by Mark Perez
So here’s a list of some of the classics. I’ll try not to bore you with too many details. As I said earlier, the simpler you keep the grift, the higher the chance you’ll have of succeeding with it.
THE EMBARRASSING CHECK
The embarrassing check con is a well-known means of legally getting money from men by playing off their innate feelings of shame and self-hatred. The con man first opens up a legitimate business with an overtly explicit company title. Opening an LLC (limited liability company) nowadays is fairly easy to do.
Then you toss out some lures. Tell the buyers that any purchases they make from your questionable business will be routed through a separate company with a much more innocuous name.
After taking orders and collecting payments, the company (that’s you) then sends the perverted asshole a letter explaining that a shipping error or some other bullshit issue has made it impossible for them to deliver their product. You then enclose a legitimate check refund—only this time the highly graphic name of the company is clearly emblazoned on the check.
The idea, of course, is that a very high percentage of the customers of said filth will be too ashamed to ever cash that check. Boom. Easy money.
THE PIG IN A POKE
This is one of the oldest cons in the book. My old man taught it to me when I was, like, four. (“A child’s brain is like a sponge, so soak alla this up, dipshit,” he’d often muse.) I think it dates back to medieval times or something. Anyway, back when there wasn’t a McDonald’s on every corner and beef wasn’t highly subsidized for absolutely no reason except to grease fast-food corporations and starve the entire continent of Africa, meat was scarce, and pigs and cows were often rightly worth large sums of money. So, in this particular con, the trickster offers to sell another person a baby pig. (I know, it’s weird, but just go with this for a second.)
After receiving the money, they would hand over a “poke,” or burlap sack, that clearly had a squirming live animal in it.
If the sucker neglected to check inside the bag, which they oftentimes did in those days, they would be surprised when they arrived home to find that the sack contained a different form of meat.
The term “buying a pig in a poke” has since become a common expression referring to making a risky purchase under very questionable circumstances. Even the phrase “let the cat out of the bag” dates back to this well-known con. (Note: The present-day version of this con is when some unsuspecting, greedy fool buys “studio-quality speakers” from the back of some Hispanic illegal’s van in a crowded Vons parking lot.)
THE BADGER GAME
This is arguably one of the most reproduced gimmicks of all time. The most famous version is the following: A con woman seeks out some lonely married man at a bar. (Horny guys are often made lightheaded and irrational from all the blood rushing from their brains down to their junkbag.)
She then approaches the guy, lets him buy her a drink, and starts up your average flirtatious conversation this loser would never normally attract.
She then lures this disgusting slob back to her hotel room and immediately gets him into some compromising position he’d be more than happy to assume.
She takes some pictures of the dumb prick and threatens to email them to his wife, place of business, church rectory, etc. That is, unless he pays up. And does so in cash.
It’s often smart for the woman to work in tandem with a male coadjutor (a second grifter back-up) who shows up in the middle of things and pretends to be “the angry husband” or “the undercover vice cop”—which almost always helps to scare the mark into going along with the blackmail. Like the embarrassing check scheme, the idea is that the victim would be too ashamed of his own actions not to pay off the con men, and if you add a coadjutor, also fearful that he might get his fucking ass kicked. (Lesson here, boys: If you look like a troll from Middle Earth, always be skeptical of an attractive woman with two functioning eyeballs trying to get you back to her room in order to perform fellatio on you.)
THE SPANISH PRISONER
Have you ever gotten one of those junk emails from a fella with a first name like “Agbapuonwu” telling you that you just won the Nigerian Lotto? Of course you have. You live on planet Earth. So then, you’re familiar with the “Spanish prisoner,” which is what we in the Game call the advance-fee fraud. The angle is to fool unsuspecting marks by promising them a big payday down the road with only a little cash upfront. Seems totally reasonable, right?
Apparently this scam dates all the way back to the late 1500s, when it was often used against wealthy businessmen, not regular schmucks like you. This is how it would go down: After gaining his mark’s trust, a con man would intimate that he was corresponding with the family of a fabulously wealthy person of high social class (think some olden-time Kardashians)—a noble who was being imprisoned in Spain for a crime they didn’t commit. Why Spain, I have no idea, but go with it.
Fearing some sort of scandal, the prisoner has not yet released his name or the details of his case to the public, and is relying on private means to generate the money to secure his release.
With this in mind, the mark would be told that any money he contributed to help the cause would be paid back with interest when it’s all over. In some variations, it would even be implied that the person would get to marry the Spanish prisoner’s beautiful daughter. (Remember, this is some olden-days shit. When that kinda stuff really happened.)
Naturally, any money the victim gave upfront would inevitably disappear, and when possible, the con man would even try to get his victim to contribute more and more cash by telling them that a rescue attempt or another high-level payoff needed to be funded. (In my opinion, if you do send money a second time, it’s best to just go put on some dark clothing at night and run headfirst into heavy traffic.)
THE PONZI SCHEME
Back when I was pretending to be in college, this was referred to as a pyramid scheme. If current events (and every episode of American Greed) have proven anything, it is that there is no more potentially profitable hustle than the good old Ponzi scheme. This trick dates back a hundred years and was popularized by a clever fella by the name of Charles Ponzi, an Italian immigrant to the US who swindled investors out of millions in the early 1900s before finally being arrested. Which is pretty amazing, when you think about it, because the Italians were basically the Mexicans of those days.
The modern Ponzi scheme is a form of investment fraud in which a corrupt stockbroker uses the cash of his new investors to pay the imaginary returns of his old ones.
The initial investments with the fictitious broker always yield enormous returns for the greedy morons being conned, but in reality their money hasn’t been invested in shit. The ripper has simply been putting it all into his own bank account. And when someone wants to withdraw money, or if he has to pay the returns of his old investors, the con man simply uses the money he’s gotten from new investors to do so. It’s just that easy.
Nothing is ever invested, won, or lost in the market. The con man is merely giving that impression so imbeciles keep handing over more and more cash. (Guaranteed returns are always a telltale sign of chicanery, by the way, so look out, dummies.) Now, because the money can only grow so far, all Ponzi schemes are destined to eventually collapse under their own weight. As a result, the con man usually skips town after gathering enough cash to do so comfortably, leaving the investors with nothing but forged returns in one hand and their penises in the other.
(Note: Charles Ponzi indeed tried to flee America on a merchant ship but was arrested in New Orleans, served ten years in prison, and died penniless. And, as my father would always tell me, “A true American pioneer whose birthday should be celebrated like Washington and Lincoln and all those other phonies they build pointless statues for. Remember that, dipshit.”)
I’d bet even ol’ Chuckie P. would be shocked at how far people have taken his ingenious innovation just one hundred years later. As you probably well know (unless you’ve been l
iving under an overpass selling fake Gucci handbags), another American vanguard, Bernard Lawrence Madoff, engineered a Ponzi scheme estimated to be in the neighborhood of $65 billion. That’s billion with a b, folks. Madoff was eventually caught and sentenced to one hundred fifty years in prison, but not before pulling off what was essentially the biggest con of all time.
That is, until I would eventually come up with something even more artistic, if not lucrative. A scam so big and intricate and innovative that even Pops would end up being proud of me. An ANGLE that would have ANGLES inside of ANGLES! But we’ll get to that a little later; for now, let’s talk about you…
MAKING IT IN THE REAL WORLD BY BEING REALLY FAKE
After I “graduated” from college with a four-year degree, I got an “MBA” for shits and giggles. (I’ve always been a bit of an overachiever in that way.) And then, like most college grads, I moved to the Big City to officially start my career. I had given up on the idea of ever reconnecting with my father again. Furthermore, I had come to the reasonable conclusion that I would probably never see him alive again. And I was okay with that. Todd Peterson (no way) was officially on his own now. And he was going to make a fake name for himself, no matter what it took. And not only was I going to make my absentee father proud, but I was going to surpass all of his exploits, too. If for nothing less than to shit on his memory.
By the way, in my line of work, only dimwits and rookies use their actual birth names. It’s kinda like being a truck stop stripper. The more awful the titty bar, the more awful the fake names the girls inevitably have. They choose what they believe to be “sexier” aliases. Real bullshitty ones like “Elegance” or “Delicious.” Well, in my business, we do the exact opposite. We shoot for dull. We prefer plain. Purposely choosing the least sexy name possible for each and every new rip. Because most folks like to hear a nice, generic introduction coming from a stranger’s mouth. “Hi there, my name is Mahmoud Behrooz al-Rahim. Would you mind watching my oversized backpack for a moment?” That kinda thing doesn’t usually go over very well in present-day America.
Don’t overthink it either—nothing too clever or exotic. Nothing to turn a person’s defenses on. Mundane equals comfortable, and comfortable equals vulnerable, and vulnerable is the gold fucking standard. That’s why something as vanilla and banal as “Todd Peterson” is ideal. Todd Peterson is a stiff nobody who pays his taxes early, fucks his wife an average of three times annually, and never, ever throws his jury duty summons right in the trash.
For the record, I’ve been a Jerry, an Adam, and a Prince William. I’ve also been married, widowed, and divorced. I’ve been a doctor, a lawyer, and in every branch of law enforcement (where I served honorably and with distinction, by the way). I can speak in all regional dialects. I have been a card-carrying member of all political parties and affiliations, left, right, and center. And I’ve been pretty much every nationality I could pull off without having to wear makeup or a dot on my forehead.
As you may or may not know, living in the Big City is expensive, but there are some easy methods to reduce your expenses (food, shelter, and the like). I’ve detailed below how to acquire all the must-haves you will need going into this next phase of your life, like…
FOOD
There is real power in being able to enjoy a good meal at any time of the day. You don’t believe me? Go spend a summer in western Africa. Seriously, next to fresh air, clean water, and free Wi-Fi, food is the main ingredient to sustaining life on Earth. And always being able to eat for free, anywhere, anytime—now that’s true freedom. So as soon as you get off that long-ass bus ride from Nowhere, USA, make your way to the closest army-navy store, where for about twenty bucks, you can buy the following items:
The army fatigues of a dead person.
The Purple Heart of some one-legged asshole.
A sympathy inducing cane, as the handicapped cherry on top.
Circling back to guilt. As my father once told me, when I was around nine or so, “Guilt is like an STD. Everybody’s had some, in one form or another. Especially whores. Remember that one, dipshit.” And to his credit, it’s at the emotional core of all good scams (see embarrassing check scam), because humans hate to feel bad about themselves. (Personal shame is the ultimate repellant.) They’d prefer to think of themselves as “good people,” whatever the hell that means. (I’ve never actually had that particular affliction, thank goodness.) It’s why you buy your kid an Xbox because you have zero interest in throwing the fucking baseball around with him after getting home from your terrible job at the who-gives-a-shit factory. It’s why you put fifty bucks in the collection plate at your church right after you just finished having unprotected sexual intercourse with your teenaged Peruvian nanny. Guilt.
There is no greater guilt than the guilt regarding those who “protect and serve” us. (Remember this when you want to buy a coach ticket and then fly first class.)
“Thank you for your service,” my ballsack. You’re just psyched you didn’t have to go over there and fight for your own goddamned freedoms instead of some poor sonovabitch who grew up in a terrible low-income, low-information household. A free meal??? Hell, the government should be giving these guys free blowjobs for life when they get back from whatever dusty turdbox they were just busy “liberating.” But hey, don’t get me going on the government. Next to organized religion, it’s the biggest fucking racket going. Always has been. Another option for free food is…
THE RAT PACK
Things you’ll need:
A sports coat that gives the illusion you could actually pay for the soup.
A pad of paper and pen that makes you look like an annoying busybody.
Actual rat droppings (don’t cheat, be authentic!).
This is an oldie but a goldie. And it has nothing to do with Dean Martin or Frank Sinatra or that other drunk who married the forgettable Kennedy. Such an incredibly easy hustle to pull off—it’s amazing everybody doesn’t carry a bag of rat shit in their pocket at all times. Remember to dress in your Sunday best. Bring a pad and pen, like you’re taking notes on the meal. Always order whatever the house specialties are, and make sure it’s more than you could eat in one sitting, (1) to make it look like you’re trying everything for a reason, and (2) because you won’t be finishing any of them. Then, somewhere midmeal, you whisper to the waiter (asking him not to tell the owner, of course—which he most assuredly always will) that you’re a food critic from a small local paper. (Don’t be a dumbshit and say the New York Times. Restaurants keep tabs on stuff like that. Keep it simple, dipshit! Remember what Pops said?!) And be sure to tell the waiter, between you and him…that you’ve been very impressed, so far. Side note: Another rule of scamming people is that just as you can prey on their guilt, you can also prey on their pride. (The Seven Deadlies are a bitch, ain’t they?)
Now, when you’re almost full, you pull out your handy bag of rodent fecal remnants. Toss a few pellets in the soup (make sure to order the soup du jour). And when the owner comes out to greet you (and they always do), you gag on the stuff. Right in front of him or her. Side note: If you don’t have mouse poop handy, this bit also works with a good pair of scissors and your pubes. Either way…
Your meal. Is now. Free.
THE PLUS ONE
Things you’ll need:
A used tuxedo from some idiot who actually once purchased a fucking tuxedo.
Go to any thrift store and find yourself a vintage tuxedo. You’ll have to pay a few bucks for the thing. But what you’ll get back in gourmet meals will cover that twenty times over.
This particular scam is what I call a weekender, only to be executed during the non–workweek. (Co-opting the collection plate from church and embezzling cash gifts from a small child’s birthday party are also weekenders.) If you live in a metropolis, there are approximately two thousand moronic weddings every weekend. That’s right. Two. Fucking. Thousand. (Half of which will have ended in divorce by the same time next year, but that’s a whole
other book.) Go find one. And eat up while you can.
Next we have shelter…
RENT OUT A HOUSE YOU DON’T OWN
Even con men are subject to market conditions and need to play the hand they’re dealt. So when the housing market inevitably crashes again as it did in 2008, two amazing things will happen. There will be a lot less terrible fucking Flip-Flop shows on HGTV. And also, thousands of abandoned homes will sit empty once more, leaving a multitude of people in need of cheap housing. Which means someone is eventually going to put the two together. So why not let it be you?
First on the agenda, find yourself an abandoned property or two. (Even in these days of the “economic recovery,” it’s really not that hard. See the housing market in non–Las Vegas, Nevada. And all of greater Detroit.) Then create an online advertisement pretending to be either the owner or someone authorized to rent on the owner’s behalf. “Hi, I’m JoeBlow Bullshit from Somebody’s a Total Moron Realty. How may I help you?”
Next, break into the house, change the front lock, and start seeing potential renters. Provide a contract along with a handwritten rental receipt (copies of these can easily be found online) and inform the sucker that the rent is to be paid in CASH only and he or she will have to meet you each month in a public location to collect payment. That way, if he or she tries to revenge-kill you, you’ll have witnesses to your own murder.
