Dear Skunky -- VIII

Sometimes, a scammer's missive needs more help than Dear Skunky can, hisself, offer up. Not that I've let that stump me in the past, but this time, with Mrs. Annen Joubert (mrsannenj_j@yahoo.de), I decided that I needed to focus in on one very impertinent..er...important segment of her effort to give me the business, at the expense of most of the rest of it.

Here's the part of what poor old Mrs. Annen Joubert sent, that got Dear Skunky's attention:

Subj: INHERITANCE

Dear Beloved, glory to God in heaven. My name is Mrs. Annen Joubert from South Africa. I am married to Mr. Abraham Benjamin Joubert, who is a farmer here in South Africa for many years before he die in 2004 (of what, will become obvious in a mo'). We were married for eleven years without a child (*TOING*). He died after a brief illness (desperation pud whacking?) that lasted only four days (yeah, four straight days of that'd do it, I 'spose). Before his death (by his own hand..snort) we were both born again Christians. Since his death I decided not to re-marry or geta child outside my matrimonial home which the Bible is against (so, you don't wanna drive another one to palmicide, eh? How thoughtful). When my late husband was alive he deposited a total sum of $10.Million with bank in Europe (crap, he didn't have anything else to do).

She goes on to tell me how she's now dying of some cancerous malady (probably snatch neglect), and how she wants me to stand in as a next of kin, so I can keep the money from the government, and all I have to do is promise to donate some of it to widows of dead pud whackers (no point in worrying about orphans in that case, is there?).

Granted, by the template this scammer uses, how to avoid her type of cancer is a bit late. And expert words of advice will do her fatally over-whacked husband no good. But perhaps it will be of help, if she shares the wisdom with someone not yet in her particular situation.

Now, I know a thing or two about sex. After 51 years, it better be at least a thing or two dozen. But I am no recognized expert on the subject. So I had Dear Skunky contact a truly recognized expert in the field: Dr. Ruth Vestheimer. And I found that she was zo very happy to make zuggestions to das Mrs. Annen. Zo much zo, I vill let you read exactly vhat das gudt Doktor zent in reply:

Mine Dear Mrs. Joubert,

Bitte! Mine name ist Dr. Ruth Vestheimer, undt a gudt friend of mine -- Dear Schkunky -- he toldt me das problems you ist havingk, undt I vould most enjoy vorking midde you to solve das problems midde your eleven years middout das rugratten undt schtuff.

Virst, I must zay to you, voman, dat a gudt reason fer das vidowhoodt you find yourself in ist your own vault! Mine gott! Eleven years middout das vhoopie? No vonder your late husband vhacked himself to death! Zelf-grativication like dat ist most unsatisfyingk! You gots vhat he needed, undt you put das cork in it undt playedt ice borg! Shame on you, you underachievingk nymph!

Next, das reason fer das disease undt infestation vhat's eating your vergeena avay now! Lack of zexual activity leads to das infestations of crotch crickets undt utter nasties undt schtuff down there! You must unleashen das inner schlut, undt hump midde reckless abandonment! Zince you are out of das practice, you must schtarten midde schmall steps: put zome Vaseline on das door knob and make like you are ridingk das pony express! Make zure it isn't made of das vood, or das slivers vill curdle your ubula faster than a clit piercingk! Zen, vunce you got das rhythm, vork from dere to das men in your village. Schart midde 50 zomethingsk virst. You can vear them down quicker than liquor! Make zure they don't got das Viagra, tho'. Zen from zhere, you may hump at vill. Das vill keep das crotch critters from takingk up residence undt eating your vomanhoodt.

Anyzhing else I can do, please do not hesitate to sprechen up undt let me know! Awpeterstain, undt good zex!

And of course, I added this little post script to Dr. Ruth's advice:

PS: Madam, as for the rest of this missive, I have to tell you that you suck at it. Which you should have spent more time at widde yo' dead spouse! HA! Oops...sorry. Hadda slip that 'un in. Well, Ice Princess, you wouldn't let that happen, either! HA! Screwed yourself good, it seems! HA! Your dead pud whacker never grasped the nature of the excess cucumbers under the bed, did he? See what I just did there? HA!

Apparently, Mrs. Annen Joubert -- or her handler(s) -- had a degree of trouble with translating the Dr. Ruth portion of this email. 'Cuz two days later, I got this:

Dear,

I wish ask you that you please write in words i can understand better im not sure what you have said to me. can you help me?

ROFLMAO!!!

Dear Skunky is always ready to oblige with clarification:

Ma'am,

No, I really can't translate the first message any better than it came to you, not that you'd know how that felt...*rimshot*. Addressing a key point of your letter, I had a friend of mine -- Dr. Ruth Vestheimer -- give you advice on how to put "zome zing back in das snatch" and keep from having your next husband commit palmicide. Eleven years without a child! You thermostat-tripping Ironbox! What do you wear, a kevlar thong? Porcupine tampons? Sheesh.

If you wouldn't screw your own spouse, how do you expect to screw me over with this piss-poor scam, Madam Porcupine-Tamponed Ironbox?

Sincerely,

Dear Skunky

They apparently were able to read enough of that with much better clarity, as their ever-since silence suggests. I'm just sorry to see that they had such a hard time reading Dr. Ruth's advice. Just imagine how happy all the village door knobs would be about now...*ducking boos and throwd items*