First, here’s my tip of day: There are proverbs etched on bellies of those statues on Easter Island. And one of ‘em is: He who laughs at your stupid jokes is up to no good. (Remember that next time you go on a date.)Now for story: Markel didn’t want me to be left out of his latest ground floor business opportunity — something called Scamway — that’s been around since serpent in Mel Gibson’s movie conned Eve.
So we showed up at Denny’s restaurant where a room full of glassy-eyed goofballs were pretending to be sharp business people. It reminded me of another Easter Island etching that says “Being doted on by a crowd of annoying scamsters is not a good thing.” That’s when I asked Markel if this was some kind of weird used-car salesmen cult. The whole room roared with laughter evoking eerie images of ugly statues.
The Chief Scamster arose to click his power point presentation about time my Tex-Mex Chicken-in-a-Bagel Skillet arrived. Before Scamway came along, this guy said he lived on edge of bankruptcy in a roach-infested trailer park. Now he lives in a 39-room, 4,000 square foot home on a lake. Geez, I thought, I wonder if that’s same apartment building where Uncle Afred lives?
All you need do is enroll eight more people, he said while flailing his arms with help-I’m-being-attacked-by-a-swarm-of-wasps enthusiasm. “If you enroll eight people this week who enroll eight people who enroll eight people, in eleven short weeks all 6.4 billion inhabitants of earth will be in your down line including Madonna and an extra 2 billion from some unknown galaxy.”
How could I refuse?
$29.95 buys my own business. “That’s less than a McDonald franchise,” he added.
For that I get privilege to annoy my friends with a catalog full of Baptist-slash-Mormon looking models using over-priced detergent, vitamins and cosmetics in concentrate. And it comes in a handsome binder.
“Any questions?” he asked.
Silence.
“There are no stupid questions,” he added. (He’s never met Uncle Alfred.)
I like a challenge. So I asked, “If chickens don’t have noses, where do they keep their boogers?”
The woman across table, named Hannibal-Lector-in-a-Dress, nodded. “Good question,” she said, “I’ve always wondered that myself.”