Skunkfeathers: Patton...Wouldn't Be Part of This

The late great General George S. Patton, Jr.

He wouldn't suffer today's email scammers. He'd jack slap 'em right out of their templates. Tim Considine knows.

That would especially include any scammer purporting hisself to be a general.

Like this nincompoop:

My name is Gen. John W Nicholson Jr. I am with the us army in Camp Abu Naji / FOB Garry Owen (Al Amarah)I need your assistant to move some funds out of Iraq.Kindly respond for more detail.

A mere smidgeon of research revealed that the emailer was not the actual general being named here.

Nor was it the actor playing a general, colonel, or something other.

But now, with a little bit of edit, the scammer had the chance to actually BE something that sounded a tad more militaristic:

From: Gen John W Nicholson Jr gen.johnwnicholsonjr1@gmail.com
Sent: Tuesday, May 14, 2019 11:51 PM
Subject: You Can't Handle The Truth And I Can't Tell It

My name is Gen. John 'Jack' Nicholson, one of the meanest sons of bitches to ever crap between upper and lower GIs. I am with someone's Army Recruiting Center in Newark, NJ, a hotbed of militinarious activities that defy description in Azerbaijani.

Probably because no one here speaks it.

I want you all to remember that no dumb bastard ever won a war by eating Tide pods for his country. Let the other poor dumb bastard do that. We here at Camp Wackytobaccy in the bowels of Elizabeth, NJ, love winners and hate participation ribbons for spelling bees and stuffed beet cook-offs.

Here we are the tip of the spare rib; here we are ever ready for the coming robot rebellion. We live, eat, sleep, shave sh*t and violate crustaceans sexually while holding ourselves in reserve, in case the Krauts or some other poor dumb bastard democraps mount a counterattack that threatens Paris, or maybe even Trump, then we can move in and stop them. But for one point six million dollars, we can become heroes for three days. Woof woof woof. That's my other dog imitation.

The armed farces of which I am a fungeral part recently participated in the paragiraffe invasion of a country made of throw rugs and knitted sh*t. In overrunning the place, my eunuch discovered several trunks that had been hidden away by the enemas that we were in conflict with. Within those trunks were found the secrets to such things as who hit Annie in the fanny with a flounder, the Caine Mutiny, Camp Granada, where all the flowers went and who was responsible for convincing William Shatner that he could sing about Lucy getting high on door knobs.

Such obvious treasures should have been turned over to my superiors. And they were.

And they paid me to keep them.

F**k.

So now it falls to you. No, I will not pay you to take these trunks that contain the collective wit and wisdom of a marmot. which is vastly more than can be gained from Bela Pelosi. But, I am committed to working with you to get them out of this country, and into a country where they are better suited...like Kaliforlornia. That place is so jacked up, they'll never notice the crap these trunks add to that mess.