Alright, back to how to get free money from my husband:
You know those emails that most people delete without even reading the entire subject line? The ones titled “Confirmation Letter from Irish Lottery Board” and “Concerning My Proposed Investment Inquiry in your Country?” My husband likes them. Enjoys them even.
A couple months ago, he came to me with three pages of computer paper in his hand. “I got the funniest email today, and I printed it out for you,” he said and handed me the document. “URGENT RESPONSE NEEDED” the subject line said.
“This is a scam,” I told him, handing the paper back.
“I know, but it's hilarious!” He proceeded to read me the ENTIRE email stopping to highlight his favorite parts of the absurd “business” proposition presented in broken English. “The funniest thing,” he said after he finished, “is that this guy is claiming to be the Director of the FBI, but he has a yahoo email address. Like it's just sooo hard for the Director of the FBI to get a dot gov email address.”
Then, we were in the car the other day, and Mr. Spaghetti said, “You know those scam emails I like so much?”
“Yeah...” I said reluctantly.
“I got one from a Mr. Zellerman today. He found a suitcase full of money and wants to share it with me,” he said like he was talking about an old buddy. “He said he didn't actually open it, but that he is guessing by the weight of it that it contains three or four million dollars.”
“I wish I knew how much three or four million dollars weighed,” I said.
“He signed it 'The Legal Diplomatic of Your Package Box,'" he laughed. “I think I should start using that as my title from now on.”
“I'll get you business cards,” I answered.
“You know,” he said after a minute, “I almost sort of feel for those guys. They apparently have no marketable job skills, so they have to resort to using the English language poorly to swindle people out of money.”
“Well, I feel better knowing that you're smart enough not to fall for a scam like that, just that you might send them money as an act of charity.”
He pulled a jump drive out of his pocket and handed it to me with a sinister look on his face. “Here follow my instructions,” he said.
“Is it a scam email? Are you gonna make me read it?” I whined.
“No!” he said, “I just want to listen to some music...”
My husband wanted me to add this disclaimer about his love of spam letters: Nigerian scam emails are like spy novels written for ten year-olds. They’re foreign and little bit exciting and they’re harmless so long as you recognize that they aren’t real.