More Windows And Organs

Perhaps this looks more like where my latest "awwwwwwww" scammer writes from.  Anyway, here is 'her' sad, sad story:


Dear,
Compliments, this is Patricia Caulk originally from Sierra-Leone, I am a widow with a son who is seven now. I am sorry for approaching you in this manner, just that my present situation has compelled me to initiate this contact. For a woman to survive without a husband under heavy family pressure is not an easy one, after the death of my husband, I have been passing series of threats from the family members, though will tell you more as we continue.

All the properties and some of the local accounts have been forcefully collected from me, I tried using relevant measures to stop them, but the pressure continued to the point of serious life threats, so my local pastor advised me to leave the country for the safety of my life and son. What I am informing you should not be passed to third-party for security purpose, but my joy today is that I succeeded in securing the document of the deposit US$10.5 Million he made in Republic of Benin. Since Sierra-Leone is close to my present location (Calavi in Republic of Benin) I have decided to invest the money outside this region into real estate business. I can't access the fund here due to the clause attached to it, unless it is first shifted to a foreign account

There is another business concerning gold, which I will discuss later after the completion of this fund, Confirm receipt of this mail
Patricia Caulk  

Other windows and organs should be so destitute as Ms Caulk.

Perhaps it's the time of year, or the season of politics, or the fact that I just simply don't play well with others...whatever it is, I let it factor into the edit of this email that went back to Ms Caulk and about 100 of her sneers and collies:


Condiments, this is Patricia Caulk originally from Home Despot, I am a window that hark, what yon through me breaks?  It is the dawn and I am not Tony Orlando.  I am sorry for approaching you in this manure with a beginst of Bill Shakespeare, it is just that my last name and my present situation has compelled me to start to prep windows for a change in the condiments of the seasons of our discontext.  For a woman with mixed genitals to survive without a herd of yaks as dowry in Ireland under heavy family pressure to do a remake of The Quiet Man is not an easy one, after the death of my beloved inflatable Knocked Up Monster in a lake outside of Poughkeepsie.

The results of all this are that I have been passing series of kidney, gall and pet stones from the interiors of my internal members, though will tell you more as we continspew.

All the queen's donkeys and all the queen's low information serfs cannot prop up Hellary reliably without butt inserts at Home Despot, some of which has locally been forcefully collected from me, I tried using relevant measures to stop them, but the relevants I used were more interested in eating peanuts, laughing at Tim Conway and breaking log rides at Water Woild during the filming of George Spielberg's Temple of Broom, a movie Mel Brooks cast as swines before Pearl Harbor, so my local pastor advised me to leave the country for to obtain more empty Coke bottles to worship so that the gawds ain't so crazy about a marmot named Beethoven.

What I am informing you should not be passed to third-party for security purpose; I has taked care of that because it is secured on a basement home email server in Chappaqua.  My joy today is that I succeeded in farting an estrangement of songs by Kanye Messt he made in Repugnant of Benin during a "Live Maid" consort raising fungs for Deadtroit's suffering plopulation of lions, tigers and bears oh my.

Since Sierra-Leone's spaghetti westerns is closed for post riot renovation,  I have decided to invest spanking the monkey outside this region into a chain of Spam tofurkey frozen plopsuckles at airports in desserted locations where "here's looking at you kid" is code for molesting goats. I can't access the needed fund here to do this due to the clause attached to it, unless it is first dropped down a chimney by a fat guy flown around by reamdeer led by one advertising red lit houses not named for the Schmidts.

There is another business concerning gold plated toe nail fungus, which I will discuss later after the next episode of Dancing With The Spars, an arrrrrrangement amusical coming to a sloop off Somalia at the completion of this current mail, which is anti and uncle virused for pirating of high Cs.
Patricia Caulk  

 

 

Whatever the impression this made on "Ms" Caulk -- no reply yet -- I cannot say; but for one recipient of this edit, the impact was clear:

 

 

STOP!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!  

 

 

NO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

 

 

Yup...I don't play well with others...