This is an appeal to you: my friends, my family, my friendly internet stalkers. Never before have I asked any of you for money,1 but due to recent circumstances I find myself in dire financial straits.2 I only hope that a few of you are feeling generous this holiday season.
You see, over the last few weeks I have been corresponding with an African prince by the name of Admir Alakbar. Because of corrupt officials and his country’s unstable government, he’s had trouble transferring his sizable fortune to America, and he emailed me requesting assistance. I’ve done what I can to help expedite the process, sending cash to cover legal expenses and to grease the palms of those crooked officials, but with each hurdle he overcomes, another roadblock is unexpectedly thrown in his way. To repay me for my kindness and generosity, he has promised to give me 10% of his fortune and bestow upon me the title of my choice: either Archduke or Grand Poobah. Unfortunately, my resources have since withered, which is why I am appealing to you now.
This may sound like a scam to you. Don’t worry; it’s not. I asked him. Admir assures me he’s from Rwanda, not Nigeria, so clearly everything is on the up-and-up.
Anyway, the last permit Admir requires will cost nearly $5,000, but I’ve already emptied out my savings and checking accounts, and the heartless souls at the bank won’t give me another loan. In my effort to help, I have also provided Admir with the other things he has asked for: my credit card numbers, my computer password, my sister’s maiden name, my shoe size, my high-school locker combination, the name of my mother’s first grade teacher, my cat’s social security number, and the complete 54-disc set of Stargate SG-1 on DVD. Yet, he is still shy the $5,000.
If you help me out, I will give you a percentage of my percentage of Prince Admir’s fortune, which he estimates is, and I quote, “$22.4 gazillion dollars.” So, clearly, any money you can give me will not be a loan or a gift so much as it will be an investment. Just think of what you can do with your share of my $2.24 gazillion.3 And if that isn't enough to convince you, I’ll also throw in part of my new title.
Thanking you in advance,
The future Grand Poo of Rwanda
1 At least, not since I requested an advance on my allowance back in the summer of 1984 to play a game of Dig Dug. (Lousy machine then ate my quarters.)
2 It’s a shame that word “financial” is in there, or else I’d get money for nothing (and my chicks for free).
3 That's a lot of games of Dig Dug...