Friday, August 29, 2014

Making A Meth Of A 400 lb Prune

Actually, the only meth here is this meth lab, knowd as Doobage.  And he has nothing to do with what follows.

I do love email pleas for help from scammers.  It allows me to exercise that inner Christian I have and send it out to run around the block a few times, while the rest of me responds to the scammer.

I don't need a conscience messing up my responses.

Take this one for example:  Ms (spelled a couple different ways) Murielle Yao, who has evil relatives out for her family riches.  And she found ME -- albeit generically -- to help her out:

From Miss Murielle Yao.
Abidjan, Cote D'Ivoire.
West  Africa.
Avenue 12 Rue Reine Abla Poku,
32 Bp 8753 Abj 23, Cote D'Ivoire.

My Dearest one,

Please come to my rescue!. I know that it may sound strange to receive an email from someone you do not know at all, but I am desperate to save my life and future that is the reason I took this bold step and made some research before I got your contact. I have confidence that this is the right step toward the right direction. My name is Miss Murielle Yao and I am from Ivory Coast a country in West Africa . My mother died of cancer just after my birth and I have been with my father who refuses to marry a second wife all through.

Most unfortunately for me, my father had an car accident on his way to one of his Timber exploitation sites. After the accident, he was recovered dead and the burial ceremony was done properly.

My main problem now is that my father's relatives want to make a marriage choice for me in order to secure my father's wealth. They said that if I marry to an outsider, our family wealth will be taken to another people and that they will not accept it. They said it is their right to preserve their family wealth and lineage.

I refused this type of marriage because it is ridiculous for them to compel me to marry an old man of 71 years, a man old enough to be my ground father just to preserve the family wealth. Although I am a young girl of only 20 years old and I believe that I have the right to choose my own husband for myself.  

It went on for several more paragiraffes, but you get the picture.

So whilst my inner Christian was out doing laps, I let my inner four year old -- with some spellcheck help -- take over and edit it up in a manure fitting of the emailer:

Abidjan, Cote D'Ivoire.
West  Africa.
Avenue 12 Rue Reine Abla Poku,
32 Bp 8753 Abj 23, Cote D'Ivoire.

A Place Where You Can Get Eaten A Lotta Ways
By All Sortsa Nasty Thangs

My Dearest one -- whichever one you turn out to be,

Please come to my rescue!  I am a Cote D'Ivoirian, stuck in a refugee camp in Detroit, MI.  I know that it may sound strange, but it's no stranger than being a Sudanese refugee in a Senegal refugee camp with millions of dollars in a European bank.  What could only make it weirder would be if I were stuck in a 'Time Tunnel' experiment, bouncing back and forth through Time, with no way back to the Tunnel complex, even while they can send and recall historical figures and staff with little to no problem.  What the f**k is up with that Irwin Allen, eh?

I mean, I'm sure those of you in the civilized world -- and why the Hell would I waste my scam time writing to people in my neck of the woods, who couldn't read what I writ anyway -- you've seen the old 60s Irwin Allen TV show "The Time Tunnel", right?  Well, if you watch that show closely, you see that their writers were not much for historical accuracy, let alone pay much attention to details.  For example:  in the first show, Dr. Newman tells the captain of the RMS Titanic that he was born in 1938; yet three episodes later, he meets his 7 year old self on December 6, 1941. 
*BUZZZZZZZER*   Common Core dumbed down education was alive and well in Hollyweird even then.  But I digress.
Let me get to what I'm supposed to be doing here once I find it in the instruction template a baboon tried to make off with:  I took this bold step and made some research of online guest books before I got your contact. I have confidence that if I send this letter out to 10,000 email addresses, I'll get at least one nipplehead to take pity on me and reply.  So assuming that you will be that name is Miss Murielle Yao and this week I am from Ivory Coast a country in West Africa.  Last week I was from Burundi.  Two weeks ago, Toledo.  I've been meaning to have speaks with my handler at this fly-infested internet café here in Lagos, Nigeria about all this jumping around -- I didn't just admit that -- but he's busy strapping down one of my coworkers to an army ant hill, for not meeting the monthly quota.
Believe me:  you're better off working at McDonalds than here.

Most unfortunately for me, my father never got me a job at McDonalds, and before he could get me a job stealing hubcaps from moving cars in Lagos, he had an car accident on his way to one of his "gold plating snake sh*t" souvenir stands. After the accident, he was recovered dead, and no number of saline solution enemas were going to change it, since his head and his ass were rearranged during the accident.

Never, let me say again NEVER collide with an ox cart being pulled by a rhino.

My main problem now is that I have contracted painful rectal itch from my father's relatives -- don't ask how -- and now they demand that I marry an artificial goat inseminator from Gaza, named Achmed. 

This is a weird family, indeed.

I refused this type of marriage because it is ridiculous for them to compel me to marry an old man who has been artificially inseminating goats with what's left of his genital for 71 years.  Granted, while this template I'm working from says that I am a young girl of only 20 years old, the fact is that I'm 65 and look like a 400 lb prune.  Try not to envision that.

This issue is serious. Really.  Really really.  Fortunately for me, this template suggests that my father made a deposit of (USD $8.900, 000.00) Eight Million ninety hundred thousand United state dollars with my name in a bank.  If you believe that, I have a bridge to no where on the planet Uranus I will deed to you as well, at no charge.  Still, that's my story and I'm sticking to it because it's humid here and I haven't had my weekly shower so the paper is sticking to me.

Considering the representation that I am only 20 years now while actually being 65 and looking like a 400 lb prune tends to make me sending pictures of me difficult.  But I will try and attach one, because it is important according to online dating sites that you include a picture of what you look like.  Well if I actually did, the results would be worse than what happened in the South Park episode where 4,000,000 school kids played the 'brown note' on recorders, causing the whole listening world to crap themselves.  Which we here consider no big deal, since we do it all the time.  Someone has to feed the flies.

Please come to my rescue immediately with an email response and a forklift -- 400 lb prunes probably aren't easily moved -- and our god here -- in the form of an empty Coca Cola bottle someone found -- will reward you.  I thank you for taking your time to read this mail and I wait to hear from you and until then, may crotch crickets spare you, unless you don't reply to me...then may your genitals implode.

Yours sincerely,
Miss Murielle Yao
Despite the fact that I sent this back to the scammer and about 40 of her peers and colleagues, not a one of them wrote back and urged my inner Christian to reconsider here.
Which it couldn't have done even had it wanted to:  it was dealing with thigh cramps from the laps around the bad.

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Blogger Sandee said...

I think you could have done far more to help her not have to marry her ground father. That's just so wrong on so many levels. Bwahahahahahahaha.

Have a fabulous day and weekend my friend. My very best to my buddy Seymour. ☺

29 August, 2014 09:49  
Anonymous Debbie said...

These people's fathers always have the worse luck. Darn them. Love the dog picture

Right Truth

30 August, 2014 18:36  

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