Image credit, brandwayart
Once upon a scroll, in the lawless wasteland known as X (formerly Twitter, but also formerly relevant), I was minding my business doomscrolling through political hot takes and cat memes, when I made the fatal mistake of following an account that looked suspiciously like “ElonMusk_Official_2.”
Within seconds—SECONDS—I was spiritually and algorithmically transported into the shadowy underbelly of crypto scams and emotional blackmail. A new DM popped up. Profile pic: a blurry woman with a tiara, a baby goat, and the Bitcoin flag in the background. Bio: “Mother. Philanthropist. Crypto Angel. Lover of Orphans. DM for generational wealth.”
“Hello dear,” the message read. “I am reaching you with urgent news. I regret to inform you that my sister has recently passed away in a terrible moon bounce accident, but before her spirit ascended, she whispered your Twitter handle into my ear and told me you are the father of her only child. His name is Ethereum Jr.”
Ethereum Jr.? What, was Bitcoin taken?
But it gets better. The message continued:
“She was your secret lover you may not remember from your vacation to Lagos in 2008. She spoke of your beautiful soul and how you once liked a tweet about turtles. She wanted all her $3 million crypto inheritance to go to you to raise Ethereum Jr. in Canada, the land of maple and Drake.”
Naturally, I was moved to tears. Not because I believed any of this—but because I couldn’t stop laughing.
Then came the kicker:
“All I need you to do, my dearest, is follow this verified Telegram link, upload a copy of your passport, social insurance number, and a selfie of you holding a duck with today’s newspaper. This is for security purposes. Then the crypto wealth will be transferred to your only son. God bless.”
I asked: “Can I send a picture of a goose instead?”
She replied instantly: “Only if the goose is verified on X.”
And just when I thought the absurdity was over, another scammer jumped in. This one had cloned an email from “Canada Revenue Agency,” which read:
“Hi there! You’re eligible for a tax refund of $4,279.13 and a lifetime supply of Tim Hortons if you enter your banking details below. Act fast—only 3 spots left.”
Seriously? At this point, scammers aren’t even trying. They’re not even dressing up the grift with decent grammar or a sprinkle of logic. Remember the good ol’ days of the African princess who just needed someone to trust? She had honor. She had grit. She would send you a six-page email with backstory, fake legal documents, and sometimes even a LinkedIn profile. She respected the craft.
But now?
These new X scammers are like: “You want $10 million? Click this link. Hurry. It expires in 6 seconds.”
I miss the artistry. I miss the drama. Now it’s just bots, boobs, and broken English.
And honestly, if I’m gonna get scammed, at least give me a convincing lie. Don’t hit me with “Congratulations you’ve been randomly chosen as the secret uncle of my dead cousin’s unborn child, and now I’m transferring you all the Bitcoin in South Africa.”
At this point, I’m just here for the entertainment. And maybe to adopt Ethereum Jr. Poor kid deserves a better origin story.
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