From Russia With Combat Boots

Sooner or later, I hadda receive one like dis.

The "Russian bride-wannabe" emails have continued, even though I have -- or at least, thought I had -- effectively blocked all further mails from the site, as well as officially deleted the "LeSkunkdePolecat" profile.

99.8 or so percent of the women I have responded to -- with tongue firmly buried in cheek -- have reacted as some Nigerian email scammers ought to: they quickly gave up, and took their husband-shopping elsewhere.

But two didn't: they actually wrote back, and want to be pen pals. They feel I can tell them much about the US, and can help them with their learning English.

Alright, let's knock off the incredulous *guffaws* in the peanut gallery out there on the latter.

After I shut down the bogus profile, and the flow (I thought) of emails, I got one from Elena, a 40 year old living in Moscow, and seeking "a good, honest, hearty man of education and outdoors kind". She's "healthy", 5' 7" and 176 pounds.

And heavily armed.

From the look of her photo (pictured top right), whomever she sets her sights on better be good in close-quarter combat, too.

In her brief bio and comments she wrote "I find you profile interesting, LeSkunkdePolecat, and wish know more about you. Write back or else...this is order".

Okay, so she really didn't say that last line.

I know what yall are going to say; yall know what I did. My bad.

But this was a letter I simply couldn't pass on. This one definitely falls under the 'bad Skunk...bad, bad Skunk!' category:

Yes Sir/Ma'am Elena:

Well, of all of the emails I have received from all of the high-class and low-brow vodka joints from Minsk to Vladivostok, St. Petersburg to Grozny...yours is the most heavily-armed. I'll bet you can field-strip an AK-47 with the best of them. And throw a grenade further, without mussing your eyeliner. Not every guy you set on your objectives list has jump wings, I'll wager. Or can run 10 miles in full combat regalia.

And in close-quarters combat...I bet you always get the top.

Yessir/Ma'am, I'll bet you do up a mean field kitchen of toasted lizard and beetlejuice, too.

I am not exactly sure, Comrade Elena, what it was about my peculiar profile that drew your attention; perhaps it was the overwhelming urge to demand I "drop and give you fifty". Believe me in all sincerity when I tell you, I could drop. Like a stone. What "fifty" I could give you, well...that's probably another story, and I digress. On purpose.

Bottomline, sir/ma'am, I am not what you seek. I cannot field strip anything other than a shotgun I have here, and it better be under the absolutely MOST OPTIMUM CONDITIONS when I do so; anything I take apart ALWAYS has spare parts when put back together. My shoes aren't spit-shined; my bunk isn't immaculate. The closest thing to an obstacle course I can do these days is three flights of stairs. Slowly. I am lousy at 'fire and movement' to take out machine gun nests and fortified strong points; and I hate field kitchened lizard with bug garnish.

Finally -- and this is very important -- I have always vowed I would never date a woman who could body-slam me. You leave little doubt on that score.

Sir/Ma'am, what you seek is a man built like a brick Abrams battle tank.

Good luck, and try to minimize casualties in your quest; them grenades can be a bit messy at times.

Parade, REST! Di-SMISSED!

Le Skunk de Polecat

Yes, I sent it. No, she didn't reply. So I'm safe.

Unless I hear a plane fly over, followed by the sight of a descending parachute. At this point, I think I'm in deep poopski, and in for a good ol' fashioned Russian Army can of whup-ass...