Wednesday, July 25, 2007

REALLY Baaaaad Skunk

Uh huh.

This is another of those one-try, one-reply scam emails. I have no doubt that the originator -- the alleged Rita Adams, from the Solomon Islands ( -- didn't intend it thus. And no, that ain't her pictured at the right (that's one of my earlier Russian scambride-wannabes). But the photo fits the post, as will soon become "baaaad skunk" clear.

At any rate, she intended further communicative intercourse with me. But my reply changed her intentions, by hitting her right square in her communicative intercourse, shore 'nuff.

Here's what Rita Adams writ:

greet you in the name of Lord. I am Mrs. RITA ADAMS from Solomon Islands. I am married to Mr. williams Kona who worked with our embassy in Ivory Coast for nine years before he died on 15 of August 2006. We were married for eleven years without a child. He died after breif illness that lasted four days.

Ever before his death we were both born again Christians and have sown into many ministries. Since his death I have decided not to remarry (thank God it ain't THAT kinda scam!), but feeling quite lonely if not the Lord who has been my partner and comforted.

While my late husband was alive he deposited the sum of $7.2 million usd in a Bank in Cote D Ivoire. Presently this money is still in the custory of the Bank. Recently my doctor told me I would not last the next five months due to problems of the cancer. Having known my condition I decided to donate this fund to a church, and I need a good person like you to organize that donate.

I want of this fund to go to church, and to orphans and widows and others needy for money and help. The Bible I came to with my dead husband tells me "Blessed is the hand that giveth", and I wish to be blessed in my closing times.

I not fear death since I know where I'm going to be (take LOTS of fireblocker with ya). So I ask you to uplift me now at this time, with act of kindness to those who need by me.

Response please soonest and I will forever thankful to you.

Mrs. Rita Adams

*Sniff* *sound of blowing nose into whoopee cushion*

Touching. And totally full of sh**. So leave it to the Skunk to lower hisself accordingly:

Dear Rita Non-Rudner,

I am so sorry to hear this pitiful story of yours. What makes it so pitiful is the fact that you were married for 11 years, and you wound up childless.

Did you know that a scientific study proved* that in the first year of an average marriage, if the male/female couple put a bean in a gallon jar for every time they played "Princess Leia Rides The Light Saber", and then from the second year on, took a bean out every time she did the fireman's pole slide, they'd never empty the jar?

So either he wasn't very busy hidin' the weenie that first year, is one frigid wench. The Titanic would have sunk just sailing past you, without physical contact. Of course, this might well have saved your non-spawn from a life of the furtherance of the business you're trying to give me hyar, rude as that is of me to point out.

Now, to the fiscals...your spousal corpse only manage to put together a pithy $7.2 million USD before his mythical demise? What a slack-jawed welfare couch 'tater. Hell, Rita, he wasn't any better at cash stashin' than you were at separating your legs. Which brings me to your asking me to uplift you...uh-uh, no way. You're the kind that sets the thermostat off just by walking through the room. Al Gore would be screaming about global cooling if he ever met you. Granted, he knew Hillary, but I digress.
The Ice Princess would lay down her title and abdicate for you, shore 'nuff. You get the point, me thinks.

At any rate, the both of you should be ashamed of yourselves. Really. Granted, I've never been to the Solomon Islands, as I doubt you have, but sheesh: I'll bet if given the opportunity to watch coconut trees pollinate or find something else to do, I'd think you and hub-dubby could have accomplished more than self-hand jive, in your case with a banana that's pretty gnarly now.

Rita, Rita, disappoint me, really.

I suggest you start ALL OVER, and concoct a much more believable story. Really. This one just don' get it done.


U. R. Phulovit....really.

Yep....baaaaaaaaad Skunk. Really.

Tuesday, July 10, 2007

The Sting -- An Abbreviated Version

It would have been kinda fun to transcribe this entire series, from the first to the very last email.

But you'll see why I didn't, in a minute.

It began on Friday, May 25, with one of those emails from George Nyerere (; a measly $8,000,000 claim that I -- as the foreign next of kin -- would receive a 25% share of, upon completion of George's effort to give me the business. A business that required me to travel to South Africa to conclude.
Eh. My initial response was, overall, rather unenthusiastic ("Sir: only $8,000,000? You're a slacker, sir. I've had offers for as much as five times this amount. How can you look your fellows in the face at the Internet Cafe?").
But that reply went over the head of ol' George, and dissuaded him not. He proceeded to give me the business with genuine enthusiasm and the belief that he'd found a true fool. So what was I to do -- as the resurrected U. R. Phulovit -- but to give it back with an equal amount

For a month -- until June 26 -- the emails went to and fro: 57 generated by George, his first bank, his second bank, and his barrister; 58 in reply by yours truly. The players: George Nyerere; Johan Otto of the ABSA Bank, South Africa (, Stan Luthlu of the FNB Bank, South Africa (, and last but sointenly not least, Bannister Scott James Nicholson, Esq (

For over half the month, George, ABSA, and later Stan of the FNB Bank, tried very hard to get me to commit to travelling to South Africa; I tried equally hard to convince them that my business demands at the time would brook no international travel, and that they would have to bring the necessary documents and come to the Houston International Airport, where I would rent a conference room for our use.
Couldn't sell it, but I tried.
Finally, they returned to the usual scam script, as they grudgingly retained a barrister -- who they warned me might be pricey -- who would serve as intermediary in giving me the business.

Over the course of the month, I had one scammer begging me not to "forsoke him" (George) when I was adamant that I couldn't travel to South Africa; I managed to get one bank fired (Johan Otto of ABSA Bank), by re-writing his emails to me, and forwarding them to George as "proof" that ABSA Bank was trying to cut him out of the deal. George bought it; I got several emails from ABSA after they were fired, demanding to know what was going on, which I responded to by telling them George had fired them for dishonesty, and that they could blow chunks and get lost. Then I almost got the second banker fired (Stan of FNB), by using the same tactic of email re-writing and forwarding to George; George forgave Stan and explained away the emails I had doctored and forwarded, apparently without Stan challenging their authenticity. And when the bannister retained by George/Stan upped his fee demands from an initial $8,000 to a total of $80,000, I almost got him fired by re-writing another ABSA Bank email (the same one I'd re-written and re-used thrice with George never knowing the difference), in which I implicated the bannister as a representative of ABSA's interests, and forwarding that to George; the bannister saved himself by denouncing ABSA's slander, denying any connection to ABSA, and immediately cutting his demanded fees to a figure I suggested to him I could manage.
Like shooting fish in a gallon bucket. Without water.
Finally came the usual climax: I sent the bannister a Money Gram for $14,500 Euros (100% bogus, of course) on a Saturday, which he acknowledged receipt of and stated he'd deal with and execute the contract on the next business day, which would be Monday, June 25.
Which is when -- after he or his assistant were thoroughly humiliated at the Money Gram location in Johannesburg, South Africa, which he raged at me about in an angry email, before demanding I "leave him alone" -- the scales fell from all eyes on the collective scammer's end. For George, I was now "a lowlife man who not serous about help him and his famly, so dont write them no more".

So I honored their request and writ them some more:

George, Stan, Scott and you ABSA bank wads:
This has been a genuine pleasure. Well, at least for one of us.
Thank you for playing Scam or No Scam, the online game show that seeks only the best of scams from across the Internet. I'm sorry that you didn't win, but here's your consolation prize: a tell (almost) all revelation.
George, I knew you were a lowlife scam from the opening email. Your unimaginative, copied-many-times-over email was ludicrous and far from original. I have been duelling with your fellow email scammers since 2000, and making a whole lot of mugus out of probably 300 of your brethren in that time. But this one was more fun than the average: it was fun turning you against your first-chosen bank, ABSA. And all I had to do there was re-write their emails to me, and forward the re-writes to you, so you thought your scam ally had turned on you. That was a joy to pull off, and underlined how amateur and inept you and your fellows in this scam are. Making mugus of you on that was like shooting fish in a gallon bucket, without the water.
Stan and Scott, you were simply two bit players who came in later and fell in as readily as did George and his ABSA idiots. You guys are individually and collectively, pathetic. You're almost as bad, inept and stupid as Bruno Weka (, who dimwittedly provided me with the Houston residential and bank information I used on you. Bruno, you remain the dumbest of dumbasses, but as you can see, you have lots of inept company in Scamland.
Lads, it wasn't a good try, but I enjoyed your silly efforts for the time of yours I happily wasted. This series will be exposed on a scambaiting website, so that anyone and everyone online can read about how you fell short in your effort to give me the business, and wound up as bigger fools than you tried to play me for.
No thanks are necessary, boys. The pleasure has been, and will continue to be, all mine.
That email drew no comment from any of the recipients, including Bruno, which would lead you to think it's over. They were done with me. They told me so.
You don' know these scammers vewy well, do you?

Friday, July 6, 2007

The Answer My Friends

Ain't blowin' in the wind. The ans-wer ain't blowin' in the wind...

From Time Immortal, Man has sought answers to so many things: why does a star fall, and a birdie putt doesn't? Where does the wind, not rectally-generated, come from? Why do some women change their minds more often than the number of pairs of shoes they have in the closet? Why is female butt size a no-win question that they insist on asking? Why doesn't God infect dishonest politicians with painful rectal itch when they fatuously vote pander?

Of course, there has always been that Answer that eluded so many of us for so long: the answer to seminal questions like what are we, and why are we what we are, or think we are, or say we are, or are we something other than what we think and/or say we are?

For without the Answer, all the other questions plague us: why is there war? Why is there hate? Why is there bias? Lies? Deception? Poor? Greed? Doubt? Unhappiness? Sauer kraut? Lust?

Okay, so when I see a picture of Kate Beckinsale, I can answer that last one, but I digress.

I have lived a little over 50 years. In that time, I have learned many things. Or have I? And I know that there are many things I have yet to learn. Or is it that I already know them instinctively? And I know that there are many things I have pondered without knowing. Or have I known them, subconsciously, all along?

All I am sure I know is, for 50 years my eyes could see, yet I was blind. And then all at once, 30 minutes forever changed my life. I still need to upgrade my prescription glasses, but the rest has become so incredibly crystal clear to me now. It was 30 minutes that will forever alter my view of Life, Death, Love, Taxes and hot fudge wrestling.

I am here to now share with you, my friends, that super nova-like revelation.

First, all the things I learned in school as a youth I now think I know are deceptions, lies, stereotypes and false dilemmas, like tastes great vs less filling. And the great debate -- paper or plastic -- is all an MSN Chris Matthews-shaped opinion poll, mixed with crystal meth during his ersatz coffee breaks.

There are not aliens among us: WE ARE ALL DESCENDED FROM ALIEN SOUL SPERM. Alien soul sperm filled with angst. And as such, we have lost our way. Probably our curds, too, though I think some live in Iraq and that neighborhood, if you're wondering where they are. But I digress again.

Not so many human-measured years ago, a great prophet purportedly came forth among us, and revealed a vision to a chosen few. Then he --through books and the precursors to paid infomercials -- sent forth his Message for all to receive*. He revealed a vision dating back buku million years, to a time when there were then mighty masters of the Earth, yet today are little more than fossils, gas, propane, heating oil, and would make some pretty bodacious suitcases and other fancy sh** if they were still around to be rendered into it, like their alligator kin are.

For they gave way to a New Order, thanks to Australopithicus-generated global warming. And it was He -- the aforementioned contemporary visionary -- who distilled from celestial chaff what our origins in the Great Equation were.
He told of an evil Alien, Lawrd Xanadu**, who set about depopulating his galactic empire by shipping to our celestial orb lesser cretined rake-offs and factory seconds. They wound up in volcanic rendering ponds, from which their charred and sauteed spirits emerged, only to be sent to re-education camps, which filled their minds full of things that were deemed harmful by Lawrd Xantax**, and which sully and burden our souls to this very day, preventing for the majority of us a life of bliss, perpetual peace, and having us all act like Ben Stein in a Visine commercial.

More or less.

At any rate, within the bounds of his biological lifetime, he sought to spread His Word amongst the populace. And well after his demise, his disciples continue to spread The Word amongst the populace. For a fee.
And with each level of secrets revealed, a little more fee in perpetuity. A secret that is, in essence, progressive, outcome-based educational dumbed downedness that helps adjust the body cretin levels of paying true believers to where He says they oughta be. Which makes you happier. Happier to pay more fees as you become more and more dumbed down and dependent.
I sense an ACORN vote registration strategy here.

One afternoon after a 30 minute DVD viewing, it was all spelled out for me -- *TOING* -- and I am forever changed.
Such a revelation is unjust to be kept from you, my reading audience, even if you're not paying readers. For some secrets should not be shared only for fiscal renumeration, rank heresy as this particular group likes to groupthink. So I simply must now share with you, my friends and other readers who might be non-friends, the secret that I have come now to understand at long, long last. An understanding that has taken so long to come to, after all the years of spiritually, emotionally, fiscally and flatulently flailing around in a life with no definitive purpose or direction, since I was too cheap to buy a GPS or Tom-Tom system.

The secret, my friends, is not exactly what you're thinking. Yes, I know that this Word and these indoctrinations of a dead science fiction writer with alleged Michael Jackson tendencies, are little more than a cult masquerading as a religion for the purpose of making money by duping new members and maintaining the dupe over old ones, all under the guise of religious tax-exempt status.
I am not here to reveal the obvious.

It's all in the commonality of crackpot stories and scam theories, disseminated to the naive and gullible, for money. It is all so perfectly clear. How could I have missed it, all these long years?

Thank you, South Park, and all the John and Jane Smiths who wrote, engineered, produced and directed this revelation!

And I must agree with L. Rod Hubbub's reincarnated animation, Stan Marsh: Tom Cruise isn't quite as good as the Napolean Dynamite actor; but the animated Cruise did okay in the South Park episode.

* for a fee..always, for a fee

** or whoever the frack it was; probably a close cousin of silly-puddy complexioned Hugo Chavez