Just A Russian Chick Magnet

No wonder my pet rock, Seymour, has more friends on Facebook than me. He's a regular chick magnet.

His wind chime spouse, Windy, is NOT amused.

While cavorting with Mayden and Pixie in North Carolina, Seymour was receiving the following email, with attached and displayed photos:

Hi! Have good day! The computer in service of acquaintances found to me some profiles of people which coincide with my inquiry. I preliminary studied them and has decided to send you, and only you, to the first the message because your structure seems to me more interesting and good rounding (I am NOT making this sh** up; she really wrote that). I hope, that you have time to send me some messages that we could it is better to find out each other. I shall tell a little about myself: my age of 25 years old, my name is Olga. I was not married and I live in an apartment of my parents. Some years, after the ending of training I work in the house with children, I am engaged in their education and training, I prepare them to the first campaign in school. To me to like productive leisure (that got a *TOING* out of Seymour, until he realized it wasn't reproductive leisure that she was referring to...we think) periodically go in for sports for maintenance of a body (and she looks pretty well maintained). I like to travel and be in different place, but my work does not allow me to do it frequently. I have many friends, we sometimes together spend time, play billard and tennis, we have other entertainment (maybe we were wrong, she DOES like reproductive leisure?). I send you picture that you knew my person.

Also I want to ask you to send me some picture of you (this may prove a problem early on). Please ask things interesting you about me and inform me some. The information on you: what you love an entertainment? What your character? What you love qualities in woman? Whether You had the wife (this one will cause some problems, too) ? I shall answer on your question and to inform you it is more about itself in following email (yeah, what she said..). I shall be wait for your massages (Seymour about blew rock boogers out what passes for his nose on that one). Mine address is (her email addy). Your friend Olga.

Windy is already pissed off at Seymour, but he still wants to correspond with this one. Despite the fact that the actual email was addressed, not to Seymour, but to "Jerome": Jerome "Curly" Howard, aka Curly of The Three Stooges, whom I had play a number of Russian email scammers from this very addy.

I also pointed out to Seymour that this is clearly a scam: I have photos of this very same young lady in my well-stocked Russian scamstress photo archive. As Niki Shastapova. Vena Mintcheva. And Poly Ilanova.

Seymour is not dissuaded; he's still hung up on that *massage* typo (and I know it was a typo).

Soooooooo, Seymour dictates me an eager but restrained reply, meant to further communication with Olga (while Windy hangs in the corner, seething). Meantime, I try to play a bit of a peacemaker between the squabbling newlyweds, and test Olga (or her handlers) grasp of English, with this loosely-interpreted adaptation of Seymour's intended reply:

My dearest, sweetest, most perfectedly sculpted Olga,

From the moment I laid eyes on your email and photos, I am hard. No, really. It's how I'm built. But you already knew that, referring to my profile as well-rounding. Not grammatically correct, but it's more geologically accurate than you know. And I digress. I take digression for granite, as you'll soon learn.

Hi and greetings, my lovely steppes flower! I am Seymour, and I am Absolut in my eagerness to get to know you and your bodily maintenance. It is obvious that your maintenance crew is first-rate, I must say. Yowza baby. And do I mean that in all syntax and dialects, including Cyrillic.

Your email simply rocked my world, Olga. I want to know simply ALL there is to know about you. And ask you if you have any bikini pictures? I adore forms like yours in bikinis. It's what I dream of, not having a speedo shape myself.

Write me back with some stunning bikini photos -- or of you wearing less, if you wish -- and I'll tell you simply all there is to know about me, my life, my loves, and my sincere wish to get to know you in the most horizontal hubba hubba ways imaginable, speaking from a productive leisure sense, of course. You simply look so procreative in your pose, y'know?

Awaiting your adoring reply,

Seymour

Seymour was initally oblivious as to what I wrote versus what he asked me to write, and remained so, until Olga replied, that is:

Seymore, what kind talk is this for me you say? Bikini photo? Please to explain to me all that what is writed by you to me. I am not understanded here.

Attached to her reply, was what I wrote her (and you read above), and not the hokum that Seymour dictated.

Seymour was furious; Windy was laughing her chimes off.

So Seymour insisted I draft a conciliatory reply, so he could further develop the relationship. After writing down his rather tepid, mushy apology, I took some creative liberties widdit:

Built-like-a-brick-Kremlin Olga,

I am terribly, sincerely sorry that you were not complimented by my previous prose. I meant no insultski, or to infer that you were anything less than a lady of the evening that goes for $25-50 bucks down on East Colfax. I just thought that if you had any bikini photos of you, I'd enjoy them. If you have any naked photos of you, I'd enjoy them more. Yes, I am a male geologic pig. But honesty is, after all, the best policy, is it not, my sweet little Slavic slut?

And to show you my obvious sincerity and integrity, I am enclosing my photo for your thorough and female arousal enjoyment. I know I'm buff; makes your mouth water and loins moist, I know.

Waiting your nudity for my pleasure,

Seymour who wants to see more ;-)

And yes, I included a photo of Seymour at the beach in NC (for purposes of security, I cropped Windy out of the version I forwarded to Olga).

It's been a few days now, and not another word from Olga. Seymour is not talking to me, though he's happy to be enroute to visit another good blogging friend in Virginia. But as I sealed him in the box before delivering him to the UPS Store, Seymour had one parting editorial comment for me:

"PHFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!".

I don't think it was gas from Thanksgiving dinner. I don't think....