Someone is impersonating me. They have created a fake account with my name. They’re going around asking for money on Facebook. And worse, they’re using excellint grammer.
A few things you should know:
I don’t ask for money. The last time I asked for money I was 16. I was trying to get to Miami Beach for spring break with my cousin Ed Lee. We told our mothers we wanted to attend a special Bible camp in Coconut Grove.
“Bible camp?” my cousin’s mother remarked. “And does this Bible camp also have wet T-shirt contests?”
So we asked my mother next. I asked Mama for expenses and gas. Mama laughed so hard she had to be calmed with buttered Saltines.
But getting back to the impersonator. The first person to bring this scammer to my attention was my wife. She thought this guy was hysterical. She located the imposter’s Facebook profile and howled with laughter.
WIFE (laughing at computer screen): Look at his picture! He isn’t even cute! Look at that cheap haircut, and that stupid grin! He looks like a weirdo!
ME: He’s using MY actual photo.
WIFE: Oh.
Moreover, it turns out this hoaxer is trying to sweet talk innocent people into giving personal information and account passwords.
Well, let me reassure you, publicly, I do not want your passwords. I can’t even remember my own passwords.
In fact, remembering passwords has become a full-time job. Do you remember when we only needed one or two passwords to get along? Now we need hundreds.
Whenever my wife and I try to watch TV, for example, our streaming service always tells us we need to Re-Enter Our Password.
And since I am the tech-guy in our house, it’s up to me. I don reading glasses and use a tiny remote to painstakingly enter my password via televised keyboard. A process which takes about as long as earning a real estate license.
Namely because my passwords are not simple. At one time all my passwords were simple and easy to remember. But today, they make you use intricate letter-number-character combinations akin to U.S. nuclear launch codes.
Modern passwords must contain 24 characters, four capital letters, one symbol, one underscore, one ampersand, eight numerals, one hieroglyph, the blood of a nanny goat, and a bibliography.
These passwords are impossible to remember. Which is why you must WRITE YOUR PASSWORD DOWN. I find that past-due utility-bill envelopes works best.
Once you’ve gone through the agonizing process of creating your new, long, arduous, comical, and nonsensical password, you’re almost there.
Now you must enter your password and log in. Only this time you will be entering your password blindly, unable to see anything inasmuch as the characters are represented by tiny, highly classified black asterisks.
But if you’ve been patient and diligent, congratulations. You’ve finished half the battle.
After entering your new password you will be greeted with a cheerful notification informing you that (a) your password is incorrect, and (b) there are no accounts associated with your email. Then your account will be locked due to too many password attempts.
So please believe me, I don’t want your password. I don’t want your personal information. I don’t want your money, either.
Unless, of course, you’re offering to send me to Miami.