Faith Can Move Mountains... But Dynamite Works Better

Wednesday, July 31, 2019

Cancer Widows And Scamming Bankers


It's been awhile since last I posted, and it may be awhile longer yet until another post. But I thought I'd share a couple of the following. They are of course two examples of the standard internet scammer emails that turn up in junk email folders, never to be taken seriously. They're the same messages sent out to a half million or so random email addresses in the hopes that some dumbass sucker will believe it and send off a few thousand bucks in administration fees before realizing that they got conned by a con man. As such, they're only good for being the subject of ridicule and scorn. 


God will bless you as you fulfilled my wish

My name is Mrs Joy Smith Johnson, I am a dying woman who had decided
to donate what I have to the Charities. I am 77 years old and was
diagnosed for cancer about four years ago, immediately after the death
of my husband; I have been touched to donate from what I have
inherited from my late husband for the good work rather than allow his
 relatives to use my husband's hard earned fund.

As I lay on my sick bed, I want you to help me in carrying out my last
wish on earth which will be very profitable to you. I want to WILL a
total sum of $5.5 million USD to you which I want you to distribute
part of it to any charity home for me and the rest for yourself and
your family which I will inform you on how to share all, please for
further information contact me ASAP.
Best Regards,
Mrs Joy Smith Johnson


ALEXANDER NONDH LANGFELDT
Head of International Transaction Banking
2nd Floor. 3000 Phahonyothin Road,
Chom Phon Sub-district,
Chatuchak District,Bangkok Province 10900

Attention: BENEFICIARY

Your inheritance funds of $32.6m this is to notify you that your over due inheritance funds has been gazetted to be released, via key telex transfer (ktt)-direct wire transfer to you by the senate committee for foreign overdue fund transfer.

Meanwhile, a woman came to my office few days ago with a letter, claiming to be your true representative. Here are her information:

Name BINGELLIGELLI PETERMANN
Bank name:ANZ
Account number:113388520034

Please do reconfirm to this office, as a matter of urgency if this woman is from you so the bank Will not be held responsible for paying into the wrong account name.

The reserve bank governor, executive, board of directors and the committee for foreign over due inheritance fund have approved and accredited this reputable bank with the office of the director, international Remittance / foreign operations, to handle and transfer all foreign inheritance funds this second quarter payment of the year.

However, we shall proceed to issue all payments details to the said Mrs.Petermann if we do not hear from you within the next seven working days from today.

You should forward all your information

1 Your full name and address
2 Your phone and fax number
3 Your state id
Best regards,

ALEXANDER NONDH LANGFELDT
Head of International Transaction
2nd Floor. 3000 Phahonyothin Road,
Chom Phon Sub-district, Banking
Chatuchak District,Bangkok Province 10900


The first presents us with the usual sob story- the cancer ridden widow who has a whole lot of money she wants to will (no, WILL, because all capitals means she means business) to a complete stranger to hand off to distribute part of it to charity houses and keep the rest. She uses the standard pious godly routine, the standard screwing up of punctuation, the standard capitalization of words that don't need to be capitalized. She claims she was diagnosed "about four years ago, immediately after the death of my husband." About? Really? You'd think the death of your totally fake husband and being diagnosed with terminal cancer would fix that in your mind, so you'd be saying, four years and two months ago, as opposed to about

But no, there's no Mrs. Joy Smith Johnson. Because she doesn't exist. Well, I imagine there are Joy Smith Johnsons out there in the world, they're just not spending their days passing themselves off as 77 year old cancer victim widows with money to hand out to strangers. Just that this Joy Smith Johnson doesn't exist. Because she's as fake as the rest of the message. Which was sent by someone at the far end of a long daisy chain of cut-out emails who's sent the same damned message to hundreds of thousands of other people.


And then there's Alexander Nondh Langfeldt. Or whatever the hell his real name is, because there's no way that belong to a real person. He claims to be head of international transaction banking of a bank in Thailand (while not mentioning the actual bank itself). You'd think that an actual person of that sort of responsibility and job would have a reasonable command of the English language, but instead he screws up wording, phrasing, punctuation, capitalization, and common sense throughout his rambling text.

He throws out a name of a woman claiming to be my representative, with a first name and a last name that have absolutely no common tie, culturally speaking. And he claims there's thirty two million dollars of an inheritance for me. This despite the fact that I don't have any rich dead relatives that would be sending out that kind of money to me.

It's also telling that he wants details out of me: my name, address, phone and fax number (who the hell has a fax in this day and age?) and state ID.You'd think that an actual banker (which he is not) would already have that information in hand). Oh, sure, and the next step will be personal bank account numbers. 


Okay then. I'll give you my bank account number.

It's actually not a number at all, but a phrase.

FUCK YOU, ASSHOLE

And the password is 

DROP DEAD.


Somewhere out there a spammer will try entering those two phrases into their bank account searches, thinking I'm serious. No, I am not. But the sentiment is legitimate. That's the amount of regard I have for spammers and internet scammers. 

I want you to drop dead. Not next week, not in a year. Right now. Cease your wasting of oxygen. This applies to cancer widows, fake bankers, the concubines of deposed warlords, and the idiots sending the exact same barely literate spam comments over and over again. To them I can only say these final words.

None of you will ever do the world any good until you are no longer in it. Remedy that as swiftly as possible.

Wednesday, May 29, 2019

Death Threats And Pitchforks


Murder Trial Ends With A Not Entirely Unexpected Verdict; Accused Vows Blood Vengeance

Calgary (CP) What has been described as the Trial Of The Century (the latest of them if you keep track as they pass by) has come to a conclusion in a provincial courthouse in Calgary. Once a famous mystery author and then outed as the alleged most prolific serial killer in history, there is nothing alleged anymore about the defendant. Instead a guilty verdict has been reached in the case of the Crown v Fletcher. Jessica Fletcher has been found guilty on all charges in what may be the first of many trials to come, depending on whether or not prosecutors in other jurisdictions decide to go ahead with cases against her.


In a dramatic trial that spanned weeks and featured testimony from forensics experts, multiple law enforcement personnel (including the legendary Mountie who finally brought her in), witnesses, and those testifying to the character of the defendant, as well as emotional outbursts from the defendant, the case captivated not only a nation, but the world. Fans of the author, whose decades of writing murder mysteries caught hold with a substantial readership, seem in denial about the verdict, brought down by a jury with two days of deliberation.


“It just can’t be,” Hugo Cavendish, President of the Free Our Jessica Society told reporters outside the courthouse, tears in his eyes as he absorbed the verdict, along with hundreds of other members of the group, as well as members of the Jessica Fletcher Fan Club.  “Our Jessica is the kindest, most loving grandma figure you could possibly imagine, not an evil serial killer. She’s been framed. Framed, I tell you! So what are we going to do about it?” he called out to his associates.

“Burn down the courthouse!” everyone cried out in unison.

“Hell yeah!” Cavendish replied.


And so with that, hundreds of Fletcherites tried to storm the courthouse, toting pitchforks and torches they’d bought at a pop-up pitchfork and torch stand that had sprung up in the park across the street. Local police, anticipating trouble, pushed them back and broke up the riot, making multiple arrests, including that of Harry Walden, the pitchfork and torch stand operator. While being booked as an accessory to a riot, Walden was heard to say, “All I was doing was identifying a niche market and selling to it. Who needs a permit to do that?”


Inside the courthouse, the verdict came down after a high stakes legal duel between the Crown attorney and the defense attorney, Joni Mitchell (not that Joni Mitchell). When the guilty verdict was announced, Jessica Fletcher rose to her feet and started screaming at the jury. The sight of an elderly woman, at first glance looking like the proverbial kindly granny, spouting every curse word under the sun, is still something that takes getting used to. And then she turned into the audience as court security officers closed in on her, and glared at the man who had finally ended her murder spree.


Inspector Lars Ulrich, the cranky but legendary Mountie, testified in the trial about the investigation into the Fletcher case and the larger issues- cases in other jurisdictions, the infamous diary keeping records of thousands of murders, and other elements of the saga. Ulrich seemed to be the focal point for Fletcher’s rage on a regular basis, and it wasn’t any different this time. She focused in on him, and seethed. “I will rip your heart out and eat it while it’s still beating, Ulrich! Do you hear me??? I will have your head on a pike and feast on your bone marrow!”


The Inspector, often given to saving the world and knocking out entertainment reporters who mistake him for The Other Lars Ulrich, is not known for smiling. And yet on occasion he does. Such was the case in court, where he smirked at Fletcher and gave her a bit of a wave as she was removed from court, ranting and raging.

Sentencing is scheduled for August. The convicted murderer has been returned to custody where she’s been since her arrest, in a high security facility. The Crown will be pushing hard to have her designated as a dangerous offender for an indefinite sentence, and is otherwise determined to have her sentenced to serve time consecutively on each count.  Joni Mitchell has not yet said what her strategy will be for the sentencing phase. Leaving the courthouse, the young attorney knocked out an entertainment reporter who mistook her for the singer of the same name.


“I don’t understand,” Grady Fletcher, the nephew of the convicted, told reporters outside the courthouse. “I’ve known Aunt Jessica all my life. I still can’t believe that she would have done all the things she’s been accused of. All those people. It just can’t be.” In the opinion of this reporter, it is quite possible that Grady Fletcher might not be the sharpest knife in the block.

The man whose dogged determination ended the killing spree of history’s most prolific serial killer had his own take on things. Inspector Lars Ulrich emerged from court to a flurry of questions from actual reporters, each of whom understood full well that he was not that Lars Ulrich. “Justice has been done,” he said, satisfied with the verdict. When asked if he felt any trepidation about Fletcher’s repeated threats to his life, the Inspector shook his head. “Given what I’ve taken on and taken down on numerous occasions, threats coming from a psychotic mass murdering granny don’t even come close to making me nervous.”


“Lars! Lars!” the voice came from the back of the crowd of reporters. Someone started pushing his way through the crowd. “Skip Blaine, Access Hollywood. Will Metallica have any involvement in the inevitable feature film about the Fletcher case? Like doing the soundtrack?”

Ulrich glared at him as the real reporters gave the Inspector a whole lot of clearance space, getting out of the way and putting distance between themselves and Blaine. “I am not that Lars Ulrich,” he told Blaine in a low, dangerous voice, clenching his fists.


Blaine seemed confused- a frequent issue for entertainment reporters. Then he started laughing. “Oh, Lars, you’re so funny! No, seriously, will you guys be doing the soundtrack?”

Three seconds later Blaine was briefly flying through the air, hit in the nose by a left hook punch from the Inspector. The flight ended with Tanner crashing onto the marble floor twenty feet away from Ulrich, who started forward, his eyes full of purpose and rage. Blaine scrambled away, with the Inspector fast on his heels.

Later reports had it that Blaine ended up in a hospital in Calgary, decked out in a body cast, groaning endlessly for someone to end the agony. “Red serge causes pain!”


The convicted felon has been reported to be screaming nearly non stop in her cell. Guards are keeping their distance during the rage episodes that are only briefly halted so that Fletcher can take in a breath. And then the screamfests continue again. “Seven hours since we got the old battleaxe back in here after the verdict came down,” one of them told this reporter anonymously. “And she won’t shut up. Keeps screaming about bone marrow and drinking his blood and all that sort of thing. Strictly speaking, as far as I’m concerned, Jessica Fletcher is not exactly the most stable of convicted murderers, if you know what I mean.”

This reporter, hearing the distant yelling, was started by a rather vivid rant down the hall that featured the words “grind his skull to a fine powder and have it in my afternoon tea!” In the opinion of this reporter, Jessica Fletcher is, to put it mildly, batshit crazy.

Monday, May 27, 2019

A Judge Of Constant Sorrow


Former Morning Anchor Sentenced To Stunning Verdict In Scandal

San Francisco (AP) The college admissions scandal has rocked the nation, exposing multiple parents and academic institutions in a web of bribery, over-parenting, and high expectations for dimwitted children. Multiple charges have been brought against college officials in more than one institute of higher learning. The same has applied to parents who have resorted to bribery to get their children into an elite school as opposed to the state college they might be more suited to. And those children have been dropping out, humiliated by the insinuation that their parents think they were never that bright to begin with.


And now it’s been driven home in a big way locally speaking. Rebecca Katsopolis (Aunt Becky to her nieces) was until recently the co-anchor for Wake Up, San Francisco with her brother-in-law Danny Tanner. Married to second tier musician Jesse Katsopolis, now facing charges of his own, Katsopolis was a well liked anchor who bore an uncanny resemblance to Lori Loughlin, an actress also charged in the scandal. She was charged with bribery and fraud after paying a USC official three million dollars to have her sons Nicholas and Alex admitted three years ago as rugby players on a scholarship- despite never playing a game or even attending a practice or having the slightest interest in the sport.


USC assistant rugby coach Tony Tasker, having had recently been fired after his own arrest in the matter, pleaded guilty in exchange for giving up information on people who had paid him to smooth the way for their children. Among those caught up in the matter was Katsopolis. “It was all on paper,” Tasker said in a statement of facts during his own sentencing. “It didn’t matter that the boys weren’t actually rugby players or that they had no talent or that they were, frankly, brain addled idiots. I just had to say they were. And talk the professors into taking it easy on their grades.” The Katsopolis boys have abruptly dropped out of USC, humiliated by the experience of finding out that their parents think they’re stupid, and reportedly have changed their names.


Where Katsopolis got the three million dollars is another matter. While her salary as a morning anchor was more than enough to leave her comfortable, three million dollars is not the sort of loose change one expects to find in the couch of someone of that vocation. Police investigations have cast light on her husband. Jesse Katsopolis never rose up in the world of music as much as he would have liked, and it is alleged that at some point in the last fifteen years, he started a side business that proved to be quite profitable.


“He’s a drug dealer,” a Narcotics detective told this reporter with the proviso of not mentioning their name. “We’ve built up a substantial case and it’s ready to go for prosecution. And if things go as we expect, it means we’ll have cleared one Elvis-haired freak off the streets and done some good for the world. So much the better.” Jesse Katsopolis is presently in pre-trial custody awaiting his own trial for drug dealing and trafficking, extortion, human trafficking, weapons charges, fraud, and jaywalking.


Rebecca Katsopolis seemed resigned to her fate, choosing to plead guilty to the charges and throw herself on the mercy of the court. In which case she ended up with the wrong judge. For it is the reputation of Judge Constance Sorrow, known as The Hangwoman, to go hard on the convicted. A sentence of forty years was handed down on Katsopolis yesterday. She was taken out of court, with an expression of shock and horror on her face. Nieces DJ and Stephanie Tanner, representing the family in court, were in tears. “Aunt Becky! No!” they called out as their aunt was removed from court.


“That’s enough of those histrionics,” Judge Sorrow admonished the two sisters with a cold tone and an even colder glare, silencing both of them. “The only person in my courtroom who gets to throw a tantrum is me! If you had to put up with a name like this, you’d understand that.”


Danny Tanner has been absent this week from his duties at Wake Up, San Francisco. He’s kept largely a low profile since the charges were filed, and hasn’t said a word about it publicly on air. The issue of his co-anchor and sister-in-law being carted off to prison will have to be addressed at some point. The station has stopped featuring Katsopolis’ face on the program’s introductory video. As for the convicted felon herself? She’s been remanded to custody at the Central California Women’s Facility, where she’s already become the cellmate and personal property of Drucilla Carter, the infamous armed robber doing fifty years for a crime spree across the Pacific coast in the late Nineties.

An unnamed guard at the institution told this reporter, “We had a bet running on how long it would take for Katsopolis to break down. I won the pool at five minutes. Yay me!”