No thanks, Mr. Dehlaan Hajji. I don’t want your million dollars. I could not have won the Andalusia lottery without a ticket. I’m not looking to meet “a fine Asian gentleman for purposes of business,” either. Why, I wouldn’t even buy the Brooklyn Bridge from Fiorello LaGuardia. This SPAM/junk mail more than annoys. I am frightened and, even worse, curious. Who are these people who think me gullible enough to open their requests – especially when written in Chinese? Or Cyrillic, for all I know. I will not open Pandora’s box or bite the serpent’s apple. But some people must respond, or the scams would wither. They haven’t. Knowing that I won’t negotiate emails from Qpyttis Klpuna or Sir Alistair Hastings the perps adopted friendly names like Dorothy Wilson and Nancy Adams. The subject line reads “A voice from the past….” Or “Just thinking about you…” Nancy and Dorothy are selling drugs, count on it. Sometimes prescriptions from off-shore pharmacies, mostly Viagra/Cialis and other happytime aids. Maybe they get a better response from women. Hmmm. I am intrigued and scared silly by the process. Hotmail and Yahoo are more vulnerable than local servers. These hawkers and thieves got my address from somewhere. Was it that sedate cashmere cardigan I ordered from Lands’ End? The duck boots from L.L. Bean? Did I broadcast my whereabouts when, out of boredom, I caught up with Paris Hilton online? Every day I stomp at least 30 roaches yet the legs grow new bodies, multiply and forge back to announce a surefire business proposal, a strapped charity, a real estate deal that would render me co-owner of the Taj Mahal (motel in Hackensack) or a classic Bentley (diecast miniature). Maybe I can behead the beast with a revised version of Paul Simon’s “Fifty Ways to Lose a Lover:”
Skip out the back, Boupak Make a new plan, Phan Don’t need to be coy, Mhnoy, Hop on the bus, Xus, Just drop off the key, LeeChi And get yourself free. Hopefully.

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