The Kizombe Correspondence

I love the way people are publishing their correspondences with Nigerian scammers. This one, by a woman named Savannah, is a classic.

It’s so difficult living here in Estado Libre de Nuevo Mexico. We’re such a small country. And so much strife. Just last night, a gun battle at the El Nido saloon took the life of a dear friend (and, I think, the father of my 3rd and 5th children). He was a good man and didn’t deserve to die. All because of a disputed high-stakes darts game. It’s madness, sheer madness! I can so totally relate to what you’re going through down there. My first husband was killed when he intervened in a bitch-slapping fight during a Mary Kay party gone bad. My second husband, Cousin Bubba, died when his 69 Camaro fell down off the jack stands while he was putting muffler tape on the tail pipe. And it’s extremely dangerous to walk down main street because after Father Gonzales de Smith gets into the sacramental wine at lunch, he likes to crawl onto the church roof with a BB gun and take potshots at the Presbyterians while shouting, “Repent, ye infidels!” If my country weren’t so poor, we could afford better police protection or even a navy. But when the primary occupation consists of nighttime raids into the U.S. to shoplift boxes of Cheez-Its from 7-11s along the border, it’s difficult to establish a tax base to fund such luxuries.

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