I sure miss hearing from my ol’ friend, the Nigerian prince | Sam Venable
Never thought I’d say this, but danged if I don’t miss the Nigerian prince.
He used to be oh-so faithful at sending confidential emails about how many trillion-zillion dollars he was worth.
Despite his wealth, the poor guy suffered all manner of woes. His enemies were about to seize his money, and he needed someplace to store it safely until the coast was clear.
Of all the email addresses in the world, he picked mine for assistance! Yes, li’l ol’ me, right here in the hills of East Tennessee!
All I had to do was send him my bank account number so he could switch the money over to me for safe keeping. Then when the danger passed, he promised to show his appreciation by splitting these riches with me for being such a good friend.
Did I help the guy out and reap my reward?
Of course not.
Even a digitized dolt like Yours Truly knew this scheme was as full of B.S. as a herd of constipated Herefords. I always sent him on a “phishing” trip as fast as my stubby fingers could strike the proper keys.
So did most other people — except, sadly, for rubes who believed and got bilked. They still do. According to bank fraud experts, we’re talking more than $638 million every year in real, yet evaporated, money.
So why do I miss the Nigerian prince?
Because 5,839,472,836 (give or take) imitators have taken his place.
Even though my tech-savvy wife has (a) shrouded our computer in multiple layers of scam filters and (b) sufficiently warned me to never ever even acknowledge receipt of a B.S.’ogram, let alone respond, they keep coming.
In a four-day period last month, I kept tally — hand-scribbled on a sheet of old-time paper, far removed from my computer screen. They totaled 38, and that doesn’t even count goofy notices for toenail fugus relief, diet plans, sex enhancers and the dangers of phlegm.
Some were “settlements” from the Camp LeJeune water lawsuit.
Some were from such varied interests as “Dewees Construction,” “Cardwell Construction” and the “Flintshire City Council.”
My favorites were never-ending strings of “last warnings” and “final notices,” followed by more “last warnings” and “final notices.” Apparently con artistry is built upon the concept of perpetual motion.
Just for fun, it would be interesting to add the “debts I owe” and compare them to the “invoice payments I’m due.” I might be $100 million in the red. Or $250 million in the black.Either way, the result would be an empty bank account with my name on it.
Things sure were a lot simpler when my only financial correspondent was the Nigerian prince. Wonder where he is these days?
Sam Venable’s column appears every Sunday. Contact him at sam.venable@outlook.com.
This article originally appeared on Knoxville News Sentinel: Sam Venable: I miss hearing from my ol’ friend, the Nigerian prince
