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Namaste, Dirtbag

July 2nd, 2017

On Earth as it is in Heaven

I find metaphors for the supernatural all around me.

Lately I have been getting huge mileage out of “casting out.” I wrote about this. I cast this and that out…of myself. It works. I feel better. I get more done. I’m losing weight. My self-control has improved tremendously. Things keep going my way.

I didn’t know anything of use when I was young, but now I know we are surrounded by stupid people, vicious spirits, and our own treacherous flesh, and they never stop trying to wear us down. They tempt us, discourage us, make us ill…around the clock, every day. When you speak defeat to your problems and enemies and use the power of casting out, you aren’t doing anything new. You’re doing exactly what your enemies have been doing to you, continuously, since before you were born.

My telephone situation reminds me of this.

I take care of all my dad’s business now, and I use his phone and his office. It used to be intolerable. He had given his phone number and God knows what other personal information to hordes of hostile people who wanted to scam him. The phone rang all day, and sometimes, the calls worked (at least when he was in charge). A company called Mellberg got him to look at annuity plans.

Do you know what an annuity is? I’ll explain it to you. Say you have ten million dollars. You give it to an annuity scammer, and he pays you $800,000 until you die. Then he keeps the remainder. Guess what your wife and kids get? Nothing.

It’s a beautiful scam. You find someone who is almost certain to die within five years, and you convince him he’s getting a guaranteed income for life. Then if all goes well, he dies a year later, and everything he has is yours.

Let’s say my dad’s first name is Mel. People would call, and when I answered the phone, warm, friendly voices would say, “Mel?” As if they were his best pals. They had some bad experiences when I answered the phone.

Scammer: Mel?

Me: Who are you and why are you calling?

Scammer: Is this Mel?

Me: Don’t you know Mel’s voice?

Scammer: Who are you?

Me: I’m the guy who answered the phone. What are you calling about?

They really hate me.

A big percentage of the calls come from India and Pakistan. Sometimes I answer the phone with that in mind.

Phone: RINNNG.

Me: (Slumdog voice) Hello? Hello, Devadip? Is that you, my good friend? Hello? I am wanting to speak to the chai wala.

Sometimes I order the chicken vindaloo.

They get very angry, which is okay with me, because it may encourage them to get real jobs where they don’t annoy people and steal their savings. Also, it’s really funny to take a chance and drop that bait out into space and then hear an outraged voice with an Indian accent.

The guys who use my dad’s first name are typically selling “energy investments.” Sometimes I beat them to the pitch.

Scammer: Mel?

Me: (cheerful, booming voice) HI! Are you selling ENERGY INVESTMENTS?

Right away they know they’ve stepped in it.

They’re like the Omaha Steaks people. Thankfully, that company seems to be doing poorly. Their “franchisees” borrow money to buy refrigerated pickups, and then they ring your doorbell. Their clever trick is to start walking backwards when you open the door. They say, “Hi, I’m from Omaha Steaks, and I have some great products in my truck for you!” Something like that. The idea is that you’ll naturally start following them. I watch them walk back into the yard, say, “Not interested! Thanks!”, and shut the door.

I know someone who bought their steaks. They are little, thin, frozen steaks I would only use if I needed meat for soup. Not good at all.

It’s too bad, because the franchisees aren’t just scammers; they’ve been scammed, themselves. They have to buy all that junk, and what percentage of them make a profit? You know what happens. They and their relatives eat the food, and the trucks get repossessed. I can just hear the higher-ups in the Ponzi (sorry: “multi-level marketing) hierarchy talking to them. “You just walk backward to your truck, and people will pay you ten dollars for a three-dollar steak! We only take 65%! The rest is PURE PROFIT!”

Perhaps I am wrong. I say that so they can’t sue me.

If I get sued, when we approach the courthouse, I’ll start walking backward to my car to make them settle. “I have a crisp, fresh five-dollar bill I want to show you!”

Oh no…I’m Googling, and I see claims that the truck people don’t really work for Omaha Steaks. In that case, I’m sure Omaha Steaks is a fine, reputable company that sells wonderful products (which I will never, ever buy, because I know what a grocery store is).

I wonder if there was anything bad in the meat I ate.

Anyhow, Satan’s children are just like him. They use the same techniques. Spirits buzz around us like flies all day, trying to get us to allow them to land and feed. Scammers call old people all day, for the exact same purpose.

I hooked my dad and myself up with Nomorobo, a service that runs all calls through servers that keep the scammers from getting through. It’s almost fun when a scammer makes it to my ear, because then I can report his number to Nomorobo, and after that, he has problems. If you report a number to the Feds, nothing at all happens. The government is very stupid. Nomorobo is a private company, so it gets things done.

Reporting a number to the feds is like calling the cops when you’ve been burglarized. The cops show up, take notes, and shoot a couple of pictures. Then they go back to the police station, do nothing whatsoever to help you, and wait for their pensions to kick in so they can buy motorboats. As far as I know, except for murder, most crimes are solved only when a civilian calls, turns someone in, gives directions to the criminal’s house, and threatens to blog it if they don’t get action. I have known a lot of crime victims, and I have never known anyone whose property was found and returned by the police. If the feds are doing anything about scam calls apart from making a list no one looks at, I am unaware of it.

I’m looking at a log of calls I’ve been blessed to miss. Some company calling itself UPLIFT calls over and over. The caller ID number is (214) 453-68xx. No idea what they want. When you see that Nomorobo is blocking a caller, you can block it manually as well, and then you don’t even hear one ring when they call. Too funny.

I also get calls from Grangeville ID, at 208-494-16xx. No idea who it is. The log says, “Grangeville, Grangeville, Grangeville.” It must be pretty important.

“Monetary Gold” is another caller I will never speak to directly. Maybe it’s a Jewish guy, and his first name is “Monetary.”

Demons are a lot like the scammers my dad let into his life. They come in through doors we open. You don’t have to invite them. Unfortunately, by the time I understood how things worked, I had broadcast invitations throughout the known universe.

I look forward to getting rid of my old phone number as well as my dad’s. Then Devadip and Bakhtiar can call someone else and pretend to know them. “By Jove, are you sure this is not my good friend Mel? It seems like only yesterday that we were bathing together in the Ganges.”

I will keep closing the windows and doors and spraying fly repellant. I suggest you do the same.

One Response to “Namaste, Dirtbag”

  1. Steve B Says:

    I hate the phone spammers. I have Vonage because I currently live overseas. So when they call during “business hours” for them, it’s 1130 at night or 2 o’clock in the morning for me. Luckily Vonage has allowed unlimited blocks for numbers. Some guy used my phone number for his business listing online, so I get all sorts of calls for business loans, or web hosting info from “Google” (yeah, right). Home security systems, too. One day I was bored, and let the home security guy walk me all the way through his spiel, told him I was totally interested, and then heard him go silent when I finally gave him my address in Germany! 😀

    Maybe not the most Christiany thing to do, but it was rather satisfying. Like you said, it’s hard to have sympathy for people who make their living scamming people.

    And of course, there was the time that “Fred” from Texas called me, in the thickest Indian accent ever. Sure you’re in Texas, Fred. Sure.