Scamm's Fairy Tales

*From the early '08 scambaiting archives, and a warning: some politically opinionated references reside herein...consider yourselves Disclaimered*

Once upon a Time, in a land far, far away, made more accessible by the Internet, there lived a princess. Or so she said she was (pictured at right). This princess sought her Prince Charming, and had decided that I -- yes, readers, that I -- was it.

*Gag, barf, scoff, ROFLYAO, whatever*

*The following story is true; the names weren't changed from the text, 'cuz neither one was likely the right name, anyway. Any resemblance to any non-fictitious person, living, dead or animated, is purely immaterial, and besides, no one really gives a flying dysenteric amoeba fart*.

I get all sorts of scam letters. I've had a few from claimed-to-be royalty. So there was nothing terribly unusual about the email I received from Herself, Princess Lacey Oyekan:

Hello dear, I want to say big thank you now for responding to my plight. For I am hope fill that once you read this, you will be of big heart and mind to me. I got your contact information from the American Business Consulate in my country. Do you know that men and women are angles created with only one wing and they need to find each other to enable them fly together and forever , i went through your business profil and that made me wana say hi to you by send you an e-mail...i hope to find my soul mate here because i believe all thing is possible when you have faith...am Princess Lacey Oyekan by name Presently in Nigeria, 30 year old single i have no kids never marryed, i dont drink or smoke Am a good girl that Love to keep it real...Am honest, caringunderstanding,loving and have a good sens of humor because i love to laugh, Am mix race cuz my dad is a black man and my mom is a white lady , i school in Central Florida University where I studdied real Estate Management some year back...Now am hoping to start up a new life by having a family and the only way which that iwll happen is by search for a honest, caregloving and undeerstanding man that knows what he want out of life and not hear for games...are you my prince? if i kiss you will be frog or prince? i wish to be save , just like in farry tale by my whited night. if you believe like me and wish to rescue me for a life of love we can take this conversaton to the next level and know more about the other when you can reply me back. bye for now...

Princess Lacey

I almost hate when I have a *TOING* like the *TOING* this gave me.

Since my dear Princess Lacey Woebephulovit seems enamored of "farry tales", I decided to reciprocate with one. Thus, I turned to my inner Professor U. R. Phulovit, story scrambler emeritless, responded to this desperate-for-luv (of money) princess as only the good Professor can. Completely full of sh...compost:

Ribbit...ribbit...just kidding, Princess.

Greetings and fairy tale hallucinations, Princess. I must confess right up front, that I am not a prince. And other than in the eyes of a few ex-girlfriends, I don't think I'm a toad, though I have a personal bias working there. At least I'm not adept at catching flies on my tongue, but then I don't ride a motorcycle for practice, and I reckon I digress.

I find it interesting that you found my profile at an American Business Consulate in your country. Granted, I certainly get plenty of the business from your country, so I guess it makes some sense you'd find a profile for me there. Please tell me that the country isn't Dulaq? Is it really a perfect place? Do all the city information puppets really moon visitors and imply that you should wipe your bum* in place of your face, when biologically evacuating your bowels? I'm just curious, since obscurities do tend to take my inquiring mind a little lower in the inquiry department.

Let me tell you, Princess, that I once did, in fact, have a suit of armor. Knowing of another reputed princess in distress -- alleged to be a hot commodity in a hot bodity, according to CNN and Weekly World News -- I researched the mission carelessly, learning that she was ensconced in a high tower, surrounded by a moat of molten fecal material, and guarded by a pack of savage Kickapoo Poop*packers. The maniacal things are about 2 feet tall, with giant spaded feet, and when attacking in packs, they knock down their victims and pack unimaginable quantities of molten fecal material up their victim's bum*.

Nasty, perverted little rodents. Knowing this factoid, I brought along only the lower torso portion of my armor. Most fortuitous.

After a fortnights' journey into a land I was convinced had poisoned me with hallucinatory substances, I stood at the foot of the mighty tower, but wasn't sure I wasn't nightmaring or delusionally seeing what I saw. I think the big green dude and the talking mule -- apparently on their own quest for a sequel -- convinced me that this was a bad dreamscape, and that I'll never eat at Taco Bell again. All I had to do was turn around and walk into a commercial for something Pepto-Bismalish, preferably with anything that smelled better. Anything.

But then -- and this was predictable, especially in my delusions -- the dagnabbed drawbridge came down, and out sallied forth a maniacal band of those Kickapoo Poop*packers. The fight was on, and I was sooo gonna kick the snarf out of Mike Myers, Steven Spielberg, or any other schmuck who had anything to do with this script, if I ever met 'em.

Just as the swarming Poop*packers were about to strike, I was able to distract them by pointing out the image of Arianna Huffington, down in the fecal pool; that momentary distraction allowed me to domino-effect kick the whole lot of them into the pool, all seeking an opportunity to blog for her. My way was now as clear as an IRS tax manual.

Which it proved to be: I had to engage and defeat a Medusa-like creature (which I did by donning an Al Gore mask, which turned her into a carboned offset), a Hillzilla (which was sent screaming into the night by my merely waving a "Obama in '08" bumper sticker in her mug), and finally it's consort, the Bubzilla (by the deception of posting a free ticket to a weekend at an all women's college campus, and Bubzilla was sooooo all over it and out of there).

Now I stood at the threshold to the holding chamber of the oppressed, allegedly magical and beautiful princess, as I first espied her from afar: she was a blur (it really is time I get these middle-aged eyes re-examined...truly). After entering and dodging the N.O.W. EunuchMaker, I stood over the sleeping princess -- who was awaiting only that magical kiss to bring her to consciousness -- when I realized that I was looking at a comatose Nancy 'Bela' Pelosi, causing me to toss my cookies with involuntary reflexive force.

This was soooooooooo wrong.

But all was not lost: I donned a handy Dick Cheney mask (remember, this was probably a hallucinatory nightmare), whacked her on the forehead with her handy gavel, and when Pelosi peeked up to see Dick Cheney a few inches above her face, she ran screaming to the window, diving out to join the mired Poop*packers, forty very bad stories below.

And I happily left the tower to begin my twelve-step recovery program. Now, what do you think I can do for you, Princess?

I reckoned it was 80-20 against getting a reply to that. And while it's a good thing I didn't make that wager at those odds, the reply I dun got was 100% worth it:

this makes no sens to me...what is wrong with you Dont writ me again!

Irreverent as always, and proving that while there is royalty in my genealogical history, I was not born of or to royalty in this lifetime, and I was a very baaaaad Skunk by doing exactly what I was ordered by royalty specifically not to do:

Princess, folks who claim to know me have been asking that question -- and some of them making that demand -- for years. It remains unanswered, and as you can see, so does your demand. But don't worry; I promise not to publish your picture that shows genital warts all over your nose. Really.

That was apparently too much for Princess Lacey Oyekan; when I next tried to ask her if she'd gotten treatment for those proboscis genital warts, my email bounced.

So, unlike the big green dude and his talking donkey, no sequel(s) for me.

* watered down for PG-rated audiences..the original version was most definitely more R...