[ WP ] Those spam emails you keep getting to join the Illuminati are actually real . And the organization is getting frustrated that you wo n't accept .

''Come on... Come on!'' Christian screamed as he repeatedly pressed the send button on his computer until it showed that the email had been sent.''Yes! Yes, yes, yes. Oh sweet God, yes.'' He said in delight before calling to his superior as he turned away from the old computer, Donovan Mcarthy. 
 
''Is it done, Christian? Did you send the mail just as we told you to?'' Donovan said as he slowly scratched his white goatee.''Yes, meister. I included the whole deal this time and i made sure the email got sent, too.'' Christian replied. He offered the metal chair to his superior who kept looking at the screen as he approached to sit on it. Donovan had to carefully sit as to not taint his white robe. 
 
''And, we're sure he will receive it? The last six times we did not get him to answer due to technical failures from the now deceased technician, is that correct?'' The Grand Meister talked carefully while he stared at the screen in front of him. On the flickering screen, the text *Join the Illuminati now! And get all the benefits from being our new brother* could be read as the main body of the email. 
 
''Yes, Meister. We're sure the last times were technical mistakes since we got no reply from Evan Whitechapel even after urging him to answer us for the sixth time.'' Christian replied. He was anxiously pacing around the room, waiting for Evan's response.''Good, good. Did you included the benefit of paid trip and expenses to our installments on Nigeria?'' Said the Meister.''Again, you're correct, Sir. Only draw-back is that the banks wo n't allow us to confirm his plane ticket without his credential data, but i'm sure he'll understand.'' 
 
 Meister Donovan Mcarthy rose from the metal chair with a screech as it dragged on the tile floor. As he was heading to the mahogany door in front of him, he gave one last look to Christian.''I'm glad we can work this out, Christian. I would n't want another brother six-feet-under for *technical failures*. Have a good evening'' Christian froze in place as the Meister left the room. 
 
 

