Friday, June 19, 2009
Ride, Captain, Ride
I’d been running low on joy lately, both the emotion and the dishwashing liquid.
Replacing the soap was easy—I just went to the appropriate shelf at my local grocery store and grabbed hold of the plastic bottle.
But at the last second, thanks to the recession and my unflagging frugality, I forsook the Joy in favor of an eerie blue generic brand that was two bucks cheaper. How much Joy do you need in this life, anyway?
However, the cutrate suds didn’t cut the mustard—or the grease--and so my funk deepened. I was in a rut and desperately in need of a change.
And that’s when I got this email:
“I am Capt. David Charles, 50 Years Old from (England) United Kingdom. I work with Princess Diana Luxury Motor Yacht in United Kingdom. We are seeking applicants to work on the new year-round UNITED KINGDOM flagged Passenger ship. It’s a private own yacht. Accommodation will be provided by the Company. I will like to know if you are interested in working on the ship.”
All I know about sailing can be found in the lyrics of “Sloop John B,” but I was ready to sign up. I could see the whole wide world while swabbing the deck, hoisting the missen mast, and crowing in the crow’s nest.
I could also teach Capt. David Charles, 50 Years Old from (England) United Kingdom, how to speak the Queen’s English so he won’t write any more emails reading “I will like to know…”
Yes, I know this was yet another Internet scam, but it was a cut above the old Nigerian oil well routine, where some relative of mine that I never heard of gets his ticket punched in a wild muskrat stampede and now I’m next in line for all his wealth.
This yacht gig didn’t make any appeal for a bank account number or other such financial information like your average web swindle—though I’m sure that would follow if I responded to the captain’s e-mail.
Still, it’s nice to fantasize about chucking the daily grind and leaving the muskrat race behind for a life on the ocean. I could sail the seven seas as the world’s oldest cabin boy, which certainly beats the hell out of riding the R train to the office every morning.
We could go to exotic places like Burkina Faso, and while that may sound like an Italian soap opera star, it is actually a West African nation where Princess Achia Oyaba currently hangs her crown.
The princess wrote to me—and about 12 million other people--to say she was in a whole mess of trouble because her dad, King Oyaba “a very wealthy traditional ruler” and her “Senior Brother” were poisoned to death “by his rivals in the traditional chieftaincy title tussle about royalties and other related matters.”
The princess’ command of English isn’t much better than that of Capt. David Charles, 50 Years Old from (England) United Kingdom, but then she’s not a native speaker so I’m willing to cut her some slack.
All Hands on Deck
This was exciting stuff, especially that bit about the “title tussle”—sounds like a pro wrestling event or something you'd see at a topless bar. I’ve never been involved in a title tussle before and now here’s a total stranger offering me ringside seats.
And it gets even better because the princess has a ton of dough she’s looking to free up.
“I am the only Daughter/person left in our family and because of this money (US$3.1M), I lost my Family and the Village/ his Rivals seized all our properties and froze our accounts by the new Government after the death of my beloved Father/Brother.”
The daughter person lost her beloved father/brother? That’s quite a kingdom, you got there, princess. Maybe you take a job on a luxury motor yacht and get away for a while.
After her relatives got whacked, the princess said she split for Burkina Faso, which translates as “the land of upright people,” and now she needs someone’s help to liberate all that money.
“Due to the pressure mounted on me, I therefore need your urgent assistance to move this money out from the Bank where it is right now. Although it will require you to act as (my father’s) Business Partner so that the Bank will effect the money in your account.”
This was getting better and better. I would commandeer the Princess Diana, lock Capt. David Charles, 50 Years Old from (England) United Kingdom in the head, and set sail for Burkina Faso.
I’d rescue the other princess, Achia Oyaba—wasn’t that a Beatles song?—and with all that money I could afford to buy real Joy instead of that generic crap. And maybe love would blossom between the princess and the lowly cabin boy and I could mount the right kind of pressure on her royal highness.
I was prepared for that, too, thanks to another e-mail entitled “Keep Your Erection” (I’ve got one of my own, thank you.), a free Viagra offer from “Be A God in Bed,” who, with a handle like that, should know a thing or two about the land of upright people.
So hoist up the John B's sail; see how the mainsail sets; call for the Captain ashore, I want to save the Princess.
But then my sea-faring fantasy was suddenly dashed against the rocks of cruel fate, a crushing blow that hit me right in the Achia Oyaba, and now there’s no Joy in Brooklyn.
Burkina Faso is a landlocked country.
Well, it was a nice dream, yacht, princess and all. I guess I’ll keep washing my dishes with the Blue Slime and think about how close I came to being a king--not to mention a God in bed.
But wait a second. I just got another e-mail from Mr. Nanado Benjamin, the Director In Charge of the Auditing Section of the Bank of Africa in—oh, yeah!--Burkina Faso.
Apparently the muskrats have gone wild again because one of his customers is deceased and now Nanado needs my “urgent business assistance” in transferring an abandoned sum of 27.7 million dollars immediately to my account.
Hang on, Princess, your cabin boy is on the way.