Santa's Onna Roll

*From the '07 ho-ho-ho archives*

When maybe he shoulda stopped at a croissant, but I digress.

This is the time of year that I note the email scammers shift to a bit of a religious cover for their operations. Two recent receipts lowlight this. Another one -- allegedly from France -- well, I can't tell if it's religious or just referencing a religious icon (aka, golf), as it's written completely in French.

Now, I know Tish could speak French (it always drove Gomez nuts, but I digress again), but my French is dubious at best, and a diplomatic crisis at worst. But it didn't stop 'Santa' from taking le whack at it.

First up is the 'Reverend Henry Reeds' with an email address of thomas.williams8@bigpond.com; Rev. Reeds writes in part "i am from the Royal Roman catholic ministry here in Birmingham England.Due to my privileged African American background, i have been consulted by a top Black American human right activist who is dying from Cancer in our hospital here in England. my patient tell me she is has a sum of $20.5 million in her bank here but say she wants to give all to charity when she die.

He goes on about how she has lived her life and how now, "at the threshord, she wishes to make atunement for parts in her life not well lived. So I seek you, an honest and, reliable businessman who can assist her,because i have never handled or heard about that kind of money in my entire life,i am just a Catholic priest".

*snort*. Ol' Santa had the elves on the floor with this reply, though the reindeer were crossing themselves, just in case:

My dubious Padre,

Ho ho ho! I gather you are unfamiliar with handling large sums of charitable money because, as the aforementioned Padre you represent yourself to be, you have been too busy handling choirboys in the choir loft, you shameless diddler, you. Bad padre. Very baaaaaaad padre. My good friend Cheech and Chong once opined "Baliff, whack his pee-pee!" I might even add to that with my studded snow boots, squarely up your bunghole when I see you on Christmas Eve night, you and your faux-dying ho-ho-ho.

But Santa helps all who send wishes to him this holiday season, even those of dubious antecedence with outhouse pit sludge intents. And for you, I have the game Confession, where you confess all sins, and then throw yourselves under a bus, preferrably a moving double-decker. Oooh, one of my elves liked that so much, he just blew milk and boogers out his nose, and all over the packing-and-shipping computer. That might delay your getting the game Confession. But we do backorder with UPS. Patience, laddie.

So, Rev. Padre Senator Harry Reid...er...oops, confused you with another chicanerous yutz, ho-ho-ho...Henry Reeds, to you and yours this Holiday Season, I will see you soon, studded snow boot up your bunghole and all!

I'm getting a sense that Santa's getting testy as "crunchtime" is getting closer.

Next up, we have Evangelist Rosemary Collins (evangrosemary@gmail.com), who writes with light and gay blasphemy:

Greetings, beloved. Greeting in the name of our lord Jesus I am Mrs. Evangelist Rosemary Collins, widow to the late Mr. Smith Collins, I am 68years old, I am a new Christian convert suffering from long time canser of the breast.from all indications my condition is really deteriorated and its quite obvious i won't live for more than two moths according to my doctors.This is because the canser stage has gotten to very bad stage.i don't want your pity but i want your trust.

She goes on to talk about how her husband was killed by Americans in Afghanistan (doing what, she doesn't say), that they never had "childern" during their long marriage, and that they were "very wealthy" (uh huh), to the tune of $12 million USD.

And now? I need you to collect this fund and distribute it yourself to church, Muslim society, charity and underprivilege. i was into charity organisation before this illness come to stricken me down. i understood now that money acquisition without God is vanity (lol...no you don't, you lying sack of dung, but she goes on). Due to my failed health which soon kills me, you are to respond to my lawyer i hand over everything to, who will immediate file out the funds for you on my behalf. He is Barrister Richard Keith (barristerrichardkeith02@yahoo.fr) and he wait for your reply.

She ends with this: May the grace of all the might God the love of God and the fellowship of God be with you in petuity.

A more moving benediction, I have heard. This one kinda reminds me of the infamous "Pastor Gas", Robert Tilton, the TV fauxvangelist, at his most flatulent. And back to speaking of movement, this generated one in Santa, but he kept it off the paper, though just barely:

Ebabbleist Rosemary's Baby and Bannister Keith,

*Subdued ho-ho-ho*...it is sad that I hear from you at this time with this story, Rosemary's Baby. Wow. Married all those years to your bombed corpse hubby and he didn't knock you up once? What WERE you doing? Too busy trying to screw other folks, to spread once for your old terrorist reprobate?

Canser, eh? Y'know, had you just asked ol' Kris Kringle, I'd a told ya that playing with those astrological signs and that zodiac sh** would get you one of these days. Just be happy you didn't get capricorned. Those goat's feet up your private orifices would have been...well, let's just say you'd a soon been a little more amorous toward your incinerated spouse, but Santa digresses.

At any rate, my chicanerous corpse-in-waiting, confession is good for the soul. Yassiree, wench, shore 'tis. And yours is desperate in need of it, what with you shortly to be charred frizzle in the place your soul is bound for. You've been one baaaaaaad broad, indeed.

As for you, Bannister Keith, formerly of the Rolling Bones rock band...yessir, Santa knows all this sh**, so don't try with some sleazy denials or disguises...you've been 'outted'. Traded the life of a doping, drunken, living transfusion-to-transfusion rock star, to become a lower-than-snake-spit lawyer representing Serengeti road apples on the MisInformation Super Highway, eh? Well, I can tell you that what Santa has in mind for you, all the Vaseline in the world won't help when it gets jammed up your bunghold, what with it being studded and a foot wide, laddie. You're a baaaaaaaaaaad bannister.

Looking forward to making my pointed and very relevant deliveries to the both of you, Christmas Eve night. Ho ho ho (with an eye toward Rosemary's Babycakes)!

Santa Claus

Finally (or perhaps too late), there's this email from Golf Infoline Service (golf.infoline.service@latinmail.com), who sent the following...in French (I think it's one of those 'you won some Microsoft Lotto' fraud things:

A votre aimable attention. Dans l'optique d'etendre son reseau partout dans le monde, recompenser les internautes de l'annee en cours et rendre de familles huereuses en cette fin d'annee, la Structure de Financement de Porjets, LA GOLF FINANCE en association avec quelques grandes filiales telles MICROSOFT CORPORATION ont lance une Tombola Internet gratuite basee sur les differentes adresses electroniques des internautes du monde entier.

And thus it goes on...and on...and on...for three more Chef Boyardee paragraphs, concluding with Pour eviter toutes fraudes, un service de controle a ete mis en place. Nous vous prions de le contacter pour plus de certitude sur la Tombola organisee. Le Service Controle, GOLF INFOLINE SERVICE (golf.infoline.service@gmail.com)

What le foch?

Oh well...I left this one to Santa, master of slaughtering all things multi-lingual:

Le Ho-ho-ho dear Monsieurs and Madamoseilles,

Messy bird coup avec pastry resistant pepe lepew; save ze bone pettifore les miserables engarde eiffle down and can't get le up, moanamee. Souffle flambe faux pas, enfante enterrible, lafontaine lafayette escadrille up sur le posterior orifice de certitude! Crepe Suzette (le bitch) cavort hors d'oeuvre up your bunghole, hors concours! Marseilles bon homme le flume de flatulence le pew mon poirot en le wagon-lit! Aucune, ou est la masse de croissant? Sedan! Cafe la Seine ack phooey! Le Debacle! Bonchance, french fries.

Olive warts,

St. Nick

Since I couldn't understand much of what they writ me, I reckon they'll have a bit of le difficultee getting the gist of Santa's demarche. Viva le expresso!

Whatever. I hope Santa's in a mellower mood when he does his fly-by hyar. I'll be happy for just a lump of coal on the patio ;-) Real coal, not the look-alike stuff that I suspect was dropped by a reindeer...

Santa Goes Postal

*From the 2006 blog December archives*

The stress. The pressure. The deadlines and schedules. The last-minute changes. Elf and reindeer grievances. The public appearances and ill-behaving, finicky children. Demands big and small, from kids to bureaucrats, atheists to ACLUers.

Santa needs a vacation. And Valium.

A poopload of both.

Witness Santa's replies to the last three email scammers (at least one of which was NOT allegedly from Nigeria) and you tell me if The Fat 'n Jolly One isn't about to go North Postal:

-- from one Rose Sohal (rosesohal_widow2005@yahoo.co.uk) , "from Philipine", comes this in part: I am Mrs Rose Sohal from Philipine and i\'m married to Dr Patrick Sohalfrom kuwait who died in crashed plane the coming December 26, 2003 with Beirut-bound charteret. We weremarried for eleven years without child.Since his death Idecided not to re-marry or get a child outside my matrimoneyal home wichthe Bible says is against. My husband leave to me a sum of $8 Million US and I am need of you help to recover this funds as Im destituted here in Philipine.

I have no doubt that she decomposed the above with the theme music from Young Frankenstein playing in the background (along with no spellcheck program); while Santa, in his ill-grace, had Dead Skunk In The Middle of the Road playing whilst he replied:

And a heart-felt and ironic cyber Ho Ho Ho to you, which I'm sure in your faux grief that you don't get whatsoever, but Santa digresses.

Rose...Rose...Rose. That's a great name. Pity it's wasted on you. Santa says, bad Rose...very bad Rose. Married for eleven years, and no child? So what are you doing? You're trying to make up for lost time by trying to indiscriminately screwing* everyone and anyone you can online.

Bad Rose...very bad Rose.

Santa is most disappointed; Rudolph, on the other hoof, is just pointing and laughing at you, having etched your name and number with a "For A Good Time Call Rose" on the elves rest room wall. Your phone's gonna get mighty busy after December 26. I'm just sayin'...

But despite your obvious fall from grace, even if it wasn't but a micromillimeter, Santa remembers all children this holiday season. And Santa will remember you, bad Rose.

Check your stocking Christmas morning for a spell check program and an online contraceptive device, you wenchly trollope.

Don't bother thanking me, Rose; or leaving out any 'nog of dubious antecedence and urine content. Yours will be a fly-by delivery only; wouldn't want to have my wallet lifted.

Next up is 20 year old Flora Abed (floraabed_1@yahoo.fr) and her "yunger brothur Tony", who are childless and parentless in Sierra Leone, where "we leave alone becaus we dont want the people who killed my late father, to kill us too" (a practical notion; she goes on). My late father deposited one trunk of box with a security company here before his dead and because of situation of political criss here that led to war here we need some body that I trust (??!!) to come and help claim the trunk for me and my brothur. You are the only person I send this message to so I need much your help and that you keep this secreted until it is done.

"You are the only person I send this message to". Righhhhhht. Another snot of Schopps and a Prozac chaser, and Santa's everruddy with his reploo:

Ah, Santa loves getting letters from the children. Especially 20 year, well-developed female children. Santa loves bouncing them on his ample lap and having them answer all those holiday questions like "who's yo' daddy?".

Lil' Flora Inbed, having read your effort to give ol' Santa here the business and a woody, I am determined not to bypass your Christmas thong..er...stocking this year. Nope...you have been added to the "special list". For you, there will be (a) a spell check program, 'cuz your email sucked, (b) a carton of Handi-wipes to use on your head when you finally extract it from your ass, and (c) a sh**load of contraceptives, because as much as you're trying to screw* people over online, you shouldn't be allowed to procreate thus.

Of course, that last is just Santa's humble opinion; Rudolph's is obviously worse, as he has added your name and number to the rest room walls of the Sierre Leone Soldiers 'n Sailors Recruitment Barracks. Rudolph -- for a reindeer -- is a rather opinionated, presumptive critter, eh?

Personally, I'd consider capping your chimney. And other parts, too. But then, it is the season of giving, and much as you'd love others to give to you, I don't see why they shouldn't give it to you just the way you deserve it.

Let them use some of your Handi-wipes, too: a carton goes a long way.

There is the possibility that Santa -- or at least this blog -- is going to lose it's PG rating if this keeps up.

It does.

Last but not least, there is Femi Raymond Chambers (femichambersoffice@yahoo.com) and his odious secretary (godswil_uzoma@yahoo.fr). Femi has apparently picked up this email address from one of my scam replies some time back; this one came addressed to none other than Jacques Ewehoff!!!

Dear Friend Jacques Ewehoff,

I'm happy to inform you about my success in gettng the fund transferred to a Swiss Account with the cooperation of a new partner from paraguay who is an international business man. I did not forget your past efforts to assist me in transferring those funds despite that it failed somehow (shore did; 'twasn't Jacques/me he dealt with...the bonehead). Now contact my secretary (email referenced above) and ask her to send you the total $450,000 which I kept for your compensation for the all the past efforts you make on my behalf. Waste no time and get in touched with (that HAD to be a Freudian slip) Godswil Uzoma and instruct her where to send the amount to you.

Another snot of schopps and Lrozac pater, and Santa is rarin' to det gown:

Ho Ho Ho, Femoral:

You are a funny, funny mans, Femoral! Jacques Ewehoff! Mwhaha..er..HO HO HO! I haven't heard that one since it went over the paging system at the Mall! HO HO HO! That's as good as calling a mortuary and asking to speak to Myra Mains!

*Ahem*

Otherwise, your email -- in the words of my good and animated friend Eric Cartman -- "sucks ass". Rudolph and the other reindeer took turns at dragging their poo-dripping bums across it, after the elves had their go.

But Santa is gifted (see what I just did there?) with a great sense of humor after enough booze and pills this holiday season; it's better this year, since I rotated out of the mall circuit, where getting peed on by screaming brats who try to give my beard a swingset ride, is SOf***ingP. Thus, I am happy to share with you this momentus news for you and you alone: on the morning of December 25, you can officially and care-freely remove your head from your ass! Why? Because I'll have delivered to you a whole gross of Handi-wipes! You won't have to use your shirt tail or living room curtains any more to clean up with!

Besides, it would be best for me as well, if you would clean up some, before I plant my size 18 fur-lined boot up your ass, you goat-smelling egg sucking out-house breathed scamster! Hooha!

And worry not: I haven't forgotten your turdball wench of a secretary, either, you token wad. HO HO HO (maybe she's yo' ho, but that's for another time).

Uh...yep: Santa's over the edge.

* er....not the words I used in the actual replies...told ya Santa was going "postal"...

I'm A Baaaaad Santa

*From the blog archives of November 2006*

If you find this illustration (right) from somewhere online indecent, offensive, and totally uncalled for, I can guaran-dang-tee the rest of this post is from the same movement.

Especially if you're an online scammer.

Of course, I could blame MissCellania for this; on a recent post (I believe it was her November 19 Links column) she solicited for, among other things, letters to/from Santa of the humorous nature.

*TOING*

In late November of 2005, I had received a Nigerian email scam letter that was tailor-made for a "bad Santa" reply; and I gave it one befitting of the sender (at least in my opinion), putting it in my "to use" pile for an upcoming blog. But then I got involved in the tiff over my idea of a politically incorrect Xmas column with some blogging malcontent 'Tom' and his "hurls at nativity scenes" friend Michelle, and I forgot about it, leaving it to languish in my email archives.

Until MissCellania's solicitation reminded me to dig it out.

The email title and bad grammar in and of itself was nothing special (I need your urgent respond) from any of the others I was getting, but the first paragraph from Barrister Gabriel Tijani (tijanimail001@myway.com) elevated this one well above the average nonsense:

Dear Friend,

I must ask you this. do you like children? do you desirous of giving to those who need? are you of the spirit of giving? are you a charitable, upright man with christian soul? if you answer this yes then you are the one I seek.

He went on into the usual gobbletygook about some family perishing in a car accident on one of those delightful highways of Nigerian design and carnage back in 2001, and how the breadripper-offer of the family had left a tidy sum of US dollars in a Lagos bank (about 18.5 million US). And how after years of trying to find next of kin "with no hope of succeed", time was fast approaching that the bank and the Nigerian government were going to confiscate the funds.

Unless you are willing to help me in this 100% risk free transaction to brighten lives (his words). He then went on with this paragraph: Upon release of the funds to you, My own share shall be donated to an orphanage in time for the holiday brightness of the season for the children of less opportunity than I and you will have. I want this brightening of the spirit this giving time. This is my wish that you help me with.

*Sniff*...awwwwwwww. A scammer that wants to help out orphans by giving me the business. I was truly touched by an anvil. I can still hear it ringing in my ears.

Now I confess...I didn't see the movie Bad Santa. Nor have I any plans to. After you read this reply I sent the bannister, you'll see why it isn't necessary for me to do so:

My good fauxson:

Ho ho ho, and that might be yo' mama I'm speaking of here. Your wish in the forwarded email has been electronically selected at Wish-n-Elves-Hear.Net* for special consideration. And that is how your message found it's way directly to me.

Who'm I, you ask? Were I to be present in the flesh -- and there'd be a lot of it, I assure you -- you'd know my belly-full-of-jelly frame, and my jovial ho-ho-ho in an instant. For I bear many names in many denominations: Kris Kringle, St. Nick, Santa Claus...and under some venues I've been called "that fat red bastard" and "Yo bitch, make wif my bling bling!".

Yes, I am He who defies conventional laws of Nature and science by travelling the globe in 31 hours on one night a year, bringing joy and gifts to all the good little boys and girls around the world, save for where heathen practices deny my existence or anti-air defenses try to knock Rudolph's bigass red nose into orbit around Uranus.

Screw them non-believing cheeseballs, but I digress.

Wish of me to help you help yourself under the auspices of benevolence to orphans, eh? Now, that's nice. That's mighty nice. You must have been among the school yard's finest in the milk money reallocation/extortion department in your rough-and-tumble youth. In fact, I find your name does appear of a few of my archived lists down the years.

As a reprehensible turd.

But far be it from me to turn a deaf and fat ear to such a transparent plea in the Time of Yule; then again, Yule died in 1985 so his time is passed and thus never mind about him. He was only a faux king who danced with Debbie Reynolds, anyway.

I tell you what, my good lad of dubious antecedence and purloiner of lunch money: I am not as game as my reindeer are if they wander off the 'Pole during hunting season, but I will be happy to entertain your efforts here, if you will just write back to Jolly ol' me and present me with ten good reasons I should allow you to give me this business, which would be ten good reasons I shouldn't show up and put my oversized fur-lined boot up your chicanerous bunghole.

Or maybe I'll just have Rudolph & Co. do a proctological exam on you with their head gear. Tain't pretty, lemme tell you; though it might be better if I let one of the surviving elves who underwent it describe it in intimate detail, if you'll pardon the pun.

Ho ho ho...and I'm back to yo' mama again.

Let me know your pleasure on the matter, Mr. Bannister, and I shall assure you a Merry Crispmoose (my reindeer always find that funny; they never liked Bullwinkle), and a particularly jagged-edged lump of coal to place sideways in your anal stocking one silent (but not for long once placement starts) night.

A Merry Christmas to all, save for you who can bite me!

Jolly Ol' St. Nick (and other 'nick' names...ho ho ho!)

* courtesy of the US Homeland Security Department's alleged evesdropping Act thing of 2002 or so...

The other reason I probably forgot about this particular exchange is the fact that this is as far as it went: the bannister didn't reply with any ten good reasons to try for my fat fur-lined boot up his ass. Guess he was a non-believer. Or became one, after reading this.

So there you have it, folks: I'm a baaaaaaaaaad Santa.