Nigerian Letter, Part 1
I use Hotmail, the filtering on which is generally halfway decent. That’s a good thing, usually, but one side effect is that I don’t get those Nigerian letters anymore. If you’ve ever taken a class, or read a book, on creative writing, you know that they’re big on “writing prompts,” ranging from traditional exercises to things that could almost pass for Zen koans; those letters were great writing prompts. Here’s a reply that I wrote to one of them:
Mr. Oko,
I’m so sorry, but I’ve been burned so many times in the past giving to lost causes. I sent something to the order of seventy-five thousand dollars for hunger relief in Ethiopia, and they kept starving. Same with the Biafrans, back when aid to Biafra was all the rage. I’ve given to the Rotarians, the Moose Lodge (only to find out that the closest they get to a moose is the one over the fireplace; and here I thought they were helping those poor animals. The bastards). Even donated a substantial sum of money for a friend’s breast augmentation, because I knew it would make him happy… he changed his mind after others had also chipped in no small fortune for the hormones and the rest of the surgery. You can imagine our disillusion.
And that’s not even the half of it. I’m still making payments on a ridiculous sum that my Grandfather pledged to the Spanish Republic in 1936; money that was supposed to buy rifles for militiamen near Jarama, ambulances for the wounded near Badajoz, uniforms for the beseiged in Bilbao. Needless to say, the Spanish Republic didn’t last, but from the Franco dictatorship to now, we’re still getting collection notices.
And did I mention the failed business ventures? Just thinking of it makes my blood boil. There was Uncle Walt’s scheme to open sex shops in Amish country; Cousin Walt’s swimming pool business in Fairbanks; and little Walt, Jr’s (second cousin, I think; they’re not too imaginitive when it comes to nomenclature) bright idea to re-enact Hannibal’s crossing of the Alps on elephants for an aborted Virgin Atlantic ad campaign.
No, sir, a line must be drawn. We’re veritably hemorraghing money over here. And so, as much as I’d hate to, I’ll have to say ‘no’ to your business venture. However well-intentioned you may seem, I think I’d only bring us both no end of shame.
Best wishes,
Gertulio Vargas Smith
(my parents were simply mad for South American heads of state. Just ask my older siblings, Salvador Allende Smith, Juan Peron Smith, and Joao Goulart Smith)
Tags: 419 Scams, creative writing, Nigerian Letters, Spam