By the time you read this, I could be a very wealthy man.
It seems an unknown relative of mine, the dear departed soul, has bequeathed me a very large sum. And crazy as it sounds, all I have to do now is contact a fellow by the name of Tristan in Wales, so that the money can be ferried from his account to mine.
My success story began when I was going through the junk mail on my computer, for the junk mail was bloating up my computer the way hot gas blows up the belly of a bullock.
I needed to relieve the pressure somehow, or else it was liable to explode, ’twas gone right serious.
In my case, it meant getting rid of all the correspondence I receive daily from the makers of Viagra type medications.
Yerra, a day doesn’t go by without me receiving a message regarding some class of remedy to cure ailments downstairs.
And, I wouldn’t mind, but with regards to problems in the basement, I am without complaint. I’m like a young bull in May with the height of vigour, ’tis corralling I need, not encouragement.
Anyhow, while sifting through the Viagra type junk, what did I come across only this email from Tristan in Wales and he beseeching me to read his important email. Imploring me, indeed. Tristan was in a bad way.
And seeing as how it didn’t relate to Viagra, I opened the email, for sometimes an innocent email from an innocent party can end up in the junk pile.
Well, it seems, there is none more innocent, or indeed, noble than Tristan. He was the man charged with the dispensing of a will for a man with very few relatives. So few indeed, that when push comes to shove, they could find no other to fit the bill only a Denny Lehane of Kilmichael.
Myself, in other words. I’m very far removed from the dead man, but I’m all he has.
And better again, my relative with precious few kin, was the devil entirely for making money. The sum involved, according to Tristan in my junk mail, is 2.9 million dollars.
And that my friend, could keep the likes of me in the pink, or more importantly, in beef farming, for many years to come.
Tristan is clearly some class of a solicitor, for none other than a solicitor would have had the dogged determination to pursue a matter like this to the bitter end.
However, while a solicitor of some note he may be, his writing skill left a lot to be desired. His punctuation, phrasing, and indeed spelling, in his email was worse than my own.
English might be a struggle for Tristan, as it is for me, but you’d expect better from a member of the law class.
But look, English aside, no one is perfect. And wasn’t he doing a right thing in contacting me.
Now, all I have to do is dispatch my banking details to Tristan so that he can carry out his functions to the letter.
Of course, some might concern themselves with giving over banking details to unknowns on the internet, for fear money might be drawn from your account, instead of the other way around. Well, not I.
If Tristan can draw money from my bank account, he’s a better man than me.
My account has been gasping for funds since September.
It’s as dry as the tongue of a camel lost in the desert. So, in the grander scheme of things I have nothing to lose, only everything to gain.
Roll on the good times.