Hello absolutely everyone, and I do mean absolutely EVERYONE. My name is Nick Hilbourn, professional coffee taster and member of the world community. Over the past six months, I've received a lot of communication from my family asking questions like, "Where are you?" and, "I thought you went to Price Chopper to buy snack mix?" or the most frequent, "Where's my DEBIT CARD?"
But I've been keeping my position as an international e-mailer a secret and that takes a lot of time away from other things.
What is an international e-mailer?
That's the question I anticipate getting a lot.
Well, an international e-mailer is mail sent by me, to other countries, of myself. But not just any photos. đ
Let me back up a bit.
During a seven-year period of unemployment after college, I traveled my hometown of Scranton, Pennsylvania, seeing wonders, filling in job applications at Advance Auto Parts, and NEVER once did I think I could find an occupation (or even, a calling?) that appealed to my entire being and bulge.
The coterie of giggling girls looked up at me. I switched my weight to my left side, affecting a John Wayne snarl. "I believe that's MY bulge you're looking at." Then, late one night during one of many visits to my local watering hole (an establishment named "Flannigans," which shall remain anonymous), I ran across an old friend from high school. I noticed that I was still attracted to her breasts and decided that I should send her a text message, hoping she still had the same number she did fifteen years ago.
So I went to the bathroom, pulled down my Abercrombie & Fitch jeans, and took a nice vertical shot of my bulge with the trusty old iPhone 5 smartphone, and sent the photo to her. Then I hurried back to my normal perch at the bar.
Within a few seconds she felt that little buzz on her phone. I watched as she opened it up, and the look on her face…well…impossible to describe. She called her friends over. And there they were, all gathered together with their breasts and faces, looking at a high-definition picture of my bulge.
Well, I knew it was time. I walked over there in my best John Wayne gait, hands at my side like I was about to draw a gun, but there was no gun.
Just a bulge, locked and loaded. Ready to go.
But mostly harmless. LOL
"Excuse me," I said, and the coterie of giggling girls looked up at me. I switched my weight to my left side, affecting a John Wayne snarl. "I believe that's MY bulge you're looking at."
The giggles stopped and faces dropped, kind of like they do when you drop your pants in your 11th grade math class seven years ago to prove some kind of a point that you don't even remember anymore.
Just like that.
Only the old friend, Alicia or something, seemed to recognize what was going on.
"Oh-Em-Gee," she said, speaking some sort of secret girl code we all find irresistibly adorable sometimes. "This is your bulge?" At that point most of the girls gave a look somewhere between disbelief and wonder that came off kind of like disgust. Alicia was so elated she could barely hold in her natural feminine hysteria. Then the other girls joined in. "I bet this guy has, like, the BIGGEST dick in the WORLD! I wanna, like, fuck him SO HARD," she said, and the girls laughed harder. All of them wrapped up in a reaction that they, as females, could not control. I nodded and gave a polite wave as I ambled back to my spot at the bar.
"You're welcome," I said, and walked away. Same phone number, I thought as I asked the bartender for another PBR Lite, what a LOSER.
"We don't have any of that," he said. And I nodded.
It didn't matter.
Why?
Because that night I'd discovered my calling as an ambassador of peace. A professional e-mailer.
I started with everyone on my contact list.
Finally, I had a job.
By day I was practicing my John Wayne walk and by night I was sending my bulge out to my entire contacts list. As you can imagine, I received mostly incredulous replies like, "WTF," "Who is this?", "im yr fuking sister, STOP," and occasionally a picture in reply.
On one night in particular, one of my contacts replied with a picture of his bulge. I was astonished until I realized that it was me. I had sent myself a picture of my own bulge. I shook his head and laughed. Now I had TWO pictures of my bulge on my phone.
Knowing that most government offices use LAN lines, I decided to move to e-mail. I began sending e-mails of my bulge to congressmen all across the nation. Many times, just one e-mail was enough for them to be overwhelmed and block me from sending any more.
I knew I needed to branch out. Where, I thought, is my bulge most needed?
That's when I remembered that one of the Koreas is a communist country. I couldn't remember which one, but I knew that was likely a problem a lot of people in the world community have.
What would be the game changer to help figure out which one was the communist country?
The one that refused the bulge, of course. The one that covered it over with the cement of oppressive government censorship. The one that didn't react with the frivolity and large breasted-ness of the American democratic response such as those girls in Flannigan's.
So, I found the government website of each Korea and sent a picture of my bulge to each one. In the subject line I wrote, "This is for you and for freedom everywhere. May its symbolism resonate inside you."
South Korea didn't respond, which is the same as censorship to me. Obviously, they've destroyed my e-mail with the heavy hammer of communism, the concentrated cleaver of collectivism.
But North Korea responded immediately. It sent its own picture. A group of Chinese people holding a large white board with a picture on it. Once I'd printed it out, I realized two things: 1) the people might actually be North Korean (it's difficult to tell) and 2) the board was a picture of my bulge blown up to, what seemed like, a thousand.
It was larger than the heads of all three of the people combined, and it had "USA" written underneath it. The e-mail's message read: "We thank you for picture; we'll now show this to all of our country to see what America really is."
Now I know which country is the real democracy. And I know which one needs more work.
And that's what I'm doing now, preparing myself for a surge into the communist cesspool of South Korea with a collection of over 2,000 pictures of my bulge in various styles of Abercrombie & Fitch underwear. I've already sent some to North Korea and they approve.
Pretty soon, my surge to break open the walls of oppression and release the light of democracy to a people held under the shadow of a heavy iron fist will begin.
And it will begin with a dossier of…wait a second…getting a ding here…
…oh, ha! It's a message from myself and…
…oh, I see…
… I forgot, I Instagrammed myself another photo of my bulge.
Sometimes, for old time sakes, I like to receive pictures of it to make sure I still have it and, you know what, I do.