Her name was Regine Blairet. I had broken the cardinal rule:

“Don’t friend a beautiful woman with no friends.”

I’m here in the He-Man Woman Hater’s Club House, having quit running an ecommerce site in the back of the Wife’s dress store these last eight years.

I’m able to quote such narratives at will, because I haved practiced them while scamming the scammers, or usurping the usurpers.

My French is also improving. I can now use WhatsApp, Google Chat and Telegram to be usurped by Ukrainians pretending to be beautiful women.

Worse, the really good ones, the ones I completely fall for, pretend to have money.

But I am blessed with a surefire scam proof weapon.

I am not attractive. I thank God everyday for it.

There’s no fucking way any woman in her right mind would go for me.

So, while I feed them bullshit, they blather on about how great I am and how much I mean to them, despite having little formal education and being poor as a church mouse.

Things start adding up quickly in my favor.

The long scam takes two days, before I pull the plug. I’ve done it three times in the last two weeks and it is the most potent drug I’ve encountered in these 62 years.

I tell them how old I am up front, and they always blow by it, like a yield sign.

Dumb Ukrainians.

The last one was set in Paris. There always seems to be a broken marriage.

“Beautiful women with broken marriages don’t show up on VK.”

Write that one down. You’re gonna need it. I promise.

Right off, you start feeding them with everything you’ve done, which is killing the Ukrainians with boredom, but I can talk about myself all day. There’s nothing I’d rather do.

I also supplement the torture with lots of really bad videos on Rumble. Indeed, I try to make one bad video, everyday.

On the second day, if you’re lucky, they’ll throw out the “L” work.

I’ve always been a good fisherman.

I’m able to dissociate from reality, at will. I drop straight into it. I work my stupid butt off, wooing these evil Ukrainians. It really doesn’t matter what they’re saying.

You are building a narrative of your life.

Think about that. The promise of love causes you to examine yourself, and if you like yourself, as I do, it’s worse than tear gas. Ukrainians have gone screaming from the scam labor hotels from many of the things I’ve written or put on video.

I’m probably committing war crimes.

Sure, if I’d done a proper look at her FB page, I would’ve noticed right off that it was a joke.

But I didn’t want to. I realize that now. My subconscious wants what it wants, and it wants validation.

I got tons of it. Dear Lord, how much fun I have had.

I’m drowning in endorphins. From Ukrainians.

So, I another look at the FB page, and it was obviously manufactured by a piece of software, which was designed to satisfy a booger-eating moron like me.

I hit the Ukrainian pretending to be her with it this afternoon, bashed her virtual head in with evidence. Here’s my practice ending.

“Just give the ask.”

“You never even asked for my credit card.”

I’m going to do everything I can to make sure this doesn’t happen again.

But if it does, I’ll try to enjoy it.