Dear Skunky - II

Meet Mariam. Mariam Abacha. Whether or not it's the Mariam Abacha, is anyones' guess.

It's one of over a dozen Mariam Abachas that have contacted me over the years, and none of which look quite the same.

But that's understandable: Mariam's life is a bitch. Ever since her lower-than-snake-spit husband, despotic General Sani Abacha, was killed in 1998 (accidentally, assassinated, bitten on the dork by a python while taking a leak, or whatever), the Nigerian Government has made her life, and those of her varying in name and numbers rugrats, hecky darn poo.

Witness her own account in somebody's own words:

URGENT ASSISTANT NEEDED

Dear Freind,

It is with heart full of hope that I write to seek your help in the context below, I am Mr.s Mariam Abacha the wife of the former Nigerian head of state late General Sani Abacha, whose sudden death occurred on 8th June 1998. I have no doubt about your capacity and goodwill to assist me in receiving into your custody (for safe keep) the sum of US $10 Million United States Dollars, willed and deposited in my favor by my late husband. This money is currently kept in Finance & Securities Company in Europe. As it is legally required the administration of my late husband property is under the authority of the family Lawyer.

However (there is ALWAYS a 'However', and she goes on) the new democratic government has on assumption of office set up a panel of Enquirer to probe the financial activities of my late husband with a decision to freeze all his Assets respectively. The investigation team has submitted their report; presently some cash and assets have been frozen and seized. Fortunately, our family lawyer had secretly protected the personal will of my husband from the notice of Investigators and have strictly adviced me that the willed money be urgently moved into an overseas account of trusted foreign friend (*TOING*) without delay, for security reason.

The government had earlier placed foreign travel embargo on all our family member and seized all known local and international business outlets belonging to my late husband. The situation has been so terrible that we are virtually living on the assistance of Well Wishers. In view of this plight therefore, I expect you to be trustworthy and kind enough to respond to this call I hereby agree to compensate your sincere and candid effort in this regard with 10% of the fund when finally received by you. Our attorney has perfected arrangments with the securities and finacne firm to effect complete dislodgment of this money to you within a week of the receipt of your response. They have equally guaranteed 100% risk-free and smooth transfer to you if you so request (why wouldn't one so request?). Please send down the following. Information as you responds to this SOS message:

1. Your private telephone number and fax number for prompt accessed include your mobile phone number also

2. Your full name and address

As I look forward to your response, may you remain blessed abundantly.

Mrs. Mariam Abacha (Widow)

Now, I don't mind that I first heard from Mariam Abacha in 2000. And in '01...'02...'03...multiple times in '04, when in one week I heard from her twice -- from different email addresses -- and initiated a little Mariam vs Mariam email war that lasted for about 10 days (LOL). And I heard from her in '05...'06...and early in '07.

The amounts of money were always different. So were the number of rugrats she had. So were the photos she sent me. So were the lawyers she employed. And the locations where the money was being held. And the contact email addresses.

But that's understandable, when you read her tear-jerker of a story. It should work as well as Hillary's tear-up did in New Hampster.

Except for the fact that, generally speaking, I'm a mean-spirited, greedy conservative, who doesn't give a rats' anything about a downtrodden scammer.

But that doesn't matter when I don the persona of Dear Skunky; thus personafided, I am a much different person. I lose the partisan labels and cynicism; I am the antonym of compassion and caring*.

It was with all that in mind that I undertook to send her a reply that was sure to bring her succor in her hour of need**:

Dear Mariam Abunchofya,

Mercy sakes, woman, it's been ten years, and it STILL sucks to be you? Your bannister, Idris Abdulabunga has his work cut out for him, shore 'nuff. Especially since he ain't really a lawyer; I understand he manually inseminates merekats for the Animal Planet Channel. Hope he practices safe insemination. Those merekats are mean as a dachsund.

Anyway, and lucky for you, Mariam, that you wrote to my good and deceased friend Curly Howard (the email header on this account is still to J. C. Howard, Deceased). Through a large (we tried a medium and it was too small or he was too big...nyuk nyuk nyuk *BONK*), I keep in touch with Curly, and his wit and wisdom serves me well in my online advice column. And since you contacted him, he has soitenly referred you over to me.

And in reading your latest effort to give the business, it is obvious that you need me, Mariam. Or at least this life-enhancing advice I'm about to give you, and FOR ABSOLUTELY FREE when purchasing something from QVC at regular price (limited time offer, not valid where QVC is an acronym that demeans certain sexual preferences, see your local EEOC for more details).

For starters, do you realize how counterfeited you are? Clones-a-dozen, woman, there are more Mariam Abachas online than there are maggots on a Mississippi roadkill in July. You should start by dying your hair -- or perhaps growing some -- getting rid of your five o'clock shadow, having a sex change, and coming out as Charles "The Stud" Wang. You'd definitely stand out that way, knowing that it's a man's world, at least in Nigeria, if not at Chappaqua, New York. But that's just one opinion and somewhat digressive.

If you are, in fact, the one and only Mariam Abacha, then my advice for you is more velvet-gloved brass knuckles: get over it, you whiny wench. The dumbass General's been deader than a can of corned beef for 10 years. Faux pining away with a badly-worn vibrator and really pithy story about his alleged wealth that was squeezed from oil, drugs, foreigners and wildebeest steak restaurants, is a stupid waste of time. It's time to pick yourself up by your booty straps -- even if it takes an industrial-strength forklift to get your lazy bum off the couch and away from countless re-runs of Rikki Lake -- and get back out in the world. Go back to school. Get a job. Service a military barracks on a Saturday night, like Jessica Simpson in Desperate Housewenches. Do something other than feel sorry for yourself, while looking for mugus to support your daily ten gallons of ice cream and cake frosting while you beach-whale it on an ever-flattening couch, watching trashy TV.

I mean, despite your exceptional dearth of potential, if your life is going to suck, you might as well charge $10-15 a head at the barracks. Suzanne Somers only had Three's Company; yours could have a couple hundred in it.

And let me not forget to bring up those totally useless urchins you and the corpsed General created after nights out with Red Eye Ripple and sex that even Larry Flynt wouldn't publish. Get 'em off their equally super-sized butts, and put 'em to doing something productive, though first get 'em neutered; they don't need to follow your sorry example and procreate to perpetuate it.

I realize that you might find some of these truisms a touch harsh and direct; but with a little honesty with yourself, Mariam, the first big step is pulling your head out of your ass. And it must be, at least on a temporary basis, if you're reading this. Granted, it might be a little bright at first, but the smell will marginally improve. And if you do choose to return to whenst you were inserted, you can at least apply a little Vaseline, first.

No, my good Mariam, no need to thank me for the truisms and kind, thoughtful compassion and advice I have rendered you this day. That's what ol' Dear Skunky is here for: like Dr. Phil, to say what needs to be said to those what need to hear it. Though, unlike Dr. Phil, I am not over-paid for what I do. But that's okay: I still have my hair, and he doesn't. None of which matters to you, I know.

BTW....since it has been ten years, come up with a better effort to give me the business next time, you silly bitch.

Sincerely....really...HONEST,

Dear Skunky

Online Scambaiting Advice Columnist

Since I got no reply, I'll gather that this particular Mariam Abacha has taken ol' Skunky to heart, and is out there, right now, improving her lot in life***.

* I'm sure you see what I just did there...

** Until her handler read the reply carefully, that is...

*** at the nearest military barracks...