Allow me to introduce myself. I am PRINCE LARRY, heir to the throne of Cleveland.
For many years we lived blissfully in our small kingdom, raising our families in peace. The children played among quaint deserted factories. Our women basked in the day's cooling embers, enjoying a bounty of boxed wine and Pall Malls.
It was kind of like that town on Gilmore Girls, only without all the irritating banter.
Anyways, alas, my beloved country has recently been besieged by ruthless invaders, known as the HEALTH INSURANCE INDUSTRY. They have committed grave atrocities against my people, including large deductibles and 30 percent annual premium hikes.
Trusted foreigner, this is why I write.
My father, THE KING, recently died of a heart attack after seeing a bill for his colonoscopy procedure. My country weeps, for he was a benevolent monarch, and often bought us beer nuts.
According to the royal accountants, THE KING left behind a fortune worth Nineteen Gazillion Dollars, which, if you are not familiar with our monetary system, is considered a HANDSOME PILE OF JACK.
But his treasure is now in peril.
Though our armed services have fought bravely, they are no match for a superior foe. Military advisors believe the HEALTH INSURANCE INDUSTRY will overrun Cleveland within a matter of seven business days. When this occurs, it is feared that their leaders, known as EXECUTIVES, will abscond with THE KING'S assets and use them to purchase German automobiles and golfing instruments.
It is so that I write to you, INSERT YOUR NAME HERE. I wish to propose a confidential transaction.
If THE KING'S fortune is not transferred abroad with haste, it will forever be lost to the merciless invaders. Hence, if it pleases you, I wish to transfer the sum of Nineteen Gazillion Dollars to your personal bank account.
Naturally, you must wonder why you have been chosen for this imperative covenant. After all, we have never been formally introduced. Nor have you likely visited my kingdom, where I am sure you would enjoy our many abodes of merriment that proffer ONE DOLLAR BUDWEISERS.
Allow me to say that you have been selected on the highest authority. We commanded our foreign-service corps to locate the most trusted man on Earth. You, quite naturally, emerged as the first choice. (As a personal aside, second place was a degenerate gambler from Finland deep into his bookies for betting hockey games. It wasn't even close.)
Our NIGERIAN AMBASSADOR attests that you are a most respected man in your village, one whose counsel is sought by others, and who is known for maintaining a confidence under the tryingest of circumstances, such as having to watch that movie White Chicks.
You are further said to be one who aids those in distress. I, MY NIGERIAN BROTHER, must humbly solicit your gallantry.
As I write, the HEALTH INSURANCE INDUSTRY is nearing the outskirts of Cleveland. Their fearsome warriors, known as the CUBICLE FARMERS, fight not with swords and shields and Russian-manufactured small arms, as honorable men have fought through the ages. They employ an insidious form of paperwork, rejecting the reimbursement requests of my people, forcing them to endure ceaseless battles with AUTOMATED VOICE MAIL, their armament of mass destruction.
The peasantry is famished, and must do without pork chops, Dr. Pepper, and cigs. Our children pawn their toys to pay for Ritalin. Our women have no new recipes for braised lamb, for they can no longer afford THE FOOD CHANNEL.
Sadly, we may soon see greater forlornocity. Our intelligence services believe civil war is imminent. Surely our other enemies, EXXON MOBIL and the AMERICAN BAR ASSOCIATION, will not allow the HEALTH INSURANCE INDUSTRY to seize the spoils as their own. They too will attack, and our streets will be afire with house-to-house combat, as their mercenaries employ mounds of litigation to blaze a path of terror.
Alas, INSERT YOUR NAME HERE, you must see the urgency of this matter. Tis why I wish to wire you THE KING'S fortune at once.
If you are prepared to shelter Nineteen Gazillion Dollars in a bank account of your choosing, I will grant you 20 percent as repayment for your kindness.
Do not be alarmed when you see our legal tender. Though my country is fond of picturing guys in wigs on its currency, we are not cross-dressers. (It's a long story.)
Of course, if this proposal displeases you, I am willing to engage you with a 30-70 split. But this shall be my final offer, for THE KING left a rather monarch-sized bar tab upon his passing.
I believe the only detail remaining is your account number. The Royal Finance Department will need your digits so said funds can be wired with haste.
I must go now, MY NIGERIAN BROTHER, for I can hear the sounds of litigation pounding the outskirts of the city. But I anxiously await your response to this dire plea. The fate of my country rests in your able hands.
P.S. We should party sometime.
Prince Larry of Cleveland
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