Walton Meets Edit

Meet Christy Walton.

She sent my character an email.  Wherein she claims to be dying and wants to share some of her also-claimed $41.7 billion dollar assets with my character.

Uh huh.

Here's how she shakes her booty:


Calvary greetings to you in the name of our Lord and savior Jesus Christ and may the peace of the lord be with you as you read this letter. My name is Christy Walton and I am an American Citizen, I am a widow and a business woman. I have recently been diagnosed with esophageal cancer and a rare heart disease which has defiled all medical treatment. Expert diagnosis has shown that I have few days to live. I am worth $41.7 Billion US Dollars which I inherited from my late husband Mr. John T. Walton which rates me as the First richest woman in the world.

The intention of this email is to employ the expertise of a Charity minded individual, who can identify a viable and guarantee reasonable distribution of my wealth to the needy. I cannot rely on family and closest relatives anymore, as they did not show responsible behavior when I entrusted part of my wealth to them to distribute to charitable organizations but instead they used the money for their personal needs.

To prevent any more mishaps, my attorney will act as a check, monitoring every aspect of the Charity. My will is with my Lawyer which my family is fully aware about, but there is 5% of my Bank worth which is ($2,085,000000.00 USD) which nobody is aware of except my attorney.

Do get back to me as soon as you receive this email for further details. Please endeavor to keep this confidential. I await your response.

God bless you.
Mrs. Christy Walton   


My character only remembers a TV show by that name, and doesn't reckon it's the same thing.  But it'll have to be worked into the edited email that went back to Christy and Co:


Cavalry greetings to you in the name of George Armstrong Custer, who fell at Little Big Horn and couldn't get up because he didn't have a first alert bracelet transceiver.  He shouldn't a left the fort without one.  What a douche nozzle.

May you fart loud and savor as you read this letter. My name is Christy Walton and I am forever tainted by having been on the show The Waltons, where I had to listen to John Boy recounting, over and over again, his drunken escapade in town of chasing parked cars and humping dogs on his 18th birthday.  Schnapps and Five Hour Energy drinks are a bad mix, dude.

I have recently been diagnosed with painful rectal itch and a rare fart disease which has defiled everyone and anyone that runs afoul of it.  Or, for that matter, afowl of it, as I watched one of my farts cause the AFLAC duck to think he was Daffy and go chasing a pack of coyotes in western Kansas. 

 

 Expert diagnosis has shown that I have rubbed my rectal raw from the itch, and have a butt full of slivers from dragging myself around the front room on it, trying to quell that itch.  SNL did a parody of this I am told, but it is only in syndication on Uranus and my TV can't pick that up.  *About now someone is saying "see what they just did there" and I want to hit them with a carp*.

Now here is the kicker:  when I started out, I was worth $41.7 Billion US Dollars which I inherited from a pygmy tribe in Dearborn, MI.  Now I am destitute, because all my medical treatments have wiped out everything but $9.95, which leaves me barely enough to buy the next Ronco or K-Tel thingee I see on an infomercial on QVC.  

 

 

The intention of this email is to ask you to send me something extra, as I just saw they are compiling episodes of The Gong Show on DVD but each one costs $9.95 plus tax and shipping.  I don't have the plus cost and shipping.  Canya hep me out h'yar?

Don't bother me with clarity minded individuals who can identify a vegebong and guarantee totally random distribution of bottles of my farts to the needy. I cannot rely on family and closest relatives anymore, as they were all eaten by that Dearborn pygmy tribe at a Country Harvest Buffet in 2015 during a National Short Round Day for Fine Dung Candied Bulls.  

To prevent any more mishaps my attorney will act as a check; I am curious as to where you're going to put your signature on him before you cash him at a bank.  

Do get back to me as soon as you receive this email so that I can see what some yutz did to it and clear up any obscurities that may have resulted from you thinking that this was a Billy Dale advertisement for the Bonco Drone Flying Twat Waffle Iron, perfect as a gift that keeps on giving (because you'll keep regifting it to get it as far away from you as possible).

  

  Please endeavor to keep this confidential because I don't want this email to wind up on Wikileaks as a result of Hellary's leaky email server. I await your incredulous response.

 

God bless you if you just sneezed.  Did I get any on me?
Mrs. Christy Walton  


We will probably never know if the scammer "got any on her", cuz since the edit was dispatched, it's only been *crickets* from that end, and as we all know, pygmies don't like crickets.