This article is intended as a tongue-in-cheek rebuttal for anyone who has received more than their share of junk mail in their email inbox. This means you!

There's really no escaping it. Whatever your service provider, and with all the firewalls, spam blockers and protection devices installed virtually everyone who owns a computer is subject to the dreaded curse of clicking their send/receive' only to find a litany of unwanted garbage filtering through their regular correspondences; everything from Viagra and Cialis renewals to happy gals from the Ukraine who desperately want to meet you.

The internet is a marvelous invention. Tragically, it has fallen into the hands of exploitation con-artists who will think of, and stop at, nothing to woo your trust and capital away.

I'm sure by now everyone is as tired as I am at receiving spam junk mail promising wealth and success at the drop of a hat by someone who claims to be the son of an uncle whose dead grandfather hid a zillion dollars in a Swiss bank account now under the reign of extremists, but awaiting your help to get it out and become wealthy beyond your wildest dreams. Anyway, after receiving no less than fifty of these so called inquiry' emails in one week, I decided that maybe I could give these idiotic morons who write this drivel a creative run for their money. Read on and enjoy.

CONGRATULATIONS!

You have been chosen for a most worthy cause!

My name is Mr. Tai Kwan Do-Do. My grandfather was Dr. Frum Kin-Pow, a great warrior of the Samurai Sands Song and Dance Club in Kuala Lumpur where he held the record for number of hours hoofing a one-legged fox trot. To help support his sixteen family members, he also turned tricks on the side with a snake charmer called Syeeda. Anyway, around the time he moved to Tangiers with the kidnapped love child of his beloved sister's pet canary's uncle what's his name,' Frum contracted a disfiguring disease.

As parts began to fall off in rapid succession, Frum confided the story of a great wealth his ancestor, Josie Owallo-Cun-Sabi-En Rou buried deep within the Myrabar caves in India. The nurse he told this story to was Rabyuma, the gifted poet, pizza maker and mother of six who, upon pooling enough wealth from her midnight poker club rendezvous, quit her second job as a sword swallower, drowned her nine children even the illegitimate ones - married my father Tin-Sum-Doopie, and got on the nearest east bound camel train to Myrabar.

Sadly, that

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