The underachiever

Remember the searing and eloquent Nigerian spam we used to get? Tales of death and murder and millions of dollars locked in secret bank accounts, sent to us by desperate widows who needed our help? Even as you knew the stories weren't true, you were intrigued--where did the money come from? Why was it unavailable to them? How did their wonderful doctor husbands die?

There was a whole world in those emails, and last year a wonderful novel was spun about the people who write them. "I Do Not Come to You By Chance" by Adaobi Tricia Nwaubani was one of the best books I read last year.

But lately the Nigerians seem to have gone on to other pursuits, or maybe they're spamming other targets. In any case, I have not gotten one of those messages in a while. And then, this morning, I got this:

Good Day,

I am Shung Hin Hui, I have a business of $15.5 million for you contact me for details.

That's it? No narrative? No tragedy? No emotional hook? You can just picture the writer, dressed in Dockers, sitting in a room full of computers, typing nonchalantly, snapping his gum, tossing his Coke can into the garbage and then going out for a long lunch.

Some people certainly answered the Nigerian messages, and got taken for varying amounts of money. Who in the world would answer this one? I fear this writer is not long for his job.