I Am Truly Blest

I am truly blest.

Two strangers, both of whom are dying women, have decided to give me large sums of money so that I may do “… the good work of God, and also to help the motherless and less privilege and also for the assistance of the widows” and ensure that the money will not be used in an “ungodly way”.

The first woman “diagnosed for cancer” would like to give me 4.8 million dollars and the second woman with a “cardiac and kidney failure problem” wants to bestow me with 15.5 million dollars. The most amazing thing is that I received both these emails within the same week. How weird is that?

Email 1: Remain Blessed
Email 2: Dearest One in Christ

These two women, presumably unbeknownst to one another and virtually at the same time, chose me out of nearly 7 billion people. The odds of being randomly selected two times in a row out of all the people on the planet is about 1 out of 49,000,000,000,000,000,000. For perspective, the odds of winning the Mega Millions lottery are 1 in 175,711,536.

Dying women, millions of dollars, astronomical odds – what else could this be but divine influence?

I am truly blest.

Incidentally, since the total sum will be in excess of 20 million dollars and somewhat unwieldy for a single individual to manage and distribute effectively, perhaps some of you would be willing to help in this Great Work. Simply contact me with your bank routing number, account number and access codes and I will do the rest.


I would like to help, but it appears that I'm on the blessed fast track of divine intervention, for I too have received dozens of these offers from all over the world. I quit keeping track of my potential net worth somewhere around a half a billion dollars or so. These offers come in waves of several offers every few months. I believe the is divine because there appears to be a harmonic relationship between the frequency of these events and this constant hum I keep hearing. I must admit that I'm quite tempted at times to accept a few of these offers, but the voices in my head keep telling me not to drink the cool-aid, or to not go into the light, or run away, run away! I'm not really sure which, but I wish they would shut up so I can hear the hum.

Just send me your bank numbers.