Too Much Sex For One Scammer

My bad.  I'd wash my word processor out with soap, but that'd break it.

Which would be fine with (faux) Barrister Gregory Jones, after what I dun Ma to his email, while inferring that what I responded to was what he sent.

There's certain 'stuff' that he no like.  More on that shortly.

At any rate, (faux) Barrister Gregory Jones sent me one of those great "need your help to screw you" emails that I receive so many of.

I decided to edit it, and then send it back to him and inquire if the message I was responding to was what he meant to send.

Obviously, it was not:


Subject: FROM BARRISTER GREGORY JONES,GO THROUGH THE DETAILS AND GET BECK TO ME (Note:  the title of the email I did not edit; pretty much everything else to follow...yawp).

Thank you immensely for your prompt flatulence. When I saw your reply, I said to myself, "a f**king MUGU!!  Oh, goodums goodums!!!"   Yes, I really said that.

 

 

I talk to myself after head-butting a tree a few dozen times as a child.  But I digress.

This transaction is going to be 100% legitimately executed with a Zulu spear because it will undergo multiple puncture wounds at close range.  All legal documents to make this legal has been prostrated in your name and will, and I assure you that your wife, if you have one, is already making dates with other men in anticipation of your demise, because I talked to her last night.

 

 

Oh f**k...I wasn't supposed to reveal that yet.

I contacted you because of your known gullibility which I learned of at Fubar.  Why would you post on Fubar that you are an intellectual eunuch with the dick of a snail darter? 

 

 

This is all very laughable to me.

 

 

I have successfully arranged an elaborate hoax involving chickens, voodoo and a rubber snake dildo, and all that is now lacking is the vuvuzela orchestra to play the intro and closing marches.  Probate registry here is putting the odds in my favor that the vuvuzelas will not be able to play "Chopdicks" in C-flat.

 

 

The reason I dearly need your corny poopy is based on the fact that I haven't had any corny lately, and my poopy has been corny deficient.  I look to you to fix this.

 

 

Without that, the bank has recently served me their last notice as the attorney to the last known corny poopy here, threatening to turn the entire fecal matter over to a mad and marauding gang of baboons.  I can assure you that this is not a good turn of events.

 

 

Having searched endlessly for the right shirt to wear with blaze pink pantaloons, I am at my wits end.  What f**king moron wears blaze pink pantaloons? 

 

 

Whether it is nobler to suffer the slings and arrows of pissed off pygmys, than to be run into by an out of gas Yugo, is not something that William Shakespeare ever thought to write into Hamlet.  The side of fries was hard enough.

 

 

The issue of not being biologically related to tyrannosaurus vaginas is really at the heart of why they cancelled Senegal Bandstand.  Besides, the show sucked.

 

 

On that note, that will be the next place that Keith Olbermann will be fired from. 

 

 

Our meeting through a medium didn't come off because I am told that I have the psychic ability of a rhino turd.  This was not nice to think.  For us to make any meaningful progress, we must establish a sincere trust for botulized egg rolls and embrace them like an aunt with shingles while i do the same to a toaster twatwaffle.

Now it will please me a lot if you will be able to play the African National Anthem in your arm pit, meet you in person, stake you down to an army ant hill, and watch you consumed by genuine African hospitality.

In your return of this mail send to me all of the phone numbers of your old girl friends.  I'd like to smell them to see if any of them taste like chicken, rather than tuna.

 

 
You can call me as soon as you recover from read my mail on +228-91-25-82-06
Yours faithfully,
Barrister JONES GREGORY.
A former witch doctor turned gynecologist turned used goat salesman turned Nancy Pelosi, which I am STILL F**KING PISSED ABOUT

 

 

Of course at the top of this message,  I had started out thus:

 

 

Sir,

 

I have carefully read what you've sent me, and I must ask...is this REALLY what you meant to send me?  Is this some kind of joke?

 

Ben

 

Well, the ol' Barrister apparently bothered to re-read what he'd originally writ, and responded thus:

 

 

u r unserious ass.  dont write me no more f**k stuff.

 

 

So are you telling me that YOU didn't write that crap up top?

 

 

(Faux) Barrister Gregory Jones is no fun...he won't have scam with me no mores.