All of the predators want to do business
“Dearest Darling Madame,” last night’s letter beseeched me. The sender was someone I’ve never met and never want to, but she is calling me dearest darling? The nerve. She really does have to slather it on pretty thick, because what she is asking is impossible. This woman, and I swear, all her family, friends and acquaintances from Kazakhstan, or Bella Russe, or Chad, want my account numbers. Yup, those checking or savings account numbers where they can deposit my new riches. Delete. Despite how powerful my computer junk filters are, some of these appeals make it through ...