Genius Baby

Letter from Scammer:
 

My Dear Sir,  I am Mr. Bryan Rodwell, I am a British citizen, 59 years Old. Am thinking of relocating since I am now rich. I am one of those that took part in the Compensation/Lottery in London and africa many years ago and they refused to pay me, I had paid over GBP50,000 while in the London, trying to get my payment all to no avail.

I need money for a layer. Please send 300USD to my account and I will share my winnings with you. 
Thank You and Be Blessed.

Mr. Bryan Rodwell
108 Crockett Court.
Kings Way London UK.

My Response:

Dear Mr. Rotsmell,

I am a United States citizen, 9 months old. I understand why you would be thinking of relocating after not being paid your fair share of money in winning the lottery. I dare say that I too would boycott my country if they treated me thus, and if I were a little older. Here is a picture of me and my dog. I'm the one on the left. Yeah, I know I need to lose a few pounds, but it's just, as they say, baby fat, so be nice, old man.

As you can clearly see, there's no way I can drop any coin into your bank account. You could borrow my pacifier if you think it may calm your nerves. Works wonders for mine.

So I can't give you money. Fortunately, for you, I am a genius who plans on becoming an attorney when I am allowed to take the Bar exam. For now, I can only provide free legal advice that is based upon my own study and is not backed by any official stamp of approval to practice law. This means that you may take or leave my advice as you see fit.

I studied up on the laws regarding your case and I believe you have something here. If you could send me the actual documents you received from the various...um, this is really embarrassing, but I have to do a poopie. I'll be right back.

...and back. Again, my apologies. I hate that I have essentially no control over when my body wants to engage in ejecting waste.

So I read up on your documents and I think you have the makings of a solid case.

I have walked around, a few steps at a time only because, if you'll recall, I'm only 9 months old. Frankly, some people are surprised I'm walking at all. I don't know what the fuss is about. Left foot, right foot, left foot, and so on. Anyway, so I checked the newspapers and other resources as I strode purposefully through my parent's living room.

You know what I found?  I'll tell you what I found, Mr. Roachkill. I found a mirror and some of my mommy's wigs. It was so much fun playing dress up for a bit as I contemplated your case. One of the wigs seemed to suit me perfectly, being that I'm a shoe in for Mensa as soon as I can actually speak. Believe it or not, people don't understand half of what I'm saying these days. If it wasn't for my ability to type I'd be relegated to grunting and incoherent babble for all of my communication.

The good news is that I DO have an answer for how you can get your money; the bad news is that it's time for night-night now.

Good luck Mr. Rodenthell. Good luck, and good night.

~Gene I. Usbaby

Tiny Dancer

Letter from Scammer

This is to notify you that your  e-mail has won One million United Staes Dollars in the recent Publishing Clearing House  Sweepstakes, please reply  immediately to collect your winnings. Please Send Your Info, Name, Address, Phone Number. 
You will be given more details by our announcement centre when you send them your reply .

Regards,
Charles Rogers
PCH.SWEEPSTAKES®

My Response

What a wonderful thing to have happened to me!

You see, I have always wanted to be a ballet dancer. From the time I was a small boy, I wanted this. My father would drop me off at the youth center to play basketball with the other boys, but I would always sneak into the dance room.

It's not that I was a butt vandal. Not at all. I love women! But I love to dance as well. Yet, back in those days any boy that dreamed of wearing tights and hopping around on stage doing pirouettes was automatically labeled a dong hound.

I took up various other jobs in order to prove that I was manly. The first one was being a male model. I was able to be out in the sun and do a lot of swimming.

Turns out that being a dancer is just a shade less manly than being a male model though, so I quickly moved on.

My next stint was to be a bumper sitter. That's when you sit, typically with two other fellas, on the back bumper of a bus. I'm not sure why, to be honest. Originally, the man I interviewed with said that I'd be working with metal, but me and the other two fellas hired that day ended up sitting all the time on the bumper until we finally got fired.

 That's me on the right. My pals Irv and Moishi sat with me.

I tried being a company photographer, but never got the hang of it. I just couldn't seem to keep the camera steady on the person's face. This was especially true with men for some reason.

Over the next couple of decades I took odd jobs, but was never quite happy. My father had passed away in the mid-70's. I had gotten a call from my mom that he wasn't doing well. I rushed home from a club and found him sitting up in his easy chair. He took one look at me and had a heart attack right then and there.

It was a very sad day and I made the decision to be a straight-laced fella from then on. No more crazy thoughts of dancing or male modeling or anything of the sort. Instead, I dedicated the next 40 years to working in a factory just like my old man had when I was growing up. I had a couple of kids who turned out tough like my father.

Unfortunately, they were both adopted as my wife, who was simply an angel, could not have children and was adamantly opposed to going to an infertility doctor...though I never knew why. She also never went to a gynecologist. Instead, she went to a urologist. She said that gynecologists never quite understood her special needs. I think it was just because she was shy. We only made love with the lights out and her facing away from me. All i know is that she was the prettiest lady I'd ever laid eyes on.

She passed away a few years ago, though, and I started seeing that my time was coming to an end also.

I looked over my life and I wanted to kick myself for not doing the one thing that I truly wanted to do: dance. But my bank account is mostly depleted and so I felt that my dream would remain unfulfilled.

Then I saw your email and it said that I won a million dollars. Well, I ran out and got my outfit and booked my first lesson in over 50 years! 

Thank you so much for helping an old man's dream finally come true.

Gaylord D. Ancer

 

---

The Tripping Gangsta

Letter from Scammer

I am Mrs.Joan  Gates from United Kingdom, married to Dr. James R. Gates who worked with Texaco Oil Company in Nigeria before he died in a ghastly motor accident on his way to a Board meeting.
Below attachment contains full details, read and reply immediately.

 My Response

Mrs. Gayes,

This is just TOO creepy. The same thing that happened to your husband happened to me! Well, not exactly the same since I'm alive and he's dead, but it's eerily similar. What's worse is that it happens to me every time I go to a Board Meeting. What's worse than that is that I'm not even a member of any Board!

I was on my way to a Board Meeting back in February and during my walk I tripped over a blade of grass and dropped a bunch of books.  

Then, in early March, I was in New Haven, Connecticut, carrying a bunch of boxes to a Board Meeting in London and I tripped again.

I got a bit of an abrasion on that one, but still didn't die.

It wasn't long after that where tripping or falling was just a constant thing. I could just be standing still, minding my own business, and not even going to a Board Meeting or anything, and I'd just tip over.

But the one fall that truly reminds me of your deceased husband's incident, is when I was trying to become a gangsta. I had to go through a bunch of different things while working it out.

The first thing I did was work on using weapons while having my pants riding low, but I just couldn't get the hang of it.

Next, I tried wearing full colors and walking down the street while looking fly, but that didn't work either.

Finally, I picked up a pager and got in with a local group of white guys who were trying to become gangstas. One day I got a hit on my pager and called up. There was to be a meeting in Northeast in one of my friend's basement. It wasn't a Board Meeting, per se, but, again, I've never been part of a Board. Either way, I was all the way across town and the meeting was to start in ten minutes. Being the responsible young man I was, I decided to hustle and get to the meeting without delay. Sadly, I still wasn't very versed in the whole "gangsta pants" thing and I ended up tripping.

I wasn't injured; mostly, I was just embarrassed. But it was then that the gangsta in me died and the vanilla me came back to life, metaphorically speaking, of course.

So as you can see, there is really no similarity whatsoever between what happened to your husband and what happened to me.

I still trip a lot, and all my friends tend to trip with me, but it's a little different these days.

-Buzz E. McTripalot

---

Thurston Howell, III

Letter from Scammer

Hi:)

Finally I was able to write you a message. Not so long ago I was on the internet dating site I saw your email address. I had not previously acquainted when the internet and therefore not immediately decided to write you a message. But today, my day is fine, I have a very good mood and I decided to start a new acquaintance.

That is why I am writing to you my humble post in the hope that you will see it and answer me.

I will be glad to meet you. I can not tell you much about yourself. My name is Kseniya. I am 30 years old.
I'm sociable, interesting girl. In real life, I have not been able to meet the beloved man, and so I'm hoping that maybe on the internet I met a good, interesting man for serious relationship.

I can tell you more things about me and my life in future letters. I hope that my letter to you and you are interested in answer me! I send you my photo. I hope that they will love you!

I'll wait on you and your news photos. 

Kseniya! 

My Response

Dearest Kenya,

I held on to your letter some many days because I was waiting for my good man Jeeves, who is my butler of much report, to dig forth a typing device worthy of a Howell's fingers.

I was once a wealthy man. I had owned most everything a man could own until one fateful day I decided to, as they say, "slum it" with my wife, Lovey, may the heavens rest her soul.

We had awoken every day to the sound of butterflies and golden chimes. Real golden chimes, too, I must say. Our estate spanned the size of a small town and we employed on our grounds alone more people than a modern day Walmart. Ah, yes, Thurston was a happy boy those days.

One of our delicious mornings came and we decided to see how the other half lived. We enlisted our limousine to drive us to the waterfront. Once there we walked upon our own fifty-foot yacht and had the captain ferry us forthwith to the dicey docks that sat on the southeast side. It seems that dicey things are always on the southeast side, doesn't it? Are you a northwest or a southeast gal, Kenpo?

Once there we searched and searched for suitable charter so that we could experience a mock poverty, if only for a few days. We found many an option, my dear girl, but one stood out above the rest.

The Skipper, as he called himself, welcomed us aboard after we funneled a paltry $50 into his hands. Can you imagine purchasing anything for a mere $50? He introduced us to his first-mate, a fellow he called Gilligan. Now that's a name that seemed a bit off to even Lovey, and she was the tolerable sort. Others soon joined the expedition. Let's see now, as I recall, there was a movie star named Ginger, a professor who I believe was a Hinkley but my mind slips these days, and a country girl named Mary Ann that gave old Thurston something to be up and about for on a daily basis. Before we left, we had the captain of our yacht take a quick photo of the group.

 

About half-way into our nefarious jaunt, a storm arose and tossed the boat around. My yacht would have laughed at such a mild shower, but this little boat couldn't contain and so we were sent below with the other passengers whilst the Skipper and Gilligan tried to salvage the craft.

The next morning we learned that we had been marooned on an island with no way to communicate with the outside world. I was completely cut off from my businesses and my estates.

Well, I could go on and on about the plethora of adventures that ensued on that little island, even to the point of telling you about one day when mosquitoes had left us a note, but you wouldn't believe the half of it. Even I once made the comment that if there had been a way to document our lives on that miserable little island--an island that somehow managed to contain minor civilizations and countless other interesting tidbits, even though it wasn't quite a mile in circumference--I would walk off of a moving plane instead of watching it.

The long and short of it is that we were finally rescued. Unfortunately, it had been nearly five years and my business were all under new management by then. My fortune was relegated to less than twenty-million dollars. I was, for the most part, poverty-stricken.

Then Lovey passed away and it has been me and Jeeves in a tiny twenty-room cottage in the middle of Idaho. I won't go anywhere near the water these days. It's a struggle to even allow Jeeves to wash between my buttocks with a sponge after a fresh change of diaper.

After hearing of an old fellow's woes and trials, my dear girl, could you still see within yourself to be with a man of my stature? A man who is easily five-times your age, has only a thirty-thousand square-foot home, possibly six to seven years of life remaining, and just over eighteen-million in inheritance to offer?

Do let me know as Jeeves will need to make up the spare bedroom if you are to avail yourself of it.

Thurston Howell, III

---

Church of Chicken

Letter from Scammer

Ego Tech M.S
Ext 18 Middelburg Mpumalanga 
South Africa.
Tel:+27780407657
Email: rev.mathinusmorgan@aol.com

We the above Egos Tech Church of GOD Mission use this media today to beg or ask you for a cash donation or contribution toward the building of our $2.5million dollars Congregational Church at 13 Lurkin Street Witbank Mpumalanga South Africa.
We ask you in the mighty name of Jesus Christ to assist us in whatever way it may suite you to send us cash donation through this bank account details:- 

EGO TECH M.S
BANK NAME:  FIRST NATIONAL BANK
CHEQUE ACCOUNT NUMBER:  62315986531
BRANCH NAME: MIDDELBURG MPUMALANGA
COUNTRY: SOUTH AFRICA.

We need $2.5million dollars for this project and we are believing GOD for that, but whatever amount pleaseds you help us and you will be richly rewarded by GOD in accordance to his riches in glory Amen. 

Remain bless in Jesus Name
Rev.Mathinus Morgan

My Response

Dear Rev. Mathanus Moron,

I dare say that I, Colonel Sanders of the Church of Chicken, have done some research on your establishment and I am quite impressed. Only a man with the faith of a giant floomplatt and the brain of a gnat could be so effective at running such a noteworthy chantry.

Unfortunately, we are in a bit of a quandary. You see, you, my good sir, are a follower of Jebus. I, on the other hand, worship the powerful poultry GOD Chicken Joe.

Chicken Joe was no ordinary bird. He was a clothes wearing fellow right out of the gate. Suits, ties, top-hats, and everything else imaginable. Why once I even saw him wearing and ascot. But that wasn't why I decided upon worshiping. No, the reason he gained my faith was because he was as shrewd and cunning as any high-salaried litigator you've seen. He fought for the just of poultry everywhere. He even had commandments for his followers. Here are a few of them:.

          1. Solidarity. A chicken who wishes to stand alone must be respected and revered.

2. Confidentiality: Any chicken told a secret, shall faithfully keep that secret until the end of time.

          3. Diversity: All chickens must be free to love who they wish.

Oh, the list went on and on. As you can see Chicken Joe was not too far removed from your Lord in his willingness to save the chickens. Now, I know that I am a man and not a bird. This is obvious to even someone as densely contrived as yourself; yet, I must say that I found more peace in following the teachings of Chicken Joe than I found in following any other deity. To each his own, as they say.

Thus, I will not be able to invest my funds into your church. I do wish you the best in your endeavor though as I hope you do the same for me and my brethren...or is it chickren?

As they say in the Church of Chicken, "May the cluck be with you, my brother!"

-Colonel Sanders

---