What A Hoot

I love Nigerian scammers. So much work goes into the construction of their scam letters and the way they are put together constitutes a distinct style. I haven't seen one in a while and I kinda miss 'em, so I rooted around in my spam folder. Sure enough, I found this gem:

Barrister.Henry Ivan Loo
13, Jalan 4, Taman Seri,
Cheras Jaya.
KAULA LUMPUR 56100.
MALAYSIA.
TEL: +60-166-245-514.
EMAIL: barristerhenryivanlooconsult02

@yahoo.co.jp



ATTENTION,

I am Barrister Henry Ivan Loo, an attorney at law. I discovered your email and
information through comprehensive web email search on directory so I
decided to contact you. I know this sounds like a scam because of lot of
activities going on the internet. But I assure you that this is real.

A deceased client of mine, who hereinafter shall be referred to as my
client, died as the result of a heart-related condition on the 11 November
2001. His heart condition was due to the death of all the members of his
family in the Gulf Air Flight Crashes in Persian Gulf near Bahrain Aired
August 23, 2000 - 2:50 p.m. ET as reported on: http://transcripts.cnn.com/TRANSCRIPTS/0008/23/bn.08.html

I have contacted you to assist in distributing the money left behind by my
client before it is confiscated or declared unserviceable by the bank
where this deposit valued at Ten Million Six Hundred Thousand United State
Dollars. ($10,600,000.00 USD). Is lodged. This bank has issued a notice to
contact the next of kin, or the account will be confiscated.

My proposition to you is to seek your consent to present you as the
next-of-kin and beneficiary of my named client, so that the proceeds of
this account can be paid to you. Then we can share the amount on a
mutually agreed-upon percentage. All legal documents to back up your claim
as my client's next-of-kin will be provided. All I require is your honest
cooperation to enable us see this transaction through. This will be
executed under a legitimate arrangement that will protect you from many
breach of the law.

This will be executed under a legitimate arrangement that will protect you
from many breach of the law.  If this business proposition offends your
moral values, do accept my apology. I must use this opportunity to implore
you to exercise the utmost indulgence to keep this matter extraordinary
confidential, whatever your decision, while I await your prompt response.
Please contact me at once to indicate your interest. I will like you to
acknowledge the receipt of this e-mail as soon as possible via my private
EMAIL: (barristerhenryivanlooconsult02@yahoo.co.jp) and treat with absolute
confidentiality and sincerity. I look forward to your quick reply.

Also include your direct telephone number when contacting me to enable me
call and speak with you.

Best regards,

Barr.Henry Ivan Loo

So, to Mr. Water Closet, I have replied with the best legalistic purple prose I could muster:

Dear Mr. Loo;

Many thanks to you for your honorable and esteemed decision to make the choice of my personage as your contact in this matter. Be assured that all information you provide will be held in the strictest confalusion. Further, please excuse me if I have addressed you improperly as I am not sure of the proper salutation for a person or persons of your station.

It seems that we may travel, or, at some time, have traveled,  in social spheres most similar. I am Dr. Peter DuVal Neos, formerly Consultante de Le Ordre de Escargot L'Or of the French High Command and now, due to the recent upheaval in the political climate of mon pays, that is, 'my country', I am, sadly, retired and in semi-permanent, self-imposed exile in the United States of America.

I have read with great interest the particulars of your proposal. Please be assured that I am not only interested in providing my assistance, I would be honor-bound to do so with great pride. Naturlement, you might expect that a person of my temporarily degraded station may participate in certain remunerations so as to offset associated costs and expenses that may be found to be involved in the successful completion of this project. I must, however, advise you that since I am bound both by honor and by duty, I will not and cannot represent myself as any other than the proud man and scion of history that I have become.

Therefore, if you are so disposed, I would be most appreciative of your creative input as to the matter of properly providing me with the appropriate tools so that I might aid you in this matter. I do understand the urgent nature of your request and be again assured that I stand ready to provide whatever assistance I might render. Of course, lest it not be said, your particular associations will need to be considered as I will not wish to be involved with those involved in acts against their state or the states or peoples of others. On this, I am most firm.

Most judcious regards,

Dr. P. DuVal, MMS, BPOE

Let's see what happens.

• • •
UPDATE: So far, NOTHING HAS HAPPENED because, as usual, these folks are chicken-livered poopy-heads. I heartily recommend you visit 419eaters.com for some entertaining, sad and sometimes scary dealings with Nigerian scammers.

I'm Getting To It

Gone now
that time
you gave me your smile
and again
that time
you gave me your teeth
and that time
I gave you mine

Who I was,
blue, green, red, yellow
your favorite colours,
uttered
consent and comfort

Gone now
the words
I used to snare you
the words
you used to tell me
you are mine
the words
I never said
now wrapped tight
in the dim smoke

You are a favoured star
on a cloudy night
beyond my grasp
and still my guide
now gone

Forgive Them, Lord, For They Know Not I'm A Dude

Yup. TGIF, Jesus-sama.

I discovered this quite by accident on deviantart.com. It's the work of The Angry Buddha and the direct link to this and other fab work by the same artist can be found by following this linky-poo.

Bet You Thought I Was Dead

Me, too.

Fortunately, or unfortunately, as your point of view might lead, I still breathe, if only barely.

I'm more than a little pissed off. I fully expected this mortal coil of mine to carry me at least another few decades without the whimpering and simpering and pampering of every cell as if they were high-maintenance, attention-vampire, time and energy-sucking girlfriends. Alas, it is not to be. I am decaying faster than an isotope of Darmstadium 267.

Oy, was I sick. This time, I really didn't think I would make it. My lungs filled up with liquid and my pericardium was inflamed. I could not keep down food and pissed like a racehorse. Funny, but I didn't feel sick at all beforehand. Seems that the cure is worse than the illness.

But, now I'm better. Aren't you glad? Whatever. My heart is still missing like an engine with a loose spark plug wire and my anus is being surprised daily with new and strange demands. Next week, I go to the doctor to see what the outcome will be of his handiwork. Blood tests, a sonogram, and ECG will most certainly be on the menu.

But, wait, there's more to complain about! The week before, when I was paralyzed with malaise on the couch, I had a sudden burst of energy which brought me to my feet long enough to scramble to the bathroom to hurl plus step outside to water my fledgling herbs, planted in a fit of "spring alights anew" and all that. Somehow, an insect of unknown entymology, crept up my thigh in a very un-seductive way and drilled a hole in my leg. The result was a slightly itchy red spot about the size of a silver dollar, which subsequently got warmer and warmer. Then, my leg fell off. Okay, my leg didn't fall off, but that's not the point. I grew concerned that it might be a tick bite as there are many, many deer that come to use my property as a toilet and there are, no doubt, many ticks just waiting for a tasty snack in the nether regions around my junk. Fortunately, it doesn't appear to have the characteristic necrosis and bullseye-like appearance of a tick bite. Still and all, just the thought of having another creature's DNA mixing it up with my own - ewwww!

Speaking of doctors, I need to visit the following: a dermatologist to look at lesions that are not cancerous but that may become cancerous, especially with my current and past exposure to carcinogens, and I don't only mean cigarettes, but radiation, plastics and the motherflippin' sun. I will also have to go to the oncologist to biopsy lesions that are likely cancerous but are probably not melanoma. Nice, huh? Then, there's the proctologist to look into my bladder and feel up my prostate again. Couldn't I just do that on my own and report my findings? Yech and ouch. Stop laughing. Then, there's the cardiologist to figure out what direction my heart problem is heading in and the otolaryngologist to follow up my what's going on in my throat. And, of course, there is my "main" doctor to manage whatever treatment is next and hopefully to coordinate all these other people. Srsly, WTF? I'm not ROFL. Not at all.

So, despite the fact that I'm not yet dead, and that I'm stupidly optimistic about my chances, I recognize that there are certain things I need to get in order, if only so that I don't need to think about them anymore. Thing one is my living will and thing two is a subject close to my heart - "pre-need."

Oh, yes, you knooow what I'm talking about. It's the Grim Reaper's mortal partner, the Undertaker Man. The euphemisms abound: final arrangements, bereavement planning, eternal disposition, last wishes, buying the farm. Now, I don't want to seem morbid - okay, yes, I do - but we all gotta go sometime. When my time comes, which will be sooner rather than later at this point, I want to make sure that no one other than myself is responsible for the costs and for the arrangements themselves except for me. It will one my last tasks as a dead person. And, I'm hoping that it shows that I was thoughtful enough, despite what y'all think, to have taken that particular burden away from you. No, I am not deluded in thinking that whomever would be charged with disposing of my mortal coil would be so wracked with grief that he or she simply couldn't bear to make the appropriate decisions. That's not gonna happen. Instead, I want to make sure that I'm not dumped in a landfill or otherwise tossed where the worms can get me. Get me?

Yes, I want to be toasted. Dust to dust and all that. Cremation (unless they can drop the body in a giant food processor and hit pureé, which would then be more suitably called "cream-ation) is the way I want my meat tube disposed of, thank you very much. Of course, this isn't the Jewish way, but, since I consider myself a Buddhist, and this is the Buddhist way, it's all good. I DO NOT want to be worm food. Clear? How many times do I have to say it? And for this task, I must plan ahead. And I must choose someone to execute my brilliant and dastardly plan. But who shall it be? You? Or perhaps, you? No, no: you. No, in the back, the short one. Gawd. Yes, you.

Okay, so I should be so terribly serious? Who am I disrespecting? My own dead self? Get real.

Amex card and I'm pretty sure that I wouldn't have know what the correct thing to do was and, as Fredo would say, I'm smaat. I had asked my mother year before what, if any, plan there was. She skirted the topic and so did my brother, for his own reasons, I'm sure. And, no, I don't think it was because he was trying to be nice. If you really need to know, I'll get into that at another time, if there is another time, that is.

For me, it would be preferable if no one knew exactly what the plan was. Yes, I will place the number of the person to be contacted in the case of my sudden demise somewhere on my person. Or maybe, I'll send an e-mail each day to that person just to confirm my non-dead state and should those e-mails stop coming, a certain set of actions would take place. Yes, yes: I like this. Control from the grave - how appropriately suited to my recently-departed personality. And this Chosen One must be entirely trustworthy and stalwart, willing to punch noses and stomp toes to get the deed done. Yes, on considering those qualifications, it must be the one in the back that raised the hand earlier. Right - you. Could you step up to the lectern?

Thank you. Now, repeat after me: I have been charged by the decedent, formerly domiciled in the fair State of New Jersey, with the responsibility and authority to exercise his wishes as have been delivered to me under seal, as executed by him and witnessed as required. None shall stand in the way of his personal decree or same shall suffer the moral wrath of indifference and the attention of the State in such a way as to remain upon the offender(s) mind and person for all time. To wit, the decedent desires a timely and proper disposition of his mortal remains, as follows . . . and then the document goes on to describe that I'm to be barbecued, no fanfare, the only container to be provided and paid for as required by law, no memorial service, not that anyone would come anyway. There is one kinda important thing. I've always had a vivid imagination, okay? Hear me out. I do not want to get ass-porked by a necro-dude workin' the graveyard (heh-heh) shift at the mortuary. I don't want to imagine it anymore than I do the worms. So, the person who is charged with the aforementioned task has to also stay with my body until they Laura Dean me. Gulp. I know that's a rough one, but it's something that Jews do. Think of the benefits - I could come back to life and you'd be the first to witness the resurrection (who would thunk it?) or, maybe I'm not really dead and, in the middle of the night, I wake up and ask for a glass tea, which this fie person of whom I now speak feels an incumbency to provide and with the healing powers of said glass tea, I am healed most miraculously or, most likely, I fail to become the ice-cold love-object of Clem The Night Janitor. 'K?

It'll all be paid for, so don't worry about that, and I'll even through in a few bucks for you to cover travel expenses and so forth. Wouldn't want you to go out-of-pocket on this one, ya know?

So, if you don't mind signing here, right there, and date, and again here, date again and just, oops, sorry, let me turn that, initial here and there and there - we're done and you're officially on the hook! Simple rules - kick ass, cover my bung hole and no worms! Thanks! Call me! Let's do lunch . . .

• • •
The vintage ad used in this article is sourced from Woman's Day Magazine, which my mother used to read vociferously, sort of the way I listen to This American Life pod casts. See the other wonderfully silly ads (too many of which i remember) at http://www.womansday.com/Articles/Shelter/A-Look-Back-15-Vintage-Household-Ads.html