Like Fries With That?

Not that I don't get enough scam email myself, but I kind of enjoy receiving a forwarded one that went to friends, family and acquaintances.

In case you're wondering, this picture does NOT relate to the scam email, other than in that when I received this photo from a scammer, this was supposed to be a scammer refugee from Burkina-Faso, with the improbable name of Esther Warlord.

Uh huh.

But the photo is relevant in that the scam mail forwarded me is from yet another 'man of the cloth'.

Scammers love to portray themselves as priests, revs, etc.  Guess they figure people are willing to tithe.   So I was happy to have a little fun with a character who calls hisself Reverend Clerk Thomason, and put on the editing hat:

Dear perspective partner,

I am the one...the only Reverend Pasture Father Bishop Knight Pawn and Minister of Anal Munitions...I am hisself, Reverend and all that other sh*t Clerk Thomason, sole, heel and instep legal counsel to the late Samuel Meyer, who was in fact related to Oscar, but being late all the time got him kicked out of the wiener business, and so he found something else more sordid to do.

 

Sadly, that something else wound up lating Samuel in the other way that usually requires flowers, urns, memorials and post funeral parties with cadaviar and other bizarre appetizers like that.  Yuk.

 

Anyway, the twice late (chrono and biological) Samuel died on the 15th of June, 2013 in the time warp accident over the Third Astral plane of the UK.  Yes, I see that you have noted that it hasn't happened yet.  Well, yes it has, but he requested a re-send on this time machine we have in the basement of our own mini-Vatican...we usually use it for fortune telling and Super Bowl parties, but I digress.

 

Anyway, during the re-send, he collided with a space-time continummed double decker bus, resulting in quite an Aurora Bustanutus that will be seen from May 31 into June 1 in the northern climes...the spray will land in Iceland.  Again, yuk.

 

And again, pay no attention to the dates...this is miswarping time travel we're talking about.

 

But why I am write to you...a fortnight ago -- which is a night protected by battlements, in case the boogerman shows up -- I was contacted by the Royal Scottish Scotch Distillants where he held a small room of casks of unaged vermouth.

 

This bozo was a real yutz.

 

So...his family members abandoned him before he was born -- Miss Cleo told them what a jerkoff he was going to be during a special $29.99 all you can ask buffet reading at the Tin Horn Buffet And Psychic Shop -- so he turned to the Dark Side Of the Spam, and began doing stand up routines as Oboy Want Cannoli...which didn't work 'cuz he wasn't Sicilian.  You can't fool REAL Sicilians.

 

Are you getting the picture here?  Good, because neither could we...we didn't pay the cable bill.  Fortunately this is email.

 

Contact me via my primate email at  rev_clerkthomason@live.com
and between the two of us, perhaps we can find someone who'll buy unaged casks of vermouth in a Scottish Scotch distillery.  Perhaps someone who can even pronounce my title without drooling.

 

Yours sincerely...well not really,

Reverend Pasture Father Bishop Knight Pawn and Minister of Anal Munitions...I am hisself, Reverend and all that other sh*t Clerk Thomason

 

 

I actually drew a response from the *good rev*:

 

 

who r u

 

 

I am...Son of Cheeseburger.  Would you like fries with that?

 

 

The lack of a follow up reply suggests not...