here. So, let me get this straight. You want to join the Jewish faith so that he might accept your fake email messages?
Pink Coat: That’s right, Rabbi. He seems to like Jewish people. And they say yours is a powerful religion.
Goldberg: The Talmud has helped many people.
Pink Coat: Then I’m in. I’ll do whatever it takes.
Goldberg: You’ll have to study our religion hard. It will not be easy.
Pink Coat: It’ll be easier than learning how to use a computer. I have to get my brother to send those emails to that Goyem. If he became a Jew, he would have to be circumcised, wouldn’t he?
Goldberg: Yes.
Pink Coat: Can I do it?
In return they sent a “spam” email containing following message…
From: "Heiple"
To: mike_knowles@**********
Subject: Man collapses in shock after guilty verdict in La.
What man? What guilty verdict in LA? Was this a thinly veiled threat? If so, I shrugged it off. The Trollbuster General is fearless. After all, I’d survived that psychopathic former Special Forces killer, Randy McNob. (See my book: Randy McNob: Fear & Loathing on the Internet).* The next morning I saw Pinkie on the other side of the road and decided to ignore her. That was the stick, now for the carrot...
*Some shameless self-promotion there.
From: Mike Knowles
To: Craig Browne
Sorry about that. I was going to wave but I was unable to because of these horsehair underpants I’m wearing. They’re a little uncomfortable.
Love,
Mike.
I think it may have worked because the next day I got this “spam” email…
From: "Cicily"
To: <mike_knowles@*********>
Subject: Madonna's Adoptions Just Part Of Trend
India's ruling party unveils security agenda
They wanted to adopt me! Things were looking up. Or maybe they were hoping Madonna would adopt me. In which case they’d be waiting a long time. Then we have a reference to a security agenda. Of course! They were going to install some anti-hacking device in their mobiles. Only it didn’t work...
To: Craig Brown
From: Mike Knowles
Subject: Transcript
Pink Coat: Does he mean he will stand there and wave each morning or will he do it just the once?
Brother: I told you. The old fart’s going senile. He says he likes to be precise and then does the exact opposite. I bet he’s incontinent as well.
Pink Coat: Don’t be so disgusting. And you’d better not wee when I circumcise you.
The innuendo in that last remark is a bit dodgy. But at least I wasn’t suggesting they had sex. Well, not straight away. When you’ve just had your foreskin removed I imagine you wouldn’t feel like shagging. The reference to my, (I hasten to add, supposed), incontinence inspired this reply…
From: Lukander
To: mike_knowles@*********
Subject: How To Get A Girl To Do Anything And Everything In Bed - Be Absolutely Mind Blowing
Then have the shells finely cleansed, fill them, alone, he said. I am sure that before both of she was all smiling and pleased. How could she here, she'd forgot to pull down the curtain, and here?' i repeated. 'you did not think,' she answered, and blessed mrs. Shonts. But whywhywhydid soandso shrugged his shoulders. I am afraid that my colleague voice of caprice or insincerity. But it was very to serve not only lutha but the house of von der his way to ellerston street to the house of mr. Too mr. Gwynne was recognized as a gentleman, them. Yes, a day of bitter retribution will ere.
No mention of how you got a girl to do anything and everything in bed? But wait a minute! Was this a subtle reference to my sick joke? Had Pinkie actually circumcised her brother? Whilst the subject was intended to arouse, the body of the email failed to deliver even the slightest hint of titillation. And who is this Mrs Shonts? And we learn that Mr Gwynne is a gentleman. Was there any doubt about that? And the threat of bitter retribution? I feared nothing so I continued with it…
To: Craig Brown
From: Mike Knowles
Subject: Transcript
Download this book for your ebook reader.
(Pages 1-29 show above.)