Sometimes, when I'm bored at work, I'll respond to scam emails. It's prolly a waste of time. But I'd like to think that, every now-and-then, some jackass criminal from a third-world country actually takes the time to consider my response:
From: Ester Williams [mailto:email@example.com]
Sent: Tuesday, February 09, 2016 5:26 PM
May the good God bless you and you family as you read this note and respond. I have been touched to donate from what I have made from this World to charity through you for the good work of humanity, rather than allow my relatives to use my hard earned funds inappropriately after my death.
Please email me, so I can tell you what you need to do and also give you more details about myself and what I intend to accomplish.
I am pleased beyond that which I can express through written word to have received your correspondence. And I am eager to benefit from whatever assistance you may be willing to donate.
By way of background, and in the event you are considering multiple beneficiaries, please note that I am both saddened and humbled to advise that times have recently been tough. Though I work two-and-three/fourths jobs six-and-one/third days a week, I lack the resources to live more than the life of a meager pauper. My greatest efforts are barely enough to avoid vagrancy. Indeed, if not for my utter detest of vagrants, I might just decide to abandon my efforts and succumb to a life of self-loathing. Yet, daily, I continue to persevere. Often, at the end of a long thirteen-and-one/half hour day, I retreat to what I call my "home" and sit, silently, in darkness. Even the most rudimentary entertainment is a luxury I can no longer afford. Specifically, three-and five/fourths months prior, I sold semen to purchase a third-and-one/fifth generation Atari game console; yet I arrived home only to find my electricity cut for what the electric company referred to as "recalcitrance in payment." Now I eat franks and beans for supper most days of the week. Not because I like franks; or beans; but because I cannot afford more delicious tubesteaks or legumes. At the end of the evenings, which seem to last forever, I brush my teeth with my finger and rest my head on a pillow made from imagination. Not surprisingly, I often I find it difficult to sleep. Despite the solitude, I hear many voices. They joke; they ridicule; they tell old-time stories; they sexually harass; they make false promises; they complain I overcooked the franks; and the beans. They are both my only friends and my worst enemies. Informally invited; yet always overstaying their welcome. Morning finally comes; but nothing changes. And so goes my life.
Please note that I do not seek your pity. Please further note that I do not feel at fault for my circumstances; yet I do not feel free of blame. I regularly ponder the basis for my predicament. Yet, every time I arrive at a reasonable explanation, the aforementioned voices are there to debunk my logic and ridicule my conclusions. I don’t feel hopeless; but I don't believe there is any hope for me whatsoever. In sum, I exist not because I want to; but because the voices advise that I have to.
Ms. Williams, in closing, I raise prayer that you will be a most gracious benefactor. And I pray further that your decision is made with the utmost haste, as I cannot promise how much longer I shall be able to endure my predicament. I mean, if I have to eat ONE MORE GODDAMN FRANK OR BEAN, I'M GONNA LOSE MY SHIT!!! Sorry. I really just hate franks and beans. Anyway, regardless of your decision, you truly are God's most beautiful angel.
Yours very truly,
Pete P. Peters