“I’ve hit pay dirt, baby”

Late last year a man sent me an email that I thought had changed by life.

It went like this:

Good morning,

I hope you are fine today?

I don’t know if you might be interested in a business proposal which am about to reveal to you considering that we haven’t met in person.

It’s all about US$ 10,000,000 dormant fund in our bank coded account here(SGBCI).

I am the only person with the knowledge of the funds and its deposit, and will solicit for your partnership for us to have it. My position in the bank will guarantee easy and risk-free handling of the transaction as i have every details of it.

I will give your more details as soon as I hear from you, including the sharing ratio.

Please ignore the proposition, if you don’t seem to be interested. contact me at mrjeanfafona@yahoo.co.uk

Please keep confidential!!


Mr Jean Fafona

Once the pressure build-up in my underpantal region had subsided, I responded, thus:

Good morning, Jean,

This sounds like a wonderful offer and I feel so privileged that, of the world’s seven million people, you chose me to share in the US$10 million.

First, I should apologise for being so late with my response. Please do not take this to mean that I am anything less than in a muck lather of enthusiasm over your proposal. For some incomprehensible reason your email was snared by my ‘Spam’ box and I only discovered it this morning.

Second, I don’t want to sound like a wet blanket (which I presume would make a gentle squishing noise), but won’t the Société Générale de Banques en Côte d’Ivoire be angry if they find out you’re offering easy and risk-free handling of money. Perhaps things are different where you are, but here in Australia, banks tend to avoid providing ease of transfer to customers and, when it comes to risk, tend to leave that to (or should I say with?) the federal government.
Third, I foolishly didn’t read to the end of your email before acting on it. So, before I got to your express request to keep the information confidential, I became excited to an almost absurd degree and began ringing friends and saying silly things like “I’m rich! I’m rich!” and “I’ve hit pay dirt, baby!” I admit, I went over the top, not just with my prideful and presumptuous pronouncements, but with the sheer number of people I rang. I literally contacted every single person I have ever had even the shortest conversation with, some of whom work for government departments such as the Australian Federal Police, Australian Customs and Border Protection, as well as ASIO (which is like our MI6, but heaps better). Do you think my unrestrained exuberance could in any way have compromised our imminent transaction?
Fourth, if the answer to the question above is no, will I need to pay tax on my portion of the ten mill, either in Australia or in the Ivory Coast? I want to do this by the book – as I’m sure you do.
Fifth, if I may be so bold (considering we haven’t met in person, to borrow a phrase from a close friend and confidant), I would like to make a suggestion: the subject of your email was “Good morning,”. While pleasant enough and unquestionably polite, if I’m honest, it didn’t speak to me. Of course, it’s easy to just sit in the “cheap seats” and holler criticism, so permit me to offer an example of a subject line that has recently grabbed me. While perusing my Spam box this morning (again, I’m perplexed as to how such an email ended up in the veritable naughty-boy’s corner of emails), I stopped when I came across the words “Best Maximum Penis” (in that order). Now, it would take years of practice and probably a degree from Oxford or Stanford to be able to consistently come up with brilliant subject lines like that, but I think that could be an aspiration for you, if not an immediate goal.
Sixth, and finally, how do you pronounce your name? I presume that it’s the French way, but I know that some men by the name of Jean – Americans mostly, who find the idea of a soft J offensive – pronounce it ‘Gene’ and don’t want to embarrass myself or, for that matter, you, when we inevitably converse via the phone.I am extremely keen to hear more details and wonder whether you would mind if I, as a show of good will, sent through my bank and credit card details, my tax file number, my car registration number and my home address in my next email. That seems only fair.Again, thank you very much for choosing me to share in your (or whomever’s) money. I look forward to one day lying on a bed with you and throwing it (the money, and maybe the aforementioned Best Maximum Penis medication) in the air so it rains down on us in the classical Hollywood way.

With much affection and gratitude and, to be honest, a little bit of desire,


Still haven’t heard a reply, but it’s only been four and a half months, so my fingers (and I hope now yours) are still well and truly crossed.

Haught fact of the day:

The ‘underpantal region’ was a widely-accepted medical term in parts of Europe until the 1980s. In Germany it was known as  ‘die zonenuntergarment’ and in France as ‘le districte de controlle merde’.

Grape Men quote of the day:

Grape Man 1: “So what happened about that fucking rotunda?”

Grape Man 2:  “Oh that. Fuck. Fucking council…”

Grape Man 1:  “What happened?”

Grape Man 2: “They put the car wash on it.”

Grape Man 1:  “What? A fucking car wash? In your back yard? What the fuck?”

Grape Man 2:  “No. Car wash. You know. They put the… they no let me do.”

Grape Man 1:  “What the fuck has that got to do with a car wash?”

Grape Man 2:  “No. A carwosh. Carwosh. You know. They put – ”

Grape Man 3:  “He means kybosh.”


Grape Man 1: “WHAT? Oh fuck. Cretino. Just shut up and pack the fucking crates. Fuck.”


Who are the Grape Men?

Find out here.

Other emails I’ve sent:


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