Skunkfeathers: Martian Chronicles of Scamland

Ray Bradbury was lucky enough to be spared this.

Scamland was not.

Behold an email from...well, you read it:

Greetings With all due respect,

I want you to read my letter with one mind and help me. I am Lea Edem, The only daughter of late Mr. and Mrs Edem, My Late father was a very wealthy cocoa dealer in Lome Togo before he was poisoned to death by his business associates on one of their outing to discuss on a business deal.

my mother died when she was given birth to me,since then my father took me so special because I am motherless. Before the death of my late father (on 2nd) June 2017in a private hospital here in Lome Togo. He secretly called me on his bedside and told me that he has a sum of USD5, 000,000.00.

It went on for several turgid paragiraffes but in essence my character was to receive 35% of that non-existent total, for helping out lil' Miss Lea Edem.

Riiiiiiiiiiiiiiight.

Right from the start, the edit went from bad to surreally bad:

From: Twat <info@jhpa.net>
Sent: Wednesday, June 20, 2018 1:19 PM
Subject: From A Martian Time Traveler Named Twat

Greetings With all due respect, I want you to read my letter with one mind and expose yourself to emus with another.

I am Twat..Twat of the Mountain. I am a Martian time traveler of dubious gendercedence, and the only hatchling of late Mr. and Mrs Twat. My Late father was a very late person all the time because he didn't know whether to sh*t or wind his watch, so he sh*t on his watch.

So go things in Lome Togo, which in some respects is very much like Mars.

My mother died when she was given birth to me because I came out of a twenty pound egg shaped like a Rubix cube, and wowza if you can imagine laying one of those.

Before the death of my late father (on 2nd) June 2017 in a primate hospital here in Lome Togo -- the other patients didn't take kindly to him sh*tting on their watches -- he secretly called me on his bedside and told me that he hasn't yet made up his mind on the question of sh*tting or winding a watch. Since he died at the hands of angry gorillas with his sh*t on their watches, I doubt that I can ever answer that question.

I had a very specific purpose in contacting you, one that was fully explainatoried in the email template I was supposed to have used...then a George Carlin routine found its way in here, and I am at a loss as to what I was supposed to be writing to you about.

Hate when that happens.

I think I was supposed to blame US President Donald Trump for the war between the states between 1861 and 1865, which was based upon leaked emails from Hellary Clinton's broomstick express presidential crimepaign, and furthered by Russian bots working for CNN and the British MI-Sucks.

I think they're going to do the next James Blonde movie based on that. Octosexual Orthopod, I think they're calling it.

So in the meantime, I am working on a project to analyze the quality and quantity of botox being pumped into Nancy Bela Pelosi's butt, in order to get her to speak more clearly.

I don't think it's going to help, but at least they are putting the botox in right place on her.

It was also explained to me that it was because of Stormy Daniels that my late father couldn't remember whether to sh*t or wind his watch. With all the silicon pumped into her, she sloshed when she walked, and this distracted him badly.

Now to the totally irrelevant in this email:

I am 17year old, but I am worldly in my ability to perform fallatios on a cucumber.

Finally I find some of the notes from the original template. I hope that they make sense:

1) To provide any bank account where I can find refuge from flying kumquat testicular burgers.

2) To serve as the guardian of a time machine on an alien planet that allows Dr. McCoy to go back and totally f**k up Captain Kirk's love life in one episode of Star Trek TOS.

3) To make arrangement for me to come over to your country to make dishonest videos for cnn and ms13nbc because they're running out of faked video to use to sway elections from Soros bots in your country.

Moreover, I am willing to run as an octosexual orthopod for election to any political office in Kaliforlornia, when they divide into three states (Chaos, Confusion and Cornflakes).

I want you to help me because I wrote to Hollywad celebrities and none of those bastards/bitches will do a "MeAid" concert, though Methane and the Four Flatulents have agreed to perform on the condition that Miley Cyrus will twerk a Yugo in E flat.