The Federal Reserve Scammer

It has never occurred to them to just stop, go away, and never come back. No matter how many times we suggest they cease wasting oxygen and just die already, they never take the hint. I speak, of course, of the internet scammers and spammers who infest our email and comments posts with obvious scams and endless spam for crap we don't want. Most of them, of course, are poorly worded nonsense. Most of them never see the light of day, banished permanently to spam comments or junk folders automatically. And those that do pass by the spam filter don't last long. And yet they persist. The first example below is a spam comment left in my pending approval folder and quickly banished. The second one is a standard advance fee internet scam.

There were several reasons for this. One, I didn't believe he was quoted in the right manner. This was wise of me. A number of bloggers, particularly pro-Apple bloggers, jumped on some in the Schmidt purportedly said, then had simply to walk back their posts (if they are men of integrity),or in some cases (if they are not men of integrity) they just ignored reality when it was discovered that had been looking all quoting some guy who was misquoting Schmidt. Over the path of the last three years the marketplace for mobile applications for a brainy phone, iPad, iPod Touch and the multitude of Android phones has grown at an exponential fee. Industries have been revolutionised as gaming, entertainment, education and lifestyle applications have bought out and wedged a permanent place the lives. No matter whether you're family vacations consist of their plane ride or a car ride, bonus . that's common in both modes of travel is time: time at the airport, time on the airplane, and

Board of Governors of the Federal Reserve System

20th Street and Constitution Avenue, NW

Washington, DC  20551

http://www.federalreserve.gov/

Our Ref: FRB-75BFNYUS19                                                            Your Ref 

Attention:

With Due Respect Sir !! I Jerome Powell, the Federal Reserve Chairman of the Board of Governors of the Federal Reserve System officially inform you that we      

received a transfer instruction from the IMF -- International Monetary Fund ” Bond with the

United Nations (UN) ordered this office to credit Ten Beneficiaries account with full Contract amount.

Note: out-of ten selected beneficiaries approved for payment in the month of mar 2019, your name appeared in my file as the second beneficiary to receive US$11,000,000.00 via Telegraphic Wire Transfer.

The first Beneficiary in our payment record (Michael Rodriguez) has received his fund via Telegraphic Wire Transfer last month.Every arrangement of your fund transfer is concluded, consequently you will be oblige to provide your existing Banking details for immediate transfer of your fund with your FRATERNAL ORDER OF POLICE CLEARANCE CERTIFICATE as the fund owner as recommend below:

1) Full Name;

2) Full Address;

3) Your direct contact telephone number;

4) Your Age and Occupation;

5) Copy of any valid form of your Identification;

6) Your Bank name;

7) Your Bank Address;

8) Account name and Number;

9) Routing Number;

Note: upon the receipt of your Banking details as stated above, I will forward our payment instruction to you, Please Note that this office cannot afford to be held liable for any wrong transfer of funds.

Treat as Urgent as we appreciate the opportunity to serve you better.

We are looking forward to serving you better.

Best regards,

Jerome Powell,

Chairman of the Board of Governors

Federal Reserve Chairman

Of the Federal Reserve System

Where to begin? Well, with the spam, which makes no sense at all and was totally unrelated to the blog post in question. It's an Apple rant, seemingly written by someone with no command of the English language. Spelling mistakes, wording that doesn't flow in the way you'd expect, and rambling back and forth between unrelated matters. I find it hilarious that this nitwit uses the term 'men of integrity' when it's painfully obvious that integrity is something lacking in every internet spammer.

And then there's our Federal Reserve Chairman. Well, not my Federal Reserve Chairman, because I'm Canadian. And not yours either, because the actual Jerome Powell does not spend his time mass spamming hundreds of thousands of address with an advance fee scam.* Of course the asterix does take into account the complete fucking moron who nominated him to the job, so anything is possible.

It's a common thing for these scammers to make use of an actual official as their cover story. Though it never seems to occur to these scammers that their tell tales give them away. First, we've all seen endless versions of the above letter. Second, the tell tales include things like capitalized and non-capitalized words where the rules for each are tossed out the window. And third, the dangling of a substantial amount of money as if it actually exists (it doesn't), is a standard element of internet scammers. Oh, sure, we're missing the standard sob story, but the rest fits their methodology.

For someone who claims that my name came up in their file as a beneficiary, this jackass then goes on to ask for things like my name, address, banking information, and so on, so that the money can be transferred. Well, if this was legitimate (it's not), that information would be on file. But it's not. No, our friend just wants me to give them access to my banking information so they can personally raid my accounts. What can possibly go wrong with doing that?

Oh, let's just say... everything.

I find it hilarious that the moron has the disclaimer- 'this office cannot afford to be held liable for any wrong transfer of funds'. Of course you can't afford it. First, you're not the actual office. Second, the average internet scammer isn't making much of a living pulling this crap. It's just their way of saying, 'yes, we're going to screw you over, and there's nothing you can do about it.'

Actually there is. Myself, as well as the five hundred thousand other random email accounts you sent this story to, can follow common sense and not answer your email. Oh, sure, you might luck out and find someone who's gullible enough to buy the con. But I'm used to your methods, and instead treat you with the ridicule that you have coming.

In an ideal world, Totally Fake Jerome Powell, you would get exactly what you deserve. An unpleasant run-in with a heavy breathing crankypants with magic powers and a low tolerance level for insufferable fools.

The Anguish Of Leafs Nation

Hockey Fans Left Devastated, Deluded, Beyond Hope After Their Team Blows It Again

Toronto (CP) The city is often referred to as the centre of the universe, at least by its inhabitants. The fans of its NHL team certainly think so. Toronto, aka the Big Smoke, is reeling from yet another playoff failure by the Toronto Maple Leafs. On Tuesday night, the Boston Bruins sent the Leafs packing in Game Seven of the first round of the Stanley Cup playoffs. Again. The Bruins have often been the bane of the Leafs at playoff time in recent years. Last year the result was the same. And of course there’s the infamous 2013 series in which the Leafs completely collapsed in the last game and broke hearts of Leafs Nation yet again.

Toronto psychologist Gareth Eddings commented on the turn of events once again to this reporter. “You would think that people would learn from past failures and stop investing themselves in a team that keeps letting them down, but no,” Eddings ruefully noted. “It’s generations of mass delusion, passed down from fathers to sons, mothers to daughters. A blind devotion to a team that keeps screwing up when it really counts. Oh, this year the fans will, once they come out of the denial stage, come up with excuses. They might blame it on that temperamental Kadri fellow getting suspended for losing control. Each year the excuse is different. The result is the same. Screw ups after screw ups and ‘wait until next year.’ But there’s never going to be a next year. Because next year will be the same.”

Eddings shrugged. “From a psychological perspective it is fascinating to watch. You see the denial, the depression, the anger, the bargaining, and finally acceptance. Well, for some of them the acceptance never comes. And then over the course of the summer, one by one, they forget how much pain the team caused them last spring, and sure enough, they’re getting their jerseys out, painting their faces blue and white, making up signs proclaiming their devotion, and getting themselves worked up yet again that surely this will be their year. The denial comes right back just in time for the opening of the season, as if last year’s horrible ending never happened.  We call it MapleLeafitis Delusionitis. Unfortunately it’s incurable.”

Local sports media in Toronto, having had seen their biggest annual focus blow it again, have retreated into fallback mode. With no other Canadian team left in the playoffs, they are investing their time into the Toronto Raptors, still in the NBA playoffs, and then the Toronto Blue Jays, having had just started up the baseball season. “It’s like this,” one of the local station reporters admitted, wanting their name kept private. “Toronto fans demand Leafs coverage. But once there are no Leafs playing anymore, what do we do? Follow them around on the golf courses until September? So the only thing we can do is barely mention the playoffs, maybe a five second bit at the end of the sportscast. We’ve gotta shift over to other local sports and hype the crap out of them until September when Leafs Mania starts up again.”

The fans themselves were visibly crushed by the end of Game Seven, in which the Leafs were beaten up by the Bruins with a final score of 5-1. In the three days since, for some of them the drinking hasn’t stopped. Workplaces in Toronto report heightened absenteeism and signs of despair. Some of the fans haven’t gotten up out of being curled in the fetal position for days on end, crying endlessly. Fights broke out in bars on Tuesday night. Temper tantrums were thrown. Letters to the editor were written with the perpetual question: “why?”

Why indeed. A question that plagues many of them. “It’s not fair!” an unnamed fan complained in the early hours of Wednesday outside a bar near Maple Leaf Square in Toronto, thoroughly drunk. “That Cup belongs to us! To Toronto! To the Leafs! There’s this big ****in’ conspiracy, man! They’re out to keep the rightful ****in’ owners of the ****in’ Stanley Cup from havin’ it! It belongs to us, and those mother****ers won’t admit it and just give it to us. Every other team should just ****in’ forfeit every playoff for the next century to make up for the bad ****in’ way our boys have been treated. Right, boys? Harry! Jack! You two tell this mother****er I’m right!”

What’s next for the team? Nazem Kadri, having had been suspended for the remainder of the first round after a cross check on Boston player Jake DeBrusk, has been shouldering some of the blame for this year’s catastrophe, and has been tight lipped. Has Kadri played his last game as a Maple Leaf? Is upper management thinking he’s not worth the trouble of having around? Other players are busy clearing out lockers for the summer and talking about all the golf they need to get to. “We should have gotten to it two weeks ago,” right winger Connor Brown admitted. “I mean, golf’s important when you’re a Leaf, and we have a lot of catching up to do. Well, next year will come, and maybe we’ll do better. Or maybe we’ll screw it up when it counts the most. Oh, hell, there is no maybe about it. We will screw up when it counts the most. Wait a minute, you’re not quoting me, are you?”

At Maple Leafs Square outside the downtown arena, the area remains the site of a vigil, of sad Leafs fans laying wreaths and flowers in commemoration of the 2018-19 season. They share hugs and tears, asking each other when it all went wrong. And some have already dipped back into next season’s delusions. “Next year!” one fan predicted as he left, wearing a team jersey with John Tavares’ name and number on it. “Next year we’ll get it back again! Leafs Nation, baby!  Yeaaaaaaahhhhhhhh!”

MapleLeafitis Delusionitis would be an understatement.

A Day In The Life Of A Cat

As always, the cat gets the final word in everything. And she hasn't had what she would deem a good Easter weekend.

7:07 AM. Waking up at home. Did not sleep well. Went to sleep late last night utterly disgusted with my staff, and brooded on it well into the night. How dare she invite her idiot relations to my house without consulting me? Especially an overnight? Especially with those rugrats of theirs in tow? At least they're gone now.

7:10 AM. Sitting on the back of the couch, staring out at the vastness of my domain, brooding. Two whole days, shot to hell. Two whole days in which my staff should have been waiting on me, spoiling me rotten, and what happened? All of Saturday and all of Sunday until nine last night, hiding in any of the seventy eight bolt holes I have spread out throughout the house just for such occasions, hearing those mewling brats chanting, 'kitty kitty kitty', and no doubt planning all sorts of ways to torment me...

7:12 AM. ....and it's not as if my staff even listens to me. I spent three hours last night yelling at her after her idiot relations left, and she didn't even take a hint. I will be displeased for quite some time to come if you ask me, and you are asking me.

7:15 AM. ....so what I am saying here is that even if it's this whole Easter thing, that doesn't give my staff any right at all to not consult me when she invites her idiot relations over. Because if she had, I would have said, 'oh, hell, no!'

7:23 AM. Movements from upstairs. So the staff is awake. I'm torn between three things. Yelling at her some more. Giving her the silent treatment. Or getting breakfast.

7:31 AM. The staff comes downstairs and greets me. I remain staring out the window and not paying her attention.

Go away.

I am not talking to you today.

7:34 AM. My ears perk up at the sound of the can opener. Before I know what I'm doing, I'm in the kitchen and finding that the staff has put a bowl of milk and a bowl of field rations on the floor. She's also putting some chicken on a plate. She looks down at me. I realize my mistake in letting my stomach govern my actions, but here I am.

Well, carry on, staff, but make no mistake, this doesn't mean I forgive you for the Great Easter Ordeal of this year. Yes, the capitals are deliberate. 

7:35 AM. I have decided to ignore the field rations. I get to work eating the chicken and partaking of the milk.

7:37 AM. Finished breakfast. Satisfied for the moment. Still annoyed with my staff, which will persist for the time being. It's going to take a lot of groveling out of her before I stop being mad at her. Emphasis on a lot. Emphasis on groveling. 

7:49 AM. Distant barking somewhere out there. The idiot hound from down the road must be out and about, like he is most days. I bet he didn't have to put up with brats running around his house all weekend long. He deserves it if you ask me, and you are asking me.

8:03 AM. The Weather Network is doing some factoids about Easter Monday. Well apparently not everyone in Canada is off work today, but schools and civil servants are. Lots of weird traditions around the world, it seems. Hare pie scrambles? Dyngus Day? Easter egg races? In my personal opinion as a supreme life form on this planet, human beings are certifiably insane.

8:12 AM. Musing on the great mysteries of this season. Why on earth do humans paint eggs? And what do bunnies have to do with resurrections? And is the Easter bunny a front for some dark conspiracy that involves depriving cats of chocolate? Because the humans always tell us that chocolate isn't good for cats, but they expect us to take their word for it?

10:57 AM. Waking up from my nap. Slept reasonably better than I have for the last couple of days. When you're on edge the whole time because rugrats are in your house, uninvited, and you don't dare come out of wherever you're hiding for more than three minutes at a time, and only after listening for any sound for ten minutes... well, it just leaves you feeling pretty tense, and thoroughly unrested.

12:03 PM. Stopping in the kitchen and feeling a little hungry. Remembering that I finished all of my breakfast this morning. Well, the breakfast I wanted to eat, because the milk and chicken are long gone. But the field rations are still in the bowl. Weighing my options.

12:05 PM. Despite much reluctance, I help myself to some of those field rations.

1:26 PM. Sitting on the back of the couch, staring out at the sky. That cloud looks like a big ball of string.

2:08 PM. Watching my staff help herself to some of that Easter chocolate. Oh, sure, go ahead and keep claiming that stuff isn't good for cats. I find everything you say to be suspect, given that you said nothing about your idiot relations here for the weekend.

2:11 PM. The staff claims once again, as she's noticed she's under observation, that chocolate isn't good for me. And yet you can get away with eating it. I suspect that if humans were capable of purring, you'd be purring right now.

4:20 PM. The staff interrupts my brooding by giving me a scratch right behind my ear, just in that place where I like it and before I know it... oh, damn it, I'm purring. Purring! Hey! I'm still mad at you, staff!

4:26 PM. The staff apologizes for having her family over. Yes, well, if you'd remember that in the future, staff, we wouldn't have such moments. I don't care if you go see your idiot relations for a day or two, but I definitely resent having to spend two days hiding in closets and other select spots avoiding brats who want to pull my tail. Not to mention that moron of a brother-in-law of yours. Was he hit in the head a lot as a kid, or has his whole family spent too much time breeding too close to the gene pool?

4:39 PM. The staff is having tea. She's put some milk in her saucer for me to drink. Very good, staff.

5:53 PM. Supervising the staff while she makes dinner. It looks like she's working with stewing beef, which certainly meets with my approval.

6:48 PM. Having dinner with the staff. I have a plate of stewing beef for my meal. She's insisted on making hers with some reprehensible vegetable called kale. Tell you what, staff, you can withhold all the kale from me all you like instead of withholding chocolate.

7:24 PM. Leaving the staff to wash the dishes on her own. After all, getting splashed by soapy water is not my idea of a good time.

8:40 PM. Lying on the floor in the living room pondering the great mysteries of life. Is it possible to toss my staff's idiot relations into that black hole they photographed a few days back?

11:23 PM. The staff is off to bed. Well, good night, staff. Do keep the door open, though. I expect to be able to come in and raise objections in case you decide to call your idiot relations and invite them over for next weekend.

A Day In The Life Of A Dog

This is the Easter weekend. And as it's been awhile, it is time for the point of view of the dog and the cat. The dog starts things up with Good Friday. The cat shall have Easter Monday to herself.

7:04 AM. Waking up at home. Slept exceedingly well. Dreamed of chasing the Easter Bunny.

7:08 AM. Staring out the living room windows. Most of the snow is gone. Robins have come back. Plenty of mud puddles out there. Yes, spring has come back. I’m looking forward to getting out there and splashing around in some meltwater, but priorities first. I need my breakfast. Because breakfast is the most important meal of the day. In a four way tie with lunch, dinner, and snacks.

7:11 AM. I can hear my human moving around upstairs, so I’m confident that in the not so distant future I shall be gobbling up my breakfast. This is a good thing. Because I get a bit anxious when breakfast is delayed.

7:14 AM. Watching outside as a raccoon passes by on the lawn. I give one woof. He turns and looks at me. Then he gives me the finger and keeps walking. Well now that’s just rude. I thought those masked bandits were nocturnal beasts.

7:21 AM. The human comes downstairs. I start wagging my tail furiously. Good morning, human! Fine day, isn’t it? Say, I don’t mean to be impatient, but have you given any thought to my breakfast? I’m just saying.

7:24 AM. Watching the human as she pours me a big bowl of kibbles. Oh boy oh boy oh boy oh boy…

7:25 AM. Licking my lips after finishing off my breakfast. That was good!

7:27 AM. Inquiring with the human as to if she’ll let me out for a morning run.

7:28 AM. Out the door and on my way. See you later, human!

7:37 AM. Running through the back fields, barking my head off, happy as I can be. 

7:53 AM. Chasing a squirrel up a tree. The little bastard has made it up above my reach and is now staring down at me laughing his ass off. Get back down here, you coward!

8:01 AM. The squirrel continues to taunt and heckle me while I circle around the tree, suggesting that I'm getting slow in my old age and that I should just give up. First of all, I'm five years old. In people years. Yes, that equals thirty five in dog years, but that's not old. And on a side note, I've always found the notion of dog years to be perplexing. But that's beside the point. Second, you had a two second head start and I made the mistake of barking too soon, because if either of those things had been different, you'd be in my jaws right now, you little punk!

8:05 AM. The squirrel continues to torment me. There's no chance of my getting hold of him, so all things being as they are, I'd better just leave and be on my way. I glare up at the insufferable little bastard one more time with all the venom and hostility my doggie eyes can bring to bear. One of these days, you little bastard, you'll slip up. You'll get careless. And that's the day I'll be there.

8:12 AM. Stopping by to see Spike the Magnificent, Tormentor of Squirrels. He sees how foul a mood I'm in.

8:14 AM. I finish debriefing Spike on my near catch of the squirrel. He wishes me better luck next time and says that sometimes these things happen. Yes, well, it would be nice if it didn't happen this morning. Lousy squirrel...

8:16 Spike reminds me that this being the Easter weekend, we won't have any mail coming in today or Monday. The flip side of that is that the mailman will probably be late on Tuesday. Well, we'll just have to keep our eyes open for him then. And assume that if he shows up today or Monday, that it's for some nefarious and evil purpose like world domination or stealing things from our humans or things like that. I don't know, Spike, I wouldn't put anything past a mailman.

8:21 AM. Parting ways with Spike. He cautions me to find hidey holes in case my human has relatives coming over during the Easter weekend. Especially so if they have little children who think dogs are horses. I know, Spike, it's ridiculous. I mean, dogs are not horses. Do horses wag their tails? Do horses roll over on their backs? Wait, they do both of those things. Okay, but do horses bark at mailmen? I thought not.

8:35 AM. Barking at the back door to alert the human to my presence. Human! It is I, Loki, Annoyer of Mailmen and Chewer of Slippers!

8:37 AM. The human has let me in after a careful visual inspection to ensure that I have not been rolling around in any mud puddles or splashing through any streams. Human! I'll have you know that I did no such thing!

I thought about it, but that's a different story.

10:30 AM. Mooching a cookie off the human while she has morning coffee. Yum yum yum!

12:24 PM. The human is having lunch. I am using my patented sad eyes trick to get the human to give me a ham and cheese sandwich. Yummy!

1:32 PM. Right about now would be the time when the mailman would be driving up to our box, but this being a statutory holiday means he's off. I wonder what mailmen do on such days. Probably create more pepper spray for their ongoing war against dogs, or gather together and plot vile schemes of world domination. Or hang from rafters like the bloodsuckers they are.

3:19 PM. Mooching a cookie from the human while she's having tea. Oatmeal! Oh boy!

6:35 PM. Dinner with the human. She's made some broccoli for herself, along with meatloaf. She's cut up some slices of meatloaf for me, which certainly meet with my approval as I am presently engaged in wolfing them down. Why humans insist on eating broccoli with theirs is a mystery.

9:12 PM. The human is watching a movie. One television channel or another always airs this one this time of year. Charlton Heston and Yul Brynner are engaged in a staring and frowning contest for four hours. Or so it seems, at least to a dog. And why on earth do they have Edward G. Robinson chewing the scenery and wanting to call Moses a dirty rat? And why didn't someone stick a knife in his eye during his first scene?

11:54 PM. The human is off to bed. Good night, human. Don't worry, the Red Sea isn't going to crash in on us. For one thing, those were special effects and pretty much the best you could get in the 1950s. For another, the Red Sea is on the other side of the planet.

Sleep well, and have good dreams. If you hear any crashing about in the middle of the night, I swear, it's not me trying to break into the pantry and get into the chocolate Easter bunny stash you have in there.