Letters, we get letters

In re-reading yesterday's post and laughing myself silly at my own juvenile sense of humor, I had a revelation.

Over the years, mostly since I started this blog, I've done quite a bit of letter writing. Not in the interest of furthering a friendship or receiving any heartwarming return mail or even just to touch the heart of a loved one -- not exactly my strong suit.

No, my letter writing has been for the express purpose of eating up time, and hence, money, of dirtbags who spend their time fishing for American suckers to defraud. An evidently growing market of millions, who lack the necessary critical thinking tools to spot a conman or a conwoman (see 2015 - 2020).

It started in 2005, when I went about scambaiting Nigerians who have made millions of dollars with the infamous 419, otherwise known as the Spanish Prisoner Heist. Many of these emails were chronicled in my book Tuesdays With Mantu, My Adventures with a Nigerian Con Artist.

Still available on Amazon, by the way. 

After that, I began developing an interest in the Illuminati. This was a natural inclination, since the Illuminati represented a classic mix of conspiracy theory politics and unabashed grifting. Which is really quite redundant.

Following that, I began to branch out and started corresponding with Russian and Asian Mail Order Bride companies, posing as a lonely man in search of a mail order bride. This was inspired by a gun-dealing neighbor of mine who had met both his unsavory wives via the US mail service.  

Some of you might also remember my series of email exchanges with the President of the Mara Lago Country Club. That was fun because I got a first hand peek at the shady operations of an official Trump Organization. 

Mara Lago offers two types of memberships, the Premier, with an initial fee of $200 K and a yearly dues of $50,000, for unlimited use of the facilities and preferred T-times. 

And the Deluxe Membership, for $15,000, which does not include any golfing privileges but does include access to the pool, the pool bar and the club restaurant. Bread and/or breadsticks are served a la carte.

I also inquired about membership at Precedent Shitgibbon's Bedminister Club in New Jersey, where I had hoped to stage a faux Bar Mitzvah for my faux nephew, Ira Cohen. That was short lived as I suspect New Jersey have a much more sensitive radar and know when someone is yanking their chain.

"Get outtahere, you fucking hard-on."

I even put out feelers for Grandpa Ramblemouth to join us after Ira had read his Haftorah portion and speak at the reception, when he let it be known through his now-defunct From the desk of website.

And now, if you read yesterday's post, I'm going hard at Dr. Saguru Udo, who claims to be a Medicine Man based in Turkey -- I love turkey, especially BBQ turkey.

If I had it in me, I'd take all the unused Nigerian correspondence, mix in the best of the Illuminati, sprinkle in some mail order bride missives, top it off with my shenanigans with Captain Ouchie Foot and end large with my ongoing adventures with Dr. Udo, and have myself a knee-slapping book worthy of $8.99 of your hard earned money.

But at this point, I'm too lazy to do all that copy and pasting. 

Maybe, my daughters will do it when I'm done and feeding the worms?