I don’t know why anyone would impersonate me. I’m not worth impersonating. I talk funny. I have horse teeth. I am pale. Redheaded. And I have unnaturally long legs, so that my wife says I look like a man riding a chicken.
Nevertheless, there are Sean Dietrich impersonators on social media. More impersonators than I ever believed. A whole army of them, actually. Can you imagine a whole army of me? I can’t. It would be like a whole bunch of malnourished men riding poultry, shouting, “Charge!”
But the phonies keep coming. These impersonators are pretending to be me, messaging people, even going so far as to share status updates.
These impersonators, however, aren’t exactly nuclear scientists. Case in point: I have been contacted by my OWN impersonator. Which was chilling, inasmuch as the person claiming to be not only used my personal voice, but he also used bad grammar.
“Hi ther,” the message began. “How is you’re day to be going?”
So there I was, private messaging someone in Mozambique, claiming to be me, and I had this weird feeling I was on an episode of “Twilight Zone.”
“Your are such a very handsome women,” the impersonator began.
“Women is plural,” I write back.
“Whoops,” the impersonator replies. “I meant to say you are such a big handsome woman.”
These impersonators were very friendly, at least at first. They were polite. Courteous. And they expressed a strong desire to have an intimate relationship with me wherein we might lean on each other, support one another, and hopefully, exchange financial information.
Which is why I want to state, upfront: I will NEVER ask for your credit card information via private message. I will always do it in person.
I usually report these impersonators to the social-media powers that be, but the fakes just keep coming. Every time I report one phony account, 10 more crop up to take their place.
Yesterday, for example, I posted that I was giving away two free tickets to my upcoming performance at the Grand Ole Opry on June 10—which is true.
The next thing I know, there were dozens of little Sean-of-the-South impersonators, contacting various people, telling them they were winners. Whereupon they asked various persons for private banking details. One poor woman went so far as to post her credit card statement in the comment section. Sadly, it was removed before I could confiscate the last four digits.
My elderly aunt Eulah was the first victim to tell me about this imposter. I was taken completely off guard by her phone call. I thought she was calling to tell me about my cousin Karen’s new baby.
My Aunt Eulah said: “Did you know you’ve got online impersonators?”
“Yes,” I said. “I’m working on it.”
“And he’s hideous, too.”
“Your imposter. He has an unkempt beard and beady little eyes and an ugly little mouth. When he was born, I’ll bet the doctor slapped the wrong end.”
“Aunt Eulah,” I said, “the impersonator is using MY picture.”
“Did you hear about Karen’s new baby?”
I don’t know what to do about the phonies. I have told Facebook about them. I report each one. But nothing ever happens. So I have come up with a solution. I have developed a litmus test to weed out fakes.
If an impersonator contacts you, here’s what you do:
First, ask them to describe my fifth-grade teacher. (Church lady with 15-foot hair.)
Then ask them WHICH church my fifth-grade teacher attended (Church of God—but not the normal one, the weird one). (I’m only kidding!) (Sort of.)
Next, ask the impersonator whether this schoolteacher once brought a live, legless reptile into our classroom and told her students that we might demonstrate our faith by fondling this snake, and that we shouldn’t worry about getting bitten because, in accordance with Scripture, the snake had just been removed from the freezer.
After that, ask the impersonator whether they, personally, became so incredibly frightened by this snake that they needed to visit the nurse’s station and borrow a loaner pair of trousers.
If the impersonator answers yes to all these questions, ask him to marry you.
Because he’s a very handsome women.