Our Nigerian Scammer

It could have happened to anybody. A lot of Dr. Phil clips will show you young (well, middle-aged) people just absolutely convinced that the person they were sending money to for "their construction business" was going to pay them back that $250,000, and also was going to fly out and marry them, just as soon as they got their passport sitch fixed. Dr. Phil tries not to call them fucking idiots, but you can only not call them fucking idiots for so long.

I've reported BigTits McFakeBook to Facebook three times -- "this is a fake profile"; "this person is pretending to be someone they're not"; "this person is using someone else's pictures" -- but there's literally nowhere on Facebook to "tell us about this problem" or "add more evidence," like "this person is using pictures stolen from the Instagram account of an Italian model and having old men wire a third of their Social Security check for the past six months to Nigeria and here are the screen shots." And guess what, she is still there.

It took two days to convince the old man she wasn't real, she didn't need to borrow money for the "gold business" her parents had left her, she wasn't going to pay him back. He didn't like all the tit shots in her Facebook pix and asked her to send some that were less risque. But of course she couldn't; she wasn't in charge of wardrobe for the woman whose identity she'd stolen, right down to the little dog and the heart knuckle tattoo. He scrolled the Italian woman's Instagram for a long, long time, before he sighed and said, "It does look like her." Then he started facebooking Nigerian men's names -- the "associate" to whom his dear friend, a good woman, a kind woman who just needed help, had him wire the money. She had taken $560 and he was down to $10 in his bank account. The next $450 she was pressing him for would have to wait till the first, when his SSI check hit the bank.

Have I mentioned she couldn't talk to him on the phone because she is "mute"?

Even after he finally, finally admitted to himself that his friend wasn't just a lonely woman who thought he was interesting, he just said, "You know, I feel sorry for her, or for him, that this is how they have to make a living."

Like I said, and if I didn't, I meant to: He's a kind man.

I spent all day Saturday talking to her (or him). She was sorry. She didn't mean to hurt him. She knew he was a nice man. She would leave him alone and stop texting him and then telling him to keep his phone "secret." If I didn't go to law enforcement, she would try to sort out the money. I offered fifty bucks for an interview -- honest money! you'll feel so good after! -- about how it all works, who the marks are, how easy or hard it is, whether she laughs at them, if she would just send his money back. She went in circles that might have dizzied a lesser person: She didn't take the money. The Nigerian man scammed her too. She'd get the money back to us if I didn't call the cops. The cops can't do anything in Nigeria, so don't bother calling them, but if I call them I will lose all the money and she can't help. I have to just wait and listen to her. Shut up and listen, do I want the Moneygram details OR NOT. She played wounded if I said things like "how long will it take you to hook another old man." She had been only respectful to me; why was I insulting her by calling her "scammer."

I'm not an old man; it didn't work on me. I did, however, grow bored.

That night, we watched The Family, about an Australian cult that sucked all the money from its affluent adherents and stole their children along the way. And then it slammed me:

OH NO. Am I a cult? Am I sucking the money out of scared, lonely olds for the price of a personalized thank you note? (I send personalized thank you notes. Unless you send a check in the mail, in which case there's a two-year backlog.) Am I a Nigerian scammer?


Oh wait, Ghost Jim Bakker still walks among us. WITH YOUR SOCIAL SECURITY IN HIS PANTS.

With that, my terrible ones, if you are sending Wonkette money several times a month, or only once but for a whole bunch of dollars, run it by someone you trust -- a bitchy elder daughter, for instance -- and ask them if you are being suckered and had or need to cut back a tiny. (Make sure it's not a bitchy elder daughter who voted for Trump.) It is never our intention to prey upon a person trying to do right in the world. We don't want you to go without, or spend your dick children's inheritance, so we can buy another freelance post or bottle of Grand Poppy.


You shouldn't have to give to Wonkette till it hurts. You should do your mite and trust, like us, that God and other Wonkers will provide. And we'll let you know -- about once a month! -- when we really need your help to feed a child for just a dollar today. Oh wait, that child is us!

Now go outside and have a holiday -- this is it for us today; we'll see you tomorrow! -- and remember:

Rebecca Schoenkopf

Rebecca Schoenkopf is the owner, publisher, and editrix of Wonkette. She is a nice lady, SHUT UP YUH HUH. She is very tired with this fucking nonsense all of the time, and it would be terrific if you sent money to keep this bitch afloat. She is on maternity leave until 2033.


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