You know me--I've been your pastor for years, too many to count by now. Brenda and I have stuck by you through thick and thicker, and now we're going to show you how to prosper even more through prayer, spiritual guidance, and heavenly counsel.
My cash-flow problems may have me over the barrel for the moment, but just you wait and see. Loaves and fishes? That's just petty cash compared to the millions out there just waiting for you to collect.
It may all seem a little complicated to those without Brenda's and my legal expertise, international ties, and most of all Christian faith. But you just wait, brother. The best is yet to be. You'll see and rejoice. Your ship is about to come in--loaded with millions--not to count premiums like a new home, golf trips, and lavish birthday parties for you and each member of your family, God bless them each and every one.
The world is yours for the taking. Just as I've found out. Like this suit with the subtle but distinctive stripes. Why, order yourself one just like it. Or any other clothes you like. Like my blazing red socks? Flaming red is what the catalog calls 'em. I've gotta admit a certain fondness for a bright-crimson wardrobe myself.
Pay no mind to that little man behind the curtain wearing a halo instead of a snappy fedora like my own. Calls himself a good angel, does he? I wouldn't trust him. You just stick with Yours Truly and you'll see. For believing is seeing, right? Or is it the other way around and seeing is believing? Doesn't matter so long as everything comes up roses the way they are now. Plus daisies and daffodils.
Oh, I almost forgot, you'll want to be sure and not leave out the family pets. Today's their lucky day, too, and it could be their lucky year. It's time we stopped treating the family dogs, Holmes and Watson, like dogs. Don't you think? Not to mention Dinah, the cat, who deserves a lot better than being schlepped from coast to coast in a cage and consigned to the cargo hold. You want to treat them like the family they've become, don't you, brother?
Look, I know you're not very well acquainted with the intricacies of Nigerian politics and finance, but you needn't take my word for it, either. I've got friends and connections in high places over here, and there's no reason to try calling me back; the snoopers are everywhere. Better just to ignore 'em.
But here's what you need to do. Right now. 'Cause every minute counts in a high-stakes deal like this one. There'll be time enough later to recap your fiscal exploits to a few select friends. Just don't tell too many people, old buddy, or they'll want to get in on this deal, too.
But this is vital--and speed is of the essence: Email me your social, and the password to all your bank and savings accounts. And then wait for all the dough to come rolling in.
Congratulations, bub. I can hardly wait to see your shining face. Just don't spend it all in one place. Best from Brenda and me to your wife, mama, and all them. Tell 'em Brother Terry's got their backs.
Sure, gentle reader of Arkansas' Newspaper, you're much too sophisticated to fall for an obvious scam like this one, which has been around so long it's got an item designated for it in the Nigerian criminal code--No. 419. It's also been known as Nigerian letter spam. It's got a long history, much of it detailed by Finn Brunton of the Boston Globe in May of 2013.
The oldest known version arose soon after the French Revolution. Someone claiming to be the servant of an exiled aristocrat would claim that his master had, while fleeing the violence of the revolution, thrown a chest of jewels into a lake. The servant, so the letter writer would claim, had been imprisoned while attempting to retrieve the jewels. The letter writer and fictive servant would then ask his correspondent to send money for bail, in exchange for which the servant would split the jewels with his addressee.
According to Eugène François Vidocq, a French convict who became a detective, 20 out of 100 such letters were answered. The scam was a success. During the Spanish-American war, it caught on as the Spanish Prisoner scam; the scammer might claim to be imprisoned in Spain, in need of a little money to access a cache of Cuban gold. Since the war was well covered by the popular press, the scammer could reassure his victim by padding the letter with familiar details.
In the middle decades of the 20th century, the Spanish Prisoner scam morphed into the Nigerian pen pal scam, in which a distressed Nigerian royal sought financial assistance from his foreign target. Finally, such scams found fertile ground during the 1990s on the World Wide Web.
Hard to believe there are people who'll still swallow the whole spiel--hook, line, and attached sinkers. Just send out enough of this sucker bait, and you can be sure there'll be thousands of naifs out there ready to bite. On average, every American victim of this obvious scam loses more than $5,000 to these fiscal predators. Some lose a lot more--like the Czech retiree who was taken for $600,000 or the American businessman who took a $5.6 million hit. Hard to believe, but so are the stories these scamsters tell--and others find impossible to resist. The common denominator is human greed, and there's no end of that nefarious quality in this world.
Sure, the scam needs to be updated from time to time. Just plug in a new time and place, and the suckers will swarm all around the bait. Why not? All the sap has to do is be told he's being contacted by a GI who served in Iraq or Afghanistan and needs a way to get stolen millions out of the country. Mix and match real and false names to add a certain newsiness to the mix, and the swindler's three-quarters of the way there. Make up a Russian oligarch who needs to offload a safe-deposit box full of Krugerrands, say, or the wife of a Nigerian politician who's in trouble with the authorities, and the suckers will line up to lose their money.
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Paul Greenberg is the Pulitzer Prize-winning editorial writer and columnist for the Arkansas Democrat-Gazette.
Editorial on 12/27/2017