Norwegian Blue

In 2016, a survey of 2,000 Britons named "The Dead Parrot" as the U.K.’s favorite Monty Python sketch.

I live in Brooklyn, so naturally I wasn’t included in this survey, but The Dead Parrot is certainly one of my favorite routines by the iconic comedy troupe.

The bit, which debuted on Dec. 7, 1969, tells the uproariously deranged story of a disgruntled customer (John Cleese) attempting to return a parrot that turned out to be deceased.

The sketch has a ton of funny lines as Cleese haggles with the shifty pet shop owner (Michael Palin), including a lengthy list of euphemisms for death ending with “this is an EX-PARROT!”--but I’ve been focusing on the routine’s opening lines as Cleese enters the store.

“Excuse me, Miss,” he says to obviously male shop owner.

“What do you mean ‘Miss’?” Palin indignantly responds.

“I’m sorry,” Cleese says after taking a second look. “I have a cold.”

I know the feeling.

I'm finally showing some signs of health after nearly two weeks of misery brought on by a cold-virus-plague that doesn’t seem to want to vacate my sinuses.

I am undoubtably the world’s worst patient, and I managed to make things even worse with both my hostile attitude and a steady supply of antihistamines that dried me out so much I started coughing like a chain-smoker.

But I’ve been (sort of) jokingly using Cleese’s sniffles excuse to explain an extremely dumb stunt I pulled during this hellish period that almost—thank God—saw me getting rooked by an online bunco artist.

It’s painful for me to admit to being so clueless, having written about scam artists for years as a reporter. But I know that shame is one of the conman’s best friends, affording him coverage because his victims are too embarrassed to admit they’ve been had.

Okay, so here goes: Last week I got into a very friendly Facebook conversation with Julian Lennon, the musician, photographer and son of Beatles legend John Lennon.

I forgot if I friended him or vice versa, but in any case, we were getting along like lifelong buddies, as we discussed movies, writing, and music. I couldn’t believe I was actually conversing with the real Julian Lennon.

And that’s because I wasn’t. This was an imposter.

Pining for the Fjords

Somehow Joe Schmuck here didn’t think anything was amiss about this famous individual speaking with some nobody in Bay Ridge.

Hey, the fakir and I shared a Facebook friend. How could this possibly be a fraud?

But it was indeed a first-class con game, and I had blundered right into the middle of it.

Damn you, antihistamines!

I didn’t have any clue whatsoever until we started talking about Julian Lennon’s fund, The White Feather Foundation.

At that point, my good friend “Julian” asked me to get rack up some money on an Apple card and send him a photo.

Finally, I got suspicious. I’m a boomer and thus unclear about exactly what an Apple card is, but in addition, the White Feather site is already set up to accept donations. Why go through this photo rigmarole?

A quick bounce over to Copilot confirmed that there have been several Julian Lennon scams involving his charity, and Apple cards are often a part of them.

It has gotten so bad that the real Julian Lennon posted a message on his Facebook and Instagram.

“Due to a recent increase in fake/scam accounts, he wrote, "I just wanted to send a reminder that I, nor any member of my management or team, will contact you via DM, nor do I have any ‘Private’ pages for fan chats, meet and greets, etc... Nor do I use apps like Telegram…Please report & block anyone claiming to be me, that attempts to contact you.”

I feel ridiculous, but I am grateful that I didn’t get hosed by this celebrity charity hustle.

So, let’s unpack this disaster.

Isolation and loneliness can leave you open to all kinds of misery and there are any number of miscreants out there just itching to take advantage of you.

Being older and ill doesn’t help matters any and, hell, who doesn’t want to recognized and respected-especially by someone famous?

I blocked the offending account and reported it to Facebook. And while I am still quite embarrassed, I am trying to get a lesson out of this near fiasco.

Someday, I would love to meet the real Julian Lennon. We could talk about his music, his photography, and his charity work and I can tell him all about the time I nearly gave money to his Facebook doppelganger.

And I’ll make not to call him “Miss.”