Bank What Needs A Bailout

Not a fiscal one; a syntax one.

I've heard from the Bank of Africa many times. And always as an extension of an email scammer. But this time, I was solicited directly by the Bank of Africa, Burkina Faso branch. They apparently decided to quit being the middlescam, and just cut out the ill-educated scammer on the front end, coming directly to the intended mugu to give him the business.

In this case, me, as Myra Manes.

This is the opening salvo that I received from the alleged Bank of Africa. While I can't emulate all the fancy logos and such they throwd on the page to give it an official appearance -- like the Nigerian ones that duped Citibank out of millions in '07 -- I am going to write this, syntax-wise, exactly as I received it:

FORIEGN REMITTANCE DEPARTMENT BANK OF AFRICA

Foreign Remittance Department No 17 Avenue de la rAcsidence, Ouaga, Burkina Faso.

BOA-BF Date 14-04-2009 BOA-BF

ANNT Mr. Myra

THIS MANEGMENT IS ASKING YOU FOR THE PAYMENT OF 4000 U.S. DOLERS, SO THAT YOUR FUND WILL BE TRANSFERD AND YOU HAVE TO DO FAST SO THAT BANK GOVERNOR WILL NOT ASK YOU IF YOU ARE THE REAL NEST OF KIN? YOUR URGENT RESPOND

BOA OFFICIAL DOCUMENT

If ever a bank was in need of a bailout -- syntaxually speaking -- then it's this 'un, shore 'nuff. But Myra didn't make an issue of the dubious quality of the "official document". Nawp. He just wrote back thus:

Dear Bank,

Kindly get back to me with WTF you are writing to me about? What fund? What governor? What nest of kin?

Myra

The next day, I got a reply. From the same Bank of Africa. It didn't acknowledge my questions above, whatsoever. But it was apparently written by the same banker in dire need of a syntax bailout:

NOTE/ WE ARE IN RECEPT OF YOUR MESAGE BUT WE WANT TO KNOW IF YOU HAVE BEEN ABL TO ARANGE THE MOMEY AS YOU KNOW IS THE ONLY THING DELAY YOUR TRANSFER NOW WITH OR BANK, WE WILL ADVICE YOU TO GET BACK TO US IMEDATELY AND LET US KNOW IF YOU CAN ORANGE THE MONEY SO THAT WE CAN DO THE NEEDFUL AND COMMENCE THE TRANSFER TO YOU ACOUNT WITH DELAY, WE LOOK FORWAR TO HEAR FROM YOU AS MATTER OF URGENCE.

I decide to continue to play cornfused by the whole thing:

Bank,

You didn't answer a single one of my afore-emailed questions, and have me nonplussed by what this fund is, and what my $4,000 US dolers are supposed to do toward it. Is there someone in charge I can have explain this to me? And please, have them make it simple, not like some lawyer from the Office of the President's Teleprompter. I am simple person, keep the answer simple.

My request was met in part, by getting a letter from the Executive Governor, Alhaji Bello A. Tanko, Bank of Africa in Burkina Faso, which is definitely something akin to being in charge, I reckon. As for the simplicity of the response, well...:

THIS MESSAGE IS FROM OFICE OF THE EXEUTIVE DIRETR BANK OF AFRICA BOA. REGARDS TO YOU MAIL TO OUR BANK I PERSONALLY WNAT TO KNOW FROM YOU HOW MUCH YOU BEEN ABLE TO UP WITH, I MEAN HOW MUCH YOU HAVE AT MOMENT THEN LET ME USE MY VETO POWER TO HOW I CAN HELP YOU BECUASE YOU LATE BROTHER WAS GOOD CUSOMER WITH OUR BANK BEFORE HE DIED SO YOU ARE HERE ADVICE TO REPOND THIS MESSAGE AND LET ME KNOW MUCH YOU HAVE AT MOMENT SO I CAN KNOW WHAT DO TO HELP, AWAIT YOU URGNET REPOND AS MATTER OF URGENT.

Now THAT was helpful, wasn't it?

So I indulge the Executive Gov a tad:

My esteemed and sauteed Executive Governor, A.B.A. Tanked,

Your reply is light on the details that I sought, but I reckon you gave me the best you got to give. So...if we're gonna trade wampum here, you best get to the rat killing by telling me how I'm supposed to get to you this $4,000 US dolers. That'd be for starters, I reckon.

Myra

The Exec Gov wastes no time in getting back to me on the seminal question in my repond, which I'm astonished he understood a word of:

THIS IS CONFIM THE RECIPE OF YOU URGEN MESSAGE TO MY OFFICE AND THE CONTENT OF YOU MESSAGE WAS WELL UNDERSTOD, REGARDS TO YOU MAIL I WANT ASURE YOU THAT WE DO EVERYTHING POSIBLE TO MAKE SURE THAT YOR INHERITANT FUMD WILL BE CONFIRM IN ACCOUN WITHIN 48 HOUR AS THE BENEFICARY NEST OF KIN AS SOON AS WE RECEVE THE MONEY FROM YOU. I WANT TO LET YOU NOW THAT I TO HANLE THIS MATTER AS THE EXEUTIVE GOVERNOR OF THE BANK, SO AS YOU PROMISE TO SEND THE MONEY TODAY BEEN FRIDAY 17TH APRIL, YOU ARE ADVICE TO SEND THE MONEY THRUGH WESTERN UNION WITH BELLOW INFORMATONS:

NAME: MOHAMMED RAZAB

CITY: OUAGADOUGOU

COUNTRY: BURKINA FASO

AMOUNT: USD$4000

YOU ADVICE TRANSFER THE MONEY THROGH WESTERN UNON WITH THE INFOMATON AND FORWAR THE PAYMEN TRANSFER INFORMATON THRUGH THIS EMAIL TO ENABLE US THE NEEDFUL AND TRANSFER FUND TO ENABLE YOU CORFIRM IN YOUR ACOUNT WITH 48 HOUR AS SCHEDULE, WE LOOK FORWAR TO HERE FROM YOU TODAY WITH THE WESTERN UNION INFORMATON AS MATTER OF URGENT. MANGEMENT.

Well, as I'm sure the Executive Governor of a bank in Burkina Faso couldn't understand, where Myra purportedly lives -- Central City, CO, roughly 20 miles west of Golden, CO -- it's snowing. Really. An actual big spring storm's worth of snow. So Myra sends 'em this:

Dear Tanked,

I am cognizant of your need for speed here. But you must understand my logistical problem of the moment: snow. Tons of it. It's snowing like a cow peeing icicles on a flat rock. Now, snow doesn't really act like a cow peeing icicles on a flat rock, but crank the temperature up a few degrees, turning the snow to rain, and it can be hard enough to emulate a cow more gratefully only pissing water on a flat rock. Anyway, it's really difficult weather to get around in. Imagine you trying to walk barefoot about 20 miles in white moisture that's colder than Hillary Clinton at a Republican fundraiser. That's kinda the situation here. But I promise I go by a Western Union by no later than Monday.

The reply from the bank was as heretofore, badly written, but beheld a degree of expectancy in that we antipate you make payment for the needful to go. Whatever THAT meant.

And on Monday morning, I made the payment. Granted, not via Western Union; I made the needful expedient by paying via email. With currency. Currency attached to the email. The kind of currency wasn't important; like with liberals, it's the thought that counts.

Monday night, I found out what the bank thought about how my thought counts:

We are recep of you message but what is mening of mail you sent us or are you try payl a games on us? Anyway we have set some investgaton parnels to investogate if you are real nest of kin to diseased, so you advice not to contact bank untill our investgaton parnels are thrugh becuase from you mail we are having a kept.

I really hate to have them waste precious "investogate parnels", especially when I don't have a friggin' clue what they are. So I reply thus:

Tanked,

I can assure you, no game. I am in receipt of your message which is well understood, and I know what that word means, having attended a local community college that offered English as a second choice to gym class. I am acting in reciprocal faith and sincerity, like you. I provide you with the same payment modality that the North Koreans have found so useful. And you are, after all, a bank, right? Who knows how to manipulate money better, besides the current US Treasury? A good color copier and it's all good! So go ahead and sign off on my being nest of kin, and let's get 'er done!

With their bow quite unstrung and their quivver all aflivver, frequently this is when the game ends. But as in the movie Gladiator, "not yet...not yet":

We are recpt of you message and we are infarm to you that we have to given you infromations to police to seek to you for this. Unless good payment is to made for the needful, police will come to find you. Think this to heart.

I reckon this orta have me peein' in my knickers, 'cept that I don't wear knickers, and have a stouter sphincter than that. But eh...they think it might work. Let 'em think it did:

Dang, Tanked, you play hardball here, indeed! And you're right: you do know where I live. So I guess to avoid having the police do the needful, I'll render up the payment as you insist. Here 'tis. Do the needful widdis.

And I did: I attached some useless Iraqi dinars from the Saddam Hussein era. And it brought forth a response:

You trouble for payl to us. You see.

So here I sit, awaiting a *knock* at the door from the Burkina Faso Poo-leece, to do the needful.

Good thing I didn't buy donuts, first: they'll be petrified before I reckon the *knock* will come.

Anyway, if any one reading h'yar finds the Bank of Africa, Burkina Faso branch, on the list of banks getting a bail out from Geithner & Co, please notify Twirpy Tim to include a spellchecker in the BOA BF bailout package. In fact, make sure the spellchecker gets priority as the needful.

They're Baaaaack...or at least One of Them Is

As we last left the Seymour/Jane saga (my pet rock and pet earette of corn), Seymour/Jane spent a year plus on Shiraishi Island in the Inland Sea, Japan; they then went to spend roughly a year plus on a farm in Ohio (Amy Chavez's parents). From there, something went turrible wrong: Jane went missing.

And local authorities apparently viewed Seymour as a suspect. That was about ten days ago.

This past week, Seymour unexpectedly showed up back home, in what I initially assumed was a very crafty jail break by a pet rock that managed to disguise hisself as a UPS package. After assuring myself that it was, in fact, Seymour, I returned him to his pre-Japan favorite perch (overlooking the TV), and asked him directly just WTF was going on with Jane.

Seymour's story -- incredibull as it sounds -- has a ring of the absurdly surreal to it:

- Seymour steadfastly denies having had anything to do with Jane's disappearance; he claims "she (Jane) just ran off one day". I sarcastically asked Seymour how an earette of corn, with a platform screwed in her butt, could just up and "run off". That got a look from Seymour that conveyed, without words, "the same way you could expect to ask a pet rock to explain the disappearance of an earette of corn, and actually expect an answer". Smart ass.

- When Seymour was brought into the local police station for questioning, he claims he was left in a sparse "interview room" without access to a phone, legal counsel or a TV (he says), while just outside the door, he could hear a shift supervisor and a detective arguing:

SS: Just go in there and see what you can get out of him.

D: You're kidding me, right?

SS: No, I'm not kidding...

D: You actually expect me to go in there and try to get a confession out of a piece of stone?

SS: You've been trained to handle stonewalling by suspects, Detective. That's your job.

D: It ain't April Fools, anymore...

SS: Stop arguing and get in there...

D: *#@*@$*#(@*!

- So the detective came into the interview room, stared at Seymour for a minute, back at the one-way mirror behind him, then back at Seymour, sighed, and began to grudgingly question him:

D: Okay...so what's your full name?

S: Seymour.

D: And you claim to be a pet rock?

S: Yes sir.

D: And how long have you been..*snort*...a pet rock?

S: About 8 years.

D: And what were you..*cough*..before you became a pet rock?

S: A decorative landscape rock.

D: I can't F***ING BELIEVE I'M DOING THIS!!!!!!!

S: Doing what?

D: Talking to an inanimate piece of...of...geology!

S: I am NOT an inanimate piece of geology! Don't take me for granite!

D: *slams notepad to floor* THAT DOES IT!!! *the detective started tearing the room apart, looking for a hidden speaker, then stormed out of the room*

- After that, Seymour was placed in an Evidence storage room, and left there, until (he says) a milk cow came in -- which Seymour realized was Amy, disguised in her holstein cow suit (see above photo), which Amy later told Seymour wouldn't be viewed as unusual in rural Ohio -- and thus disguised, easily smuggled Seymour out, spiriting him directly to a UPS Store, and sending him home.

As for the mystery of Jane, Seymour has his own theory: that Jane eloped with another Moooo! Bar ornament she met in 2007 -- Head (see other photo above) -- and that Jane probably hitched a ride back to Shiraishi Island, to be reunited with Head.

Hearing this, I expected Seymour to be the kind of bummed that a rejected lover usually is; but Seymour seemed rather unmoved by it all, saying that the celebrity status that he and Jane had shared at the Moooo! Bar seemed to go to her ear, and Seymour became to her "little more than a grain of beach sand, albeit a rather obese one".

With that, I let Seymour watch a DVD of The Dirty Dozen, and all was well with Seymour once more.

In the meantime, Seymour did try to place a "Craigslist" ad for a new friend, but I kaboshed it, for obvious reasons; and I'm not about to take another trip to Iowa, just to purloin a potentially two-timing earette of corn.

Developing...

Get A Job

*A short revisit to a 2006 classic*

I'm usually the recipient of no end of efforts to give me the business from Nigerian 419 email scammers. But for the first time in my career with these types, I am being solicited for placement assistance.

They don' know me vewy well, do they?

And get this: the requestee is Queen Lizy of Nigeria.

Feast your eyes on the following I received from Her Royal Painness:

queen lizy (queen_4nigeria@yahoo.com) writes:

Hello dear,

am here to congratulate you, and complement of season, my dear how is work and thing around you. I know that I don't no who you are, but I want to know you more, please dear I need help from you, to asist me to get ajob. I am queen from nigeria, I need asistant to go out side the country. my dear I will be grateful to hear from you soonest. thanks and God bless.

So now I'm Monster.com? Well, maybe I am...in a manure of speaking:

Dear Queenie:

This is somewhat new for me, Your Royal Lizy: I'm used to being offered the business hyar, not helping one get some. And I don't recall having solicited for resumes from royalty of diversified antecedence, but I am sometimes up to new and enlightening experiences of the online kind.

I must say that I am moved like a bowel that you chose me to help you with your quest; first, I must undelude myself of the notion that a queen of Nigeria merely raises and claps her hand, and all the lights go on and off, the servants fetch and git, someone gets fired, a thousand silly little folks lose their farms, or their head rolls. Unless of course, the landless serfs are up in arms because some recalcitrant yutz is trying to shut down all those capitalist Starbucks coffee huts in Lagos. Come between the masses and their caffeine, and royalty is looking for a change of venue, and abruptly. But I digress.

After a careless perusal of your mini-missive, I am convinced that I have something for you, and it is something that I feel is a career enhancer that fits you to a tee. What I'm going to recommend to you is for you to put together an official resume -- done up in the same classical Nigerian royalty style as the cover letter you sent me -- and send it to Microsoft.com. What with Microsoft being the biggest software company in the world, they are in need of all kinds of levels of help; and you are uniquely placed to be able to help them test their grammar and spell-check software.

Especially the latter.

When you contact them, make sure -- and this is very important -- to tell them that Aph Lack sent you. This will get doors moving so fast, you'll think they're closing in your face!

Feel free to contact me soonest, when you've heard the good news.

If by chance Queen Lizy of Nigeria does follow up, I'll be more than happy to keep you apprised of my sudden career in placement counseling.

Mwhahahaha....

*2009 update: Queen Lizy didn't apparently like my job offer; but she or her handlers didn't do a very good job of checking the email addresses they sent to, since I got the same email THREE MORE TIMES in '06...and got no follow-up from any of my replies, which only got worse as the Skunk Monster.com Job Placement Service went steadily phfffft*

Dear Skunky -- XXI

At the beginning of 2008, I decided to become a kinder, gentler, Skunk. If Dear Abby could be helpful all those years, Dear Skunky might be well-timed to step in and take up the 'compassionate advice' slack.

Twenty times in '08, Dear Skunky answered the call. And I can say, without hesitation or reservation, that Dear Skunky was perfect, helping absolutely no one.

That's why you hadn't seen any further additions to Dear Skunky in 2009. Until now.

In view of the new 'tudes of hope and change, of changing vocabularies and talking to our enemies instead of shooting the deserving bast...them, I thought I should give another chance to a kinder, gentler Dear Skunky. And here's the very letter that gives me another change at hope and change of redemption: from a Mrs. Grace Tapia, under the telling title of I NEED HELP NOW!!!

Witness her urgent plea in her own words:

Dearest in Christ, with due respect and humlity, I was compelt to write to you under a humanitaran ground. My name is Mrs Grace Tapia, from Kuwait. I am married to late Dr. Ramsey Tapia , who worked with an oil company in Ivory Coast for thirty two years before he died in 2005. He die of brief illness that lasted for only four days We were marryd 11 years without a child. Before his death we were both born again Christian. Since his death I decided not to remarry or get a child outside my matrimonial home which the Bible is against. When my late husband was a lie (freudian slip?) he deposit sum of US $5.8 million dollar in a General Trust Acount with a prime bank in Abidjan . Presently this money is still the bank.

Recnety, My Doctor told me that I would not last for the next six moths due to my health problem I have cancer of the lever (okay, I've taken all I can up to here...cancer of the LEVER? LMAO...snort, chortle, guffaw, ROFLMAO...stop it, stop it...) Presenty the money is still in bank having known my contidtion I am in need of HONEST hearted indivial Christian or Church that i will utilize this fund the way I now instruct here. I want somebody who will use this fund acording to the desire of my wish to help lessprivlaged people, orphanages, widows and propagrating the word of God.

I took this decide because I dont have any child to heret this fund and i dont want in a way where this money will be used in ungody way. this is why i am writing to you to hand over this Fund. i am not afraid of deth hence i know where I am going (hint: you won't need cold weather clothing, Missy...). I want you to always rembemr me in your daily payers because of my condition.

Wite back to me soonest so not a delay to me is happen in case you are not the one i will need to handle my affars when I died. with God all things are possible and soonest as you reply i shall give you the contarct of the Bank in Abidjan and all authorisatons to prove you as benefitary of funds. God bless as we work to serve him.

Okay. So, my anonymous emailer of a few postings back, I'm sure, will be watching as I try to get Dear Skunky XXI right, and dole out kind, caring, compassionate advice and moral support to Mrs. Grace Tapioca.

You may decide how effectively Dear Skunky meets the risen bar of performance:

Email Title: Jesus H. Christ!!!

My poor dear Mrs. Tapioca,

As I read your missive, it becomes clear that you'll soon be under the ground, regardless of it's humanitarianism. But I digress.

Ma'am, this is terrible: married eleven years without a child? It doesn't take a rocket scientist to figure this one out, Ma'am. Of course, there are exceptions to every rule, but I must tell you...you killed your husband. Let me explain this.

You killed him with Terminal Sexual Satisfaction Denial Syndrome. Nothing else kills someone in four days faster, than to finally give into desperate hand machinations, but that's for another time.

But worse, Ma'am, is that in so killing your husband, you also did yourself in. How? By allowing for a condition known as Terminal Vaginal Satisfaction Denial Syndrome, which has been clinically proven to cause cancer of the lever, among other things. In short, you're being eaten from the crotch out through self-neglect.

Sucks to be you, I must say.

What further proves your complicity in this sad end, is the fact that your husband -- a Kuwaiti in the oil industry -- only managed to set aside $5.8 million USD in thirty two years. That's the equivalent of a welfare recipient here, eating McDonalds and growing larger than the couch while watching Oprah and calling 911 when they run out of McNuggets. I have little doubt that his disease -- that YOU are responsible for -- caused him to lose critical focus and not become a breadwinner of more sustenance. For shame, Ma'am.

You are right about one thing: with God, almost all things are possible. But not once your crotch has collapsed into your anus. That's one that God can't touch. Can't say as I blame Him, either, but I digress.

My advice to you, Ma'am, is to ask for extra doses of morphine. It won't prevent you from spraying piss like a fire system sprinkler head, what with your crotch and anus now one, but it will ease some of the burning and itching that accompanies such conditions.

Sincerely,

Dear Skunky

On second thought...make that 21 tries to be a kinder, gentler Skunk, and an 0-21 in the compassion department.

DOH!

Spring in Colorado is...weird. But when it's truly "spring", it's easy to take.

Like today was (April 8): 70 degrees. Light breeze. Few, if any, clouds in the sky. After a visit to the gym (just to see if I could make myself vaporlock...nawp), I grabbed a glass of ice water, a good book, and parked my lilly-white carcass on the patio, to absorb a few rays and enjoy what, a couple weeks before, had been a winter wonderland.

After a few pages of desultory reading, the book started to gain some unexpected weight, as did my eyelids. So I put the book in my lap, tipped back, and allowed a nap to intervene.

Then "IT" went off: the local civil defense sirens, the nearest of which are on the south end of the apartment complex, and about 75 yards from where I had just gone from peaceful repose to a jack-knife position, scattering book and drink in one reflex.

After three minutes of getting every dog in earshot to join in the wailing, the system toned down.

And started up again.

There were no storm clouds on the horizon. Nor, as best as I could tell, had I suddenly time-warped back seventy years, so there was no ominous drone of approaching Heinkel 111s or JU 87s approaching to level the complex, or out-bound B-17s/B-24s, to return a favor.

Then I looked at my watch (the one thing that hadn't taken flight when I jack-knifed): 1104.

It was monthly test time. Only time the silly thing goes off around here is either for (a) monthly tests or (b) if an approaching severe thunderstorm spawns something of the "scatter stuff hither and yon" swirly design.

Which was confirmed a minute later, as a voice intoned over a multiplicity of undulating decibels, "This has been a test of the Lakewood Alert System".

After a moment, the dogs quieted down, and peace returned to the neighborhood. I retrieved my scattered essentials, made sure I hadn't put myself into a tractionable situation when I involuntarily reacted to the 1 billion decibel party favor, and returned to my restful repose once more, and started to imagine my soon-to-be-resumed storm chasing escapades by May's end, all of which, in my mind, will come to satisfactory conclusions.

And the damned thing went off again. At least this time, I only sprayed my just-taken gulp of water.

There was an irony to the book I had been reading -- At Dawn We Slept. The City of Lakewood had taken that luxury away, at least today. Guess they'd of been useful one December morning in '41, eh?

US 4.....Pirates Nuthin'

Hats off to Captain Richard Phillips, commanding the merchant ship

Maersk Alabama, for putting the lives of his crew ahead of his own, when his ship was initially taken by Somali pirates. Hats off to the crew, who took back the ship. And hats off to the great Americans of the USS Bainbridge, who rescued Captain Phillips, and sent three of the pirates right where the whole lowlife pack of 'em belong. The fourth they captured...well, some ACLU clown will probably try to cry foul on his behalf, but eh. Freedom allows for fools.

Thank God for the greatest Navy in the world, and the men and women of our US Military, the finest on Earth.

Eat your hearts out, Europe.

Far East Fun With Seymour And Jane -- Photos

These photos were sent by Amy Chavez, while Seymour and Jane were in Japan. The cultural/physical 'morphing' of Jane -- along with the chronicalling of Seymour having knocked her up -- are here in pictures. Some of which might prove useful in locating the currently wayward earette. Photos include at the Moooo! Bar with various clientele, on the beach, Jane's prodigy (after Seymour allegedly did some moonlight madness), on the pilgrimage trail, Jane skiing on Hokkaido, and a picture from Shiraishi Island toward the Inland Sea.

They're Baaaaaaack...Kinda Sorta Not

About the last week of March, 2006, I met with Japan Lite writer/blogger Amy Chavez at the Buffalo Bar & Grill in Idaho Springs, CO. We'd corresponded some over a few years, and she happened to be in Colorado to ski, so she arranged a meet.

In arranging this meet, Amy asked that I bring Seymour, my pet rock, and Jane, my purloined (for Seymour) earette of corn along, so she could meet 'em. After we met, Amy sprang an unexpected request upon me: could she take Seymour and Jane back to Japan with her? To spend a summer on the beach at her Moooo! Bar, located on the beach of Shiraishi Island, in the Japanese Inland Sea.

While Seymour and Jane sat there stunned, albeit pleased, at the invite, I pondered it all of a couple seconds before saying "yes". I never saw a pet rock and earette of corn so excited (see photo, which is Seymour and Jane, pre-Japan). Actually, I've never seen them show much emotion about anything, other than when something 'morphed' in my 'fridge, and scared Seymour when he tried to get a midnight snack ... or when Seymour watched a marathon of The Outer Limits (TOS) and then 'fixed' my VCR remote into a 'home defence device' that I discovered the hard way ... and there was the katana/iaido episode ... but I digress.

Anyway, Amy said she'd have 'em back the next spring (2007).

Which became the next spring (2008). And then the next spring (2009). Seymour and Jane had returned to the US by the spring of '08, but they spent the rest of that year adorning a dining room table at Amy's parents farm in Ohio. Not exactly the beach outside of the Moooo! Bar, but finally, Seymour and Jane had returned to the USA. And now, they were to return to my care on April 2, 2009.

Or so I'd been led to believe.

When I met Amy and her friend Paul at the Buffalo Bar and Grill in Idaho Springs, I noticed something immediately: both Amy and Paul arrived empty-handed. Okay, I reckoned, I'd pick up Seymour and Jane when we left the bar.

Wrong.

Amy apologetically let me know that Seymour was still in Ohio. Then, she and Paul broke the 'news': Jane was 'missing'. And Seymour was being questioned by local authorities in Ohio as a person...er...pet rock of interest in Jane's 'disappearance'.

It's a good thing I live an absurd life; otherwise, none of this would make any sense...

So...the saga continues. Seymour, being interrogated by some of Ohio's finest, while Jane is...somewhere, physically changed from whenst I last saw her, with a huge brood all over Shiraishi Island and points elsewhere, and not one kernel of evidence asto where she is right now.

*ducking boos and assorted throwd items*

Amy promises to keep me updated on the case. Meantime, if anyone sees a possibly tribal-looking corncob, largely shorn of corn, with a base plate screwed into her butt, and wearing something akin to what Trailer Trash Barbie or Kimono Barbie wears, wandering aimlessly in your neighborhood, drop me an email. Especially if she's muttering dire threats about kicking a pet rock's ass.

I might overcome common sense -- as I frequently do -- and answer it.

Job Placement For Scammers

As y'all know, I take an almost perverse delight in screwing with and pissing off email scammers. It's been something of a quest, even a crusade*, for going on 9 years. The scam emails aren't abating.

And neither is my scambaiting.

But not everyone finds what I do to be funny, or even laudable. In a rogue email not terribly long ago, I was accused by an anonymous emailer of being "mean-spirited and unjust" to the scammers.

"When" the emailer demanded to know, "have you ever tried to reach out to and help them? You just assume they're bad people doing bad things. Did you ever stop to think that maybe this is the only way they have to feed their families?"

I sent back a rather characteristic retort for me, and that was the end of the exchange ("Are you a gullible moron by birth or choice?"). But like an itch I couldn't scratch, the email bothered me. Maybe they're scammers because this is the only way they have to make ends meet. Maybe they're decent people, that in slightly different circumstances, would be just like my neighbors next door. Real pricks.

Okay, maybe that wasn't such a good comparison.

Feeling about as philosophical about it as a cosmic enema, I started to scan the veritable avalanche of emails I've got coming in right now, looking for something unique, something different, something that might offer me a chance to offer a hand up to a troubled scammer, and perhaps show him or her some compassion, an enlightened path, and show a better side of da Skunk.

And by Sam Horsefeathers, I think I found one.

I won't belabor you with the entire email (it ran two tortured pages), but here's the gist of it: from a Ms Zenab Damani (zenabdamani01@yahoo.fr) "i am a medical student 23 year old and i held from Republic of Sudan the daughter of late Mr, Ali Damani, the owner of Brisco car dealer company, at the Khartoum in Sudan (or is that a cartoon sedan...I'm sorry, I'm supposed to be compassionate and helpful here, so I continue with her gist). He was killed alongside with my beloved mother and our family house by the rebels during the last crisis in my country when Janjaweed militia come to our house (the rebels killed the house, too? Those bastards). i come to you becuse of the maltreatment which i am receive from my step mother house (have you noticed how the houses can be as mean as some of the people in Sudan? Oops...shame on me, I wasn't going to be this way, and she continues). Lucky to me i find important documents my father hide away that allow me escape to Burkina Faso (why did I know that Burkina Faso was going to come up sooner or later? But dagnabbit, I promised not to hold that agin' her, and she goes on). i am stay now in mission camp in Burkina Faso where i am seek for long term relation with a trustworth person of good credental and caracter. i need you for this i select, to help me invest the $9.2 million USD my late father deposit secretive before his die at hands of militia.

She goes on to pledge that once I have helped her, she'll settle down in my country at my side, and serve my wishes and needs for eternal thanks, yada..yada..yada.

Sorry...I'm having a real battle with my cynicism here. But to show that anonymous emailer that I'm not all jerk -- just 98% -- I decide to treat this one different. I will offer her help, but not simply the kind that brings her over here to set her up in semi-indentured servitude (kind of outlawed by our 13th Amendment); I will offer her a chance to find a vocation, and a profitable one at that, and without her having to cross an ocean to get it. She need only go back home, and a little further east therefrom.

Witness this charitable act of holding a job fair right here, just for her:

Ms. Zenab Damani,

Let me get this straight: you are a 23 year old medical student, female, and a refugee from Sudan, right?

My child, you go about this all wrong. Help is within the very continent you stand upon, and right next door to your long-suffering Sudan.

Here, on the sunny Somali coast, life is as treasured as any place on Earth. But here, we actively seek the treasure, and like those wayfaring buccaneers of old, we take from the rich and give to the poor, with a yo-ho-ho on a dead man's chest with a bottle of rum, or some modern-day equivalent, if you know what I mean. If you don't, we'll happily teach you.

Allow me to introduce myself: I am Commander Mooch Alot, aide-de-camp to His Excellency, Admiral Unga Zanga Banga Boo, commanding the Somali Aquatic Wealth Transfer Services Syndicate. Perhaps you've heard of us? We run a very secure, profitable enterprise from the sanctuary of Somalia's east coast, and for those who've joined our budding enterprise, a profitable career can be had. We are Equal Employment Opportunity-committed, and are in equal need of men and women. We offer flex hours, medical, dental and vision plans, a 401k, vacation and sick time accrual, as well as whole term life insurance. Our positions are many and varied, and while we prefer experience, we are very open to on-the-job training.

With your youth and medical training, you would have opportunities in our universal health care field, as well as with our piratical entertainment services, when 'the boyz' have returned with a successful plunder, and need some of that companionship that only a woman can offer to a "bring home the bacon" pira...er...wealth transfer engineer.

Express your willingness to sign on the dotted line and swear fidelity to the Somali Wealth Transfer Services Syndicate, and we'll pay your way to our administrative processing and training enclave (we can't tell you where it is now, in case those pesky warships and remote drones from the USN and other navies try to sniff it out).

My dear, if you've dreamt of a career of travel, adventure, intrigue, wealth, and hot pig sex with drunken sailors, then apply today to the Somali Wealth Transfer Services Syndicate!

Your future security and serenity awaits you!

Sincerely,

Commander Mooch Alot,

Aide-de-Camp to Admiral Unga Zanga Banga Boo

CEO, Somali Wealth Transfer Services Syndicate, LLC

Listed on the Dow Jones Industrial (and some less desired places)

There now, see? I can be helpful and enlightening, and offer a hand up to a needy 23 year old scammer. Heck, I even threw in free health care AND vacation time. And Mr/Ms Anonymous has the temerity to call me "mean-spirited and unjust"?

Sadly, my effort to be a more compassionate person to a scammer went phfffft, when she -- or her handler -- replied thus:

who are you think i am to be so stupd as that. you not funny asshol. you not rite me agan.

See? Some people genuinely don't want a hand up. They just want to be goat-smelling, egg-sucking, lower-than-snail-spit scammers and wealth transfer recipients. But that's easier for me to deal with. Trying to be compassionate and genuinely concerned about scammers gets on my conservative nerves ;-)

* a politically incorrect word I am told by the ACLU, in deference to our Islamofascist friends with tender sensibilities and exploding underwear. Since I think the ACLU butt-boinks dead rodents, I don't care ;-)

TWITter

If there was a shred of doubt that I'm a technophobe and just not trendy or remotely hip, this'll fix it: I don't Twitter.

*GASP*

Oh sure, I have a computer. And widdit, I email, blog, research and scambait. All perfectly understood technologies of the late 20th Century.

But I don't Twitter widdit.

Oh sure, I have a page on Facebook. One that I visit occasionally and periodically update with Jurassic-era 35mm photos I still take. But in 21st Centuryspeak, I am a technophobe. I don't have a cell phone. I don't have a digital camera. I don't have an ipod. I don't have a blackberry. I don't have an iphone. I no longer have a bluetooth, thanks to my dentist (he got it before it grew out of my ear, unlike some other poor schleps). Therefore, I don't text. Nor do I Twitter, even though with my practically-antique technology -- a desk top PC circa 2005 -- I could.

A local radio talkshow duet on the afternoon commute-time in Denver was all atwitter about Twitter on a recent segment, and was so gassed and ginned up about it, they talked about starting their own Twitter "page" for their show online. And more than a few callers -- most of which called in on i or cell phones -- were enthused by the idea.

I'm sorry...but WTF? That's "why", not "what".

As I understand Twitter, you can 'tweet' text messages of up to 140 characters, and once you've registered on Twitter (making you a Twitter-er, I reckon), you can build you up a 'network' of followers -- like you collect 'friends' on Facebook and My Space -- and they can follow your every tweet, and even comment on each and every tweet. You can Twitter about your whole day, from start to finish, in up to 140 character twitter bursts, leaving no one who's cyber out of your routine if they want to follow your Twitterpations. And simply anyone who wants to read your twitterations, can.

I can remember back in the far distant past -- the 1990s -- when some sports celebrities had achieved enough of a cult status and following, they had 1-900 phone numbers that fans could call, to be updated (via recordings) on things they did during their regular day, like what they ate for breakfast, what they read, who they had lunch with, what steroids they were doing, etc.

Then came cell phones and texting, and pre-teens to grandparents could text back and forth about anything and nothing. Like:

Teen: what doing Gramps

Gramps: soaking my teeth. You?

Teen: playing video games.

Gramps: that's nice. Do your homework.

Teen: whatEVer.

They could do this from anywhere. And now, they can Twitter from anywhere, to anyone who wants to or cares to know what they're doing at any given moment on any given day. For example:

Twttrer: Im on the can, in middle of gnarly power dump, dude

Twt: whoa, does it look like anyone u know

Twt2: yo mamma dude

Twt3: thats messed up dude

Twttr: least u can't smell it 2

Twt4: TMI dude

Yawp. I can see where people would consider this cutting-edge technology and want to be a phart of it.

Granted, I reckon there are some practical applications for Twitter. Probably some useful business applications. Probably some useful journalism/media applications. Probably some useful tech-help and research applications. The radio talkshow duet went on to highlight this idea when talking to a couple of entrepreneurs who used Twitter in conjunction with their online and conventional businesses.

And then they went onto undermine the practicality aspect when they interviewed a college journalism and Ecommunications expert, who noted that politicians are big on Twitter. In fact, he noted that politicians who are quick-witted and funny, can make masterful use of Twitter to impress and communicate with their voters, especially the young and/or technically adept ones.

He was just as quick to note that politicians who aren't funny or quick-witted, are able to stick their thumbs in their mouths within 140 characters, and leave their opponents all kinds of Twitterbytes to use against them in the next election cycle.

So, I could join Twitter and follow my congressional rep, eh?

Why bother? I already knew he was an idiot, before he became a Twidiot. I don't need to join the cyber "in-crowd" to learn a truth that's already abundantly self-evident through old-fashioned means (radio, TV...*gasp*...newsprint, or even on my rapidly-becoming Jurassic desktop).

So for now, I'm content to be a technotsaurus. A middle-aged stick-in-the-mud, who still goes online with dial up, watches DVDs on an antique TV, has a microwave old enough to vote, and listens to audio cassettes on his Sony Walkman.

Besides, I can tell you about a power dump on here, anytime, without being a Twidiot about it. And here, I can truly be 'gross', by using a full 144 characters.

*ducking boos and throwd texting acronyms*

April Fools Diplomacy

I must say that bearing in mind the criticism I'm about to levy here, I probably wouldn't be doing much better.

Our new prez isn't exactly wowing the folks in Europe with his diplomatic gaffes and slights to foreign dignitaries. Doing little better is his harried Secretary of State. Perhaps they were both right, when during the primaries, they accused each other of not having enough experience for the job.

Certainly in foreign affairs, neither is showing anything but ineptness.

Then again, when it comes to the niceities of diplomacy, I may not have done our relations with a small African country any favors, either.

Then again, I don't really care ;-)

In the past two months, I have received "a ton" of scam emails from Burkina Faso. Burkina Faso -- formerly part of Upper Volta -- seems bent on out 419ing Nigeria in the scam email department. And as I note, three things are mucho apparent in the bulk of these scams: (1), a foreigner left a ton of money in a Burkina Faso branch of the Bank of Africa, (2) that foreigner and his whole famdamily died in a plane crash and (3) the Bank of Africa must be an incredibly big and busy bank, to require so many Directors of Audit and Accounting, seeing as how each one that contacts me has a different name.

I'd like to ask the current tax-cheat Treasury guru how all those millions of USD came to reside in BOA branches all over Burkina Faso, but he can't even tell us how the bail out money's being spent here, so I won't waste time on that.

Instead, I decided -- in the guise of one of my scambaiting aliases -- to contact both the Bank of Africa, Burkina Faso, and the Burkina Faso Chambers of Commerce. Representing myself as a pending tourist, I sent them identical emails, seeking answers to a few questions that this avalanche of emails raises.

See, I expected an answer from both. And after reading my email to them, I'm sure you expected them to respond as well. After all, they're not PETA*:

To: Bank of Africa/Burkina Faso; Burkina Faso Chambers of Commerce

From: Ben Dover

Dear (Both),
I have had occasion to do some international travelling in my time, and I was at one time seriously pondering a visit to your unusual country for the purpose of tourism.

However, in doing some research of your country, coupled with a steady diet of emails I have received from Burkina Fasoans of dubious antecedence and banking practices, I have some questions to put to you before making definitive plans to journey there.

See, these emails have been dispatched by numerous persons purporting to be "Director, Audits and Accounts, BOA". And the amounts of money they purport to need my help with, coupled with the number of deceased persons the accounts relate to, leave me wondering thus:

1. Do all rich visitors to Burkina Faso fall from the sky in aerodynamic dysfunctions? According to just two months' worth of such emails, more rich foreigners fall from Burkina Faso skies, than bad guys that were killed in all five of Dirty Harry's movies, combined. This seems very bad for your tourism industry, especially when one such emailer -- when I inquired about the hazards of a trip he recommended I make -- wrote back to me and said "Go ahead...make your flight".

2. What with all the hundreds upon hundreds of millions of USD that are alleged to be ensconced in BOA vaults in Burkina Faso, how come your country resembles Afghanistan, living standards-wise?

3. Does the BOA there in Burkina Faso handle so much business and personal investments that they need 250 different "Directors of Audit and Accounting", all at once? And with names as varied as Ali Ahmed to Butros Billy Zachmed Al Qziz?

4. How many revolutions have been had in Burkina Faso since, oh say, 1997? I keep hearing from relatives of assassinated royalty and political figures thereabouts, all needing my help to rescue their inheritances from being "seized by the State".

5. Is it true that the current US president has an authentic birth certificate, autographed Quran, and autographed t-shirt from Osama bin Laden, secured in a safety deposit box at the BOA Ouagadougou branch, available to me for a fee, like an emailer or two have claimed?

6. Are there really 4,000 Mariam Abachas living as refugees in and around the capital of Ouagadougou, all widows of deposed and decomposing Nigerian dictator General Sani Abacha? If so, small wonder the guy's dead, let alone who killed him, but I digress.

7. Do your brand of Muslims all wear exploding underwear, like some of them do in the Middle East?

8. Do your hotels really have flushing toilets and real toilet paper, and not papaya leafs?

9. Is there really an FBI branch office in Ouagadougou? I have been emailed by your field officer there that this is so. If so, do they have a photo of J. Edgar Hoover there, in a full length feather boa? Just asking.

10. Do I get a fitted crash helmet and parachute when flying into/out of Burkina Faso?

I would be most gratified to have these questions answered, before I plan to book travel to your unique little country, and schedule stops to sign all kinds of account tranfers for 250 different "Directors of Audit and Accounting" at how many ever branches of BOA there are in Burkina Faso.

And what do you think I got as a response?

Sadly, the same as I got from the aforementioned PETA. Nuthin'.

But I might get a "Bad Skunk" letter from the Secretary of State. Ya reckon it'll take a village to write it?

* having no sense of humor, or any common sense, PETA never did reply to my veggie avenger or sea pussies letters...