Monday, August 25, 2008

Dear Skunky -- XVI

I really should be ashamed of myself. Really.

Some of these scammers work really hard at these scams. The planning. The scripting. The execution of them (which I'm favorably disposed to, even if the World Court ain't). The time spent in collecting email addresses, and the money possibly spent in buying email lists and at their respective 'Internet Cafes', even if that 'cafe' is a tent in the middle of the Serengeti, or in some dried out water buffalo wallow.

They put a lot of themselves into this stuff. Perhaps they even pay a price, when they fail to produce, if they're part of an organized crime ring, as some are. Just like in the old Soviet Union, where the price of failure meant the gulag or Lefortovo Prison, and a sudden case of lead poisoning at a few hundred feet per second.

And here I am, peeing in their...uh...whatever it is they knaw on that passes for Wheaties.

Take this example for which I should be ashamed: a hard-working, industrious lad by the name of Mani Bako, claiming to be secretary to the Senior Credit Officer of the Bank of Africa in Burkina Faso ( Here he is, generously offering me the business for a total sum of $20.5 million US dollars, of which I am in for 30% (of nothing), if I'll help him (help himself to my wallet).

Of course, I need to respect the need for secrecy here: he works for the bank where the funds are, and -- according to him -- the bank can't know what he is up to. It could cost him his job. Then he'd have to illegally emigrate to America, so he can get on the welfare and other public assistance doles, and become a "registered" Democrat.

We wouldn't want him to have to stoop that low now, would we? Well, maybe YOU wouldn't, because YOU wouldn't be mean-spirited to him (though you might want the vote). But I'm not you. Nor is me as U. R. Phulovit.

No, YOU wouldn't lead this poor soul on, letting him think his scam was working; but U. R. would. And did, for 12 consecutive email exchanges. I'm sure his wife had already picked out that special case of Spam at the fly-infested market in downtown Ougabougabunga, or whatever that town is called, that she'd pick up, once the scam was consummated. And all it would have cost me to fulfill Mani Bako's dream was a measly $2750 US dollars, payable to his accomplices in Burkina Faso, via Western Union.

If I had any milk of human kindness, I would have coughed up, as Sally Struthers or Walter Coppage often urge on late night TV. But since I save all my milk for cookies, I have none left over for human kindness.

Baaaaaad Skunk.

So after 12 exchanges that have built up Mani Bako's hopes, and probably made him a near folk hero with his brethren in the fly-infested tent Internet cafe, U. R. Phulovit starts to play the role of a Karl Rove-type, with this reply:

Mani, ol' bean:
I think I may have laid a really gnarly elevator-emptier in this business of yours. That, I say that's a fart, son. I inadvertently slipped with your name to the bank. Just do like John Edwards, and deny everything, unless the National Enquirer gets hold of it, then you're so screwed.

This elicits an annoyed response from the hard-working Bako:

Phulovit, you must stay to secret with me. do not belay me with the bank or my security is periled you understand. i will deny everything if i am asked of this. plese be more carful.

So I send this note to his bank, to make things all better:

Bank of Africa
Senior Credit Officer Manu Abba (

Regarding my last email to you, please disregard my reference to Mani Bako, your secretary and covert gay lover at office parties. He says he knows nothing about the business of this transaction he introduced me to; he only asked me to be a next of kin here, but not have to play one on TV. So just forget I brought that up, unless of course you were looking to fire him for doinking spider monkeys on the side, in an effort to pervert the species.

After that email, U. R. would never again here from 'the bank'; but did he ever hear from Bako:


Okay, I'll stop that strange stuff. And do something else strange:

I have no idea what it is you find strange stuff here. By the way, did someone sprinkle that penile enlargement powder on your keyboard? You're all in're supposed to take the stuff orally, and make your wife howl at the moon. But, I guess different cultures have different notions.

Anyway, I'm sending the money to the bank. I'm having an untrained black mamba deliver it. Do you think that will be okay?

Mani is apparently a trusting soul, albeit a very confused one about now:

I don,t understod your mail to me . Just send money to bank for the transfer as orranged like i told you okay? i am anxous about this to be done!

Now there I go, making him 'anxous'. Dang me. Let's do it some more:

You're probably right; how was an untrained black mamba going to deliver money, with no hands? Silly me. How's about I send it Western Onion? A singing one, no less: they can sing the name of the recipient -- I think you said it went to John Oboe, or some other reedy instrument -- and melodically ask the text question, "who hit Annie in the fanny with a flounder?". John need only answer "it sho wuzn't SpongeBob Squarepants!", and they'll hand over the money, and tap dance right outta the bank. It'll be so kewl. Whaddaya think?

Mani is apparently not much for karaoke bars, either:

Phulovit, what is this pleese? you are write to me stuff i can,t understood to me is only needed for you to send money WEstern Union as we arange first and soonest plese. this take too long and put me in jeopardy at bank!

"put me in jeopardy at bank"? Kewl:

Get outta town!!! Really?? You're gonna be on Jeopardy? Well, poop on my biscuits and call it crapcake, you must let me know when you'll be on, so I can make a DVD of it. I'll actually be able to say I knowd someone who was on Jeopardy! That's so kewl. But back to business...quit being a spoil sport about the singing Onion telegram. I think it's a helluva way to send money. Western Union's so boring. You just make sure that John Clarinette, or flute, or whatever the frack his name is, knows the right response to the text question, or the singing telegrapher will just tap dance right out of there, without delivering the money, but will bill you for the travel and all. I did mention that, right? If not, consider this an improv *Disclaimer*, with other restrictions, voids and prohibitions made up to make it sound legalese.

Now that I have probably thoroughly humiliated Mani Bako with his scamming peers, and put him in the meerkat house, far as his wife is concerned, I get this last, pained email from him:

i don,t tust you no any make jest of me and insut me.stop write me no anymoor!

See how ashamed I should be of myself? Eh:

But this was just getting fun. Now that I'm on a croissant, you want me to stop? What about your $20.5 million? You'll never get your wife that brand new Yugo two door without it! And I didn't make jest of you; I just used what you gave me to work with. But if you want, I could send you the hat to make the outfit work -- it has little bells on it that tinkle, not like someone who's had too much jungle juice -- if you tell me where to send it. Whaddaya say, Bako?

Alas, he says nothing more. I hurt his feelings, and ruined all his hard scam work.

I should really be ashamed of myself. Really.


Blogger Herb said...

As always, you are a master. I liked the "Special case of Spam" line. But really, you have a bigger scam going on in yer little berg there this week, doncha?

25 August, 2008 06:03  
Blogger Debbie said...

" ... you make jest of me and insut me.stop write me no anymoor!"

When will these people realize that if they write like idiots, they will be treated as idiots?

Debbie Hamilton
Right Truth and
Right Truth Two

26 August, 2008 10:43  
Blogger Serena Joy said...

This is just too delicious. Next time I get spam, hell no I'm not deleting it. I'm going to play with it!:-)

26 August, 2008 16:39  
Blogger Little Lamb said...

Such is life.

27 August, 2008 15:57  

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