#scam
Unexpected, the feeling
that someone needs something
from you fills you, so you
give them what they need
without knowing what it is.
Oh, sad choice, bad idea
it is to give your consent
without knowing to what
you are giving it.
For once you give it,
written as they asked,
then, it is definitive,
ultimate word and irreversible.
Once that little squiggle
is on the paper,
it's done. It is the
end.
Apr 2
Apr 2, 2026 at 5:19 AM UTC
My continued experience with the NHS is the sense that, no one is listening or fixing.
If at all possible go private, tell them what you want investigating and fixing.
A national health hospital is not going to cure you for, “A patient cured is a customer lost!; Instead, of fixing you, “Big farmer” will crudely manage your symptoms, with drugs, at a cost and send you home in prolonged agony.
It’s a lucrative carousel !
Feb 22
Feb 22, 2026 at 10:28 AM UTC
ProWritingAid, Scribophile, Critique Circle, Inkitt, Wattpad, Medium, Reedsy, you name it If any of theses polite, toothless back-patting participation trophy
"circles" had anything but, people trying to make a profit off of your ideas or your willingness to share..
They aren't upfront or honest,
They should tell you how oversaturated the market is,
and they would tell you the truth about your work
being not only
unwanted
but un- needed. polite, toothless back-patting circles
Especially with the non-stop imflux of A.I. written slop
and **** disguised as Fan fiction.
Without tens and tens of thousands at least
its more than incredibly difficult to get a break or to make a break of any kind.
There are literally millions of well-written short stories,
books, and full novels
that nobody even looks at
EVER !
And to pretend that it's just a fantasy land of profit or joy is wrong.
'All you gotta do is throw some words together and you're gonna have success or popularity'—
that is not only misleading, but naive.
To encourage competition between unskilled amateurs and professionals with support, financial backing ??? … When the pros can’t even gain traction ?
I'll openly admit that I've been banned or blocked or chastised or whatever, put in time out by every single one of these, and repeatedly.....
They're just liars and they just want your money.
The only people they can actually help are literally like 4th grade level people who don't even know how to form a complete sentence. That's. ... the truth . I mean it's sad.
And the poor little teeny boppers that go there with their angst poetry and their sadness and their wah wah wah and
their wannabe build up to just kissing or
making out *** tales and it's pathetic.
Anyone with a developed voice or a brain will get flagged, censored, or shadow-banned for “tone.”
They don’t want real writers they want " content participants"
.
What’s wild is, they’ll still email you like some needy ex, pretending you’re “part of the family,” because every re-login helps their engagement metrics.
Yet, I still get their invites in my e-mail almost every single day email like some needy ex texting .
Play make-believe in a digital daycare full of fragile egos and corporate parasites pretending to be mentors..
I go on, and within hours I'm already in the moderator's office or the bad boy room, and they're telling me, oh, we gotta take this down. The most recent verbiage was archived. I've been archived. Yeah, like they're gonna save me, preserve me for later.
A rainy day. lol
..... ╭∩╮( ＾◡＾)╭∩╮
Oct 8, 2025
Oct 8, 2025 at 10:09 PM UTC
They appear in my inbox regularly, a couple times a year. I've grown accustomed to these clumsy, Google-Translated attempts at fraud and long stopped bothering to read them. But this time, when another message arrived via Facebook, I noticed something unusual—it was written, inexplicably, in Turkish. The instantly translated text—no longer via Google—clearly bore the hallmarks of neural network craftsmanship. Admittedly, it handles language with far more diligence than I do. Plus, Turkey—a pleasant geographical change of pace. Better than yet another message from Nigeria.
And then I remembered my favorite Stanisław Lem novel—The Investigation. In one episode, Ion Tichy amuses himself by making digital copies of consciousnesses—Bertrand Russell's, someone else's, and Shakespeare's, I think—chat with each other. My heart leaped with excitement. What had been pure science fiction in my parents' time had finally come to pass.
Just the other day, I even got a call from a recruiter offering me a job as an analyst. The role involved listening to dialogues between two neural networks about some topic or another—and trying to figure out why their conversation veered in whatever direction it did. To dispel my suspicions that he—this recruiter—might himself be a program, he brought up some recent news item, declaring that since he could discuss it, he couldn’t possibly be a bot. I confirmed that I believed he was human, given that his argument was obviously complete nonsense. Still, a lingering doubt remained—and, I’ll admit, a sliver of suspicion gnaws at me to this day.
So now, staring at this DM from a supposed Turkish bank employee—something distinctly alive and even willing to engage in dialogue—I decided the time had finally come to act and, like Ion Tichy, to plug something in somewhere, dump data into some system, lean back in my chair, and enjoy the results in the style of John Keats, mostly Byron, and—for the grand finale—Shakespeare. Just like in Lem's novel.
Mahadi Hasan:
From shores of ancient Bosphorus I write,
Mahadi Hasan Fysun my name, a banker, destiny's guide.
A tale I spin, of fortune's fading light,
And kindred souls, across the world's wide tide.
Adrian Polski, of your land, now gone,
In Istanbul, his golden trade he plied.
Nine million dollars, sleeping, till the dawn,
Deposited here, before his spirit sighed.
No kin he claimed, no loving hand to hold,
Alone he passed, by cruel pandemic's sting.
My bank knows not, their records yet unfold,
A slumbering treasure, ripe for harvesting.
Our names, dear George, a whispered symphony,
A chance encounter, woven by the Fates.
I offer partnership, transparently,
To claim this prize, before it dissipates.
Half shall be yours, a noble, rightful share,
Legal protection, from all harm and fear.
Let silence shroud us, as we take our share,
Respond with haste, my friend, the hour is near.
George Polskiy:
That fate divine arranged our meeting, I have doubt,
Though strange and wondrous paths our lives may tread.
A banker from the Bosporus, devout,
With tales of gold a long-dead soul has shed.
Nine million dollars, quite a hefty clout,
Unclaimed, forgotten, like a dream misled.
You seek a partner, honest, just, and true,
To share the spoils, a fifty-fifty view.
Alas, dear madam, your proposal grand,
While tempting fate with promises untold,
Falls flat upon this barren, weary land.
My heart is cold, my pockets lined with mold.
I've chased no fortune, joined no greedy band,
Nor traded virtue for a *** of gold.
Seek elsewhere, friend, for gullible kin.
Mahadi Hasan, go to hell, I mean.
Mahadi Hasan:
Fear not, dear friend, I mean no treachery,
My documents attest, this deal is pure and true,
A transparent pact, beneath an open sky,
And trust, the bridge we must together accrue.
Though many share your name, my heart can spy,
A noble spirit, one who sees this through.
This fortune, like a blessing, will descend,
Upon our houses, guided by my hand.
No legal labyrinth shall hinder our success,
My bank, with parchment scrolls, shall make all plain,
Ownership affirmed, before the funds progress,
To your account, where not a doubt shall remain.
Years spent in banking, grant me this finesse,
The rules and systems, I perceive their grain.
So trust my counsel, let no worry impede,
The bond we forge, where mutual trust we breed.
George Polskiy:
You claim no fraud, dear madam, 'tis your plea,
With documents galore, all legal and bright.
Transparency, you say, our guide and glee,
An umbrella of trust, to banish the night.
My name is common, true, but you chose me,
Guided by instinct, a beacon of light.
Your trust I'll not disrupt, a soul so grand,
This windfall's blessing, for yours and my hand.
But legal bridges, you say, hold no fright,
A banker seasoned, with wisdom profound.
Their rules and regulations he wields tight,
No cause for worry on a solid ground.
Yet trust, you see, is a fragile light,
And promises whispered, is a hollow sound.
So keep your millions and documents well,
I will not sleep with devil. Go to hell.
Conclusion:
Hark, facebook stranger, lend thine eery ear,
To this strange tale of greed and cunning art.
A banker from the East, with whispers clear,
Spins webs of deceit, to tear a soul apart.
With honeyed words and promises so grand,
She lures her prey, a stranger from afar,
With claims of kinship, and a helping hand,
To steal a fortune, hidden in a jar.
But he, though tempted by such dazzling prize,
Sees through her mask, her motives dark and low.
He spurns her offer, with a knowing guise,
And bids her seek a fool, where shadows grow.
For honesty and virtue hold more worth,
Than ill-gained riches, stolen from the earth.
Apr 3, 2025
Apr 3, 2025 at 11:49 AM UTC
Guys don't open any messages from sgg. In inbox please report as the message they send is linked to a virus. Please report and block so we can crack down on this asap.
Nov 20, 2024
Nov 20, 2024 at 3:41 PM UTC
I could never write
Anything remotely
As flawless as you do
So I'll fake it until
Someday I can find
Beauty in words too
Sep 10, 2024
Sep 10, 2024 at 7:06 AM UTC
Third Scam
A Top 5 publisher offered the writer a deal
He felt like he was cloud walking
Just for a few minutes till he found it
The part that said the writer had to pay
For his book to be published
This broke his set in stone rule
NEVER PAY TO BE PUBLISHED
Not in a competition or publisher
He asked his top level pro contacts
They advised what he felt in his gut
This is a well dressed up scam!
The third he’d been sent
He would get a real book deal
It took skill and hard work
That’s what made luck
Aug 19, 2024
Aug 19, 2024 at 8:49 AM UTC
love is a scam
I think we all know it
only takes, never gives
demands your whole life
without even a blink
we both know
we loved each other
and yet
you let fear take over
so we never were
you heart broke me
crying tears for you
that never should be
now I need to forget
you and all the memories
how long will it take this time
only the future knows
Jun 21, 2023
Jun 21, 2023 at 10:56 PM UTC
Crafty Waters lured the Captain
To the middle and the deep.
in the height of the hurricane,
It proceeded to speak.
"What do i matter to the birds
who exist between sky and tree?
These fish swim in my currents,
yet are unaware of me.
But for you, oh captain,
I'm everything you need me to be!
You have your ship, and your men,
and your lives at my mercy.
Today you will learn
you can't control the sea."
The dastardly Waters led him to believe,
In exchange for his life,
his crew would survive,
brief cessation from the culling winds,
and unabiding tides.
The captain decided then and there
To make the sacrificial dive.
But before he made a splash,
the hurricane came back
and claimed his crew.
A Sage Seagull swooped down
saying," dear Captain,
those Sneaky Waters lied to you."
The trusting captain stranded,
his ship capsized,
despair in his voice,
to the clever gull he cries.
"stoic grey winged beast,
with blackened,beady eyes,
what difference does it make to you,
if a captain dies?"
The apathetic gull got close
and in a whisper replies-
"we'll trade words for fish one day,
now, repeat as I say."
The captain certain it won't help,
but he spoke them, anyway.
"Proud Waters don't you gloat!
boast about how big you pretend to be.
your power buys our fear,
turning men into memories.
But my life holds your story!
I'll tell it, if you set me free.
Am I drowning in you...
or are you drowning in me?"
Returned home.
the Captain captured fish
for the seagull to eat.
And from his lips told a story
of his time out at sea.
Still new ships think they will prevail.
Distant from diminutive land,
sailors set sail dreaming of the safety
of a mundane harbor.
Unaware of the schemes
between the Shifty Seagull
and those Maniacal Waters.
-
Jun 12, 2023
Jun 12, 2023 at 12:01 AM UTC
So much hate on the plate
I would rather die myself
Than **** a comrade and label myself great
What's the point to investigate
When rapers don't get eliminate
Annihilate the citizens
While opening up the gates
To migrate in the state
Can't provide slate to educate
Fraud scams of digit eight
They have media on cheapskate
All they do is ******* scream nonsense on debates
Built a wall for President
Ashamed of the city that is contaminated
Isolate the bait
Death threat to judges and advocates
How can you expect justice from such dominants
Multiple locations were/are on communication break
Retaliate before it's too late
They don't even hesitate
To fabricate the history
Don't underestimate them
They have holy medicines based on **** cakes
Economy rate is falling down straight
Don't get frustrated of unemployment
Why are you upset??
"Mitroon" chill and meditate...
Mar 27, 2020
Mar 27, 2020 at 10:51 AM UTC
Ego doesn't start a war.
Greed does.
Blood for golden honey, dripping down the lips of rich men finding immortality in money.
Ego may cause a war.
Ego is the lie that the richer-by-the-second men craft so brilliantly
and sell to the masses.
We can understand the blooming bruises of ego, a human emotion to unite us into unspeakable horror.
When we take whatever reason they give us, the blindfold will only come off as the bullet shoots through.
Too late.
Far too late.
A warning for you, my poor worker bees:
Watch for the flow of honey.
Watch for the sting of the queen.
Mar 19, 2020
Mar 19, 2020 at 8:31 PM UTC
The Beatles are your jam,
I like pink Floyd.
I see the music scam,
Controlled and devoid!
My idols, once much loved,
Such talent, what sounds!
Their ***** hands once gloved,
Their lows know no bounds.
How epically great they are.
How cool and unique,
Each one such a shining star.
Now I see how they're weak.
They'll no doubt be exceptions,
Won't follow the the rule,
Most built on deceptions,
I'll sing and dance like a fool!
Can't unhear such lyrics,
Nor forget their beats.
Won't break into hysteria,
Nor allow such defeats.
To whom would I get my groove on?
What song would I belt?
Ok so it's all just such a con,
Songs I've grown up with and felt...
Feb 21, 2019
Feb 21, 2019 at 9:25 AM UTC
I want to save this Princess from Zimbabwe --
because she tells me it is my destiny,
and it is all in the email she sent me.
I want to save this Princess from Zimbabwe --
because she possesses many Riches,
and she has promised me all of them.
I want to save this Princess from Zimbabwe --
from her wretched uncle,
who will steal her wealth and lock her away.
I would save this Princess from Zimbabwe --
but she only needs my Government ID,
Bank Account and Social Security.
Dec 13, 2018
Dec 13, 2018 at 3:48 AM UTC
I have some aches that are not fiction
so my doctor wrote a prescription
She sent it to the pharmacy near
so I can get my mind adhered
I went to pick it up today
assured that all would be ok
The pharmacy tech was really nice
but said I had to pay full price
It seems as though I was denied
my insurance claimed the doctor lied
All I wanted was to feel better
but now i'm shackled to this fetter
I pay my premium; my budget festers
while the insurance company pays their investors
I guess i'll wait another year
insanity comes closer, I fear.
Sep 28, 2018
Sep 28, 2018 at 2:17 PM UTC
the pointless prophets they point out to us will eventually become the demons we run from in our sleep.
all it is, is how you see.
Feb 19, 2018
Feb 19, 2018 at 2:20 PM UTC
The Artless Artist …by Jessie 12/05
Art historians, Art Critics, Art Brokers and Dealers
Pompous bags of wind, inflating the sails of a ship that will never sail
Full of hype, full of themselves, full of crap
Turning nothing into something
Spewing toxic dribble from their mouths
Talking to hear themselves talk
Who is listening?
Impressing no one but themselves with their circular talk that leads no where
Believing they are on the cutting edge of creative thoughts
If you understand what they are saying, then you can’t possibly comprehend
If nothing they say makes sense, you are lifted to a higher plain of consciousness
Noses in the air, Merlot in a glass, and masks
Standing around; everyone stroking each other’s egos
Pretending to see into the artists mind
Hoping no one will figure them out
Afraid to question the other
Exposing the scam they have all created
Bold, brush strokes, color, composition, genius
Buzz words to throw around in crowed, snobbish circles
None are artists, but submerge themselves in art
Thinking they can create… if not the art…the artist
Misguided, and too blind to know it
Take away their ignorance and what do they have left?
The false façade of empty creativity
Feb 8, 2018
Feb 8, 2018 at 10:12 AM UTC
It's been heard I'm adequate with words
If only they knew,
they knew less
than the full
story
It's been said I'm blithe, articulate
I'm pleasant at that
That I have
and want not's
compensatory
transitory
In the end, I'm worth forlorn words, no more
In the end, my has-been charm goes dead weight
In the end, I'm your additive to the dull days
In the end, my gains come from a snake's tongue
In the end,
I'm nothing
but words
for reading
black lies
on the white light
of a flat screen
In the end,
I've nothing
but words
beneath me
beneath me
Beneath me twists and turns the caverns where my heart grows.
I call it art to your face, when I'm a broker by trade.
You won't know that you trade, you won't see that I sell myself.
You won't feel the hidden strings on your cervical
spine until you've given your food, four walls, window and door,
given your love to a dead duck scanning for escape.
Oct 21, 2017
Oct 21, 2017 at 2:42 PM UTC
You promised us you’d make the country great again
And that you would build a Mexican wall.
You said you’d make America bigly wonderful
And that you were the smartest of them all.
You said you’d keep the immigrants from coming
To take away our jobs and ruin our land.
You finally came around to getting rid of gays
Now that they are getting out of hand.
Scamboozled, that’s what we got.
We’re hoodwinked. By all the things you’re not.
Plum snookered by all your fancy words.
We’re still waiting for what we heard.
You said you’d fix the country with your knowledge
Of how business should be conducted.
So how come we are starting to feel
Like Russians came here and we’ve been abducted?
You promised you’d put the best minds to work
But you hired a bunch of babbling stupid clowns.
Watching your soap opera presidency
Has really begun to get a lot of us down.
Scamboozled, that’s what we got.
We’re hoodwinked. By all the things you’re not.
Plum snookered by all your fancy words.
We’re still waiting for what we heard.
You said you’d never take any vacations yourself
And be like that black guy you hate
But you have taken forty seven golfing weekends
And plan a two week vacation to date.
When you first got your self elected to the job
It looked like a new era was in reach.
Now I think I’ll join with the majority
And see if we can’t all get you impeached.
Scamboozled, that’s what we got.
We’re hoodwinked. By all the things you’re not.
Plum snookered by all your fancy words.
We’re still waiting for what we heard.
Aug 6, 2017
Aug 6, 2017 at 2:22 PM UTC
I’m not going to make money by
Creating some clever gadget.
That costs too much for advertising
To fit in my future budget.
I’m not going to write a book yet
Because they are hard to sell.
I decided against self-help seminars.
Sitting through those is hell.
I’m not going to learn hairdressing
So I can be a pricey hair ******
I’m not going to write recipes to show
A hundred ways to use a blender.
I ruled out auditioning for **** flicks
I’m far to shy for all that.
I won’t be trying to make viral videos
Of adorable fuzzy little cats.
You won’t be hearing any hit songs
Written by me, myself and I.
I can’t carry a tune and can’t rhyme
So, right away I won’t even try.
I can’t paint and I can’t draw at all
So, I won’t be a world-class artist.
I won’t become a rocket scientist
In math I was never the smartest.
I'm not going to start some con game
And leave them all in the lurch.
Well, in a manner of speaking I am,
Because I'm starting a church.
I’ll spend tons of money on my home
And make a big flashy cathedral
Then spend lots of time bragging
How it’s all so very spiritual.
People will send me lots of cash thinking.
That will get them into heaven.
I’ll make more money selling God to them
Than owning a thousand 7-11s.
I’ll only need to convince my followers that
I have the get-out-of-hell-free card;
That I am the path to understanding God
And that just can’t be that hard.
Jan 2, 2017
Jan 2, 2017 at 6:02 AM UTC
I am glad I lived this long
So I could be on the internet.
I always wanted a ****** life
And though I haven’t got there yet
I am close, I can see it now
Throngs and hordes of ***** people;
Hundreds want to ****** me.
Several sites want to enlarge me,
I blush, nobody wants to reduce me.
I get fifty or so messages a day
Telling me how hot they are.
They treat me like I am a king
Or a kind of ****** superstar.
Calling me like sirens on rocks
They do, at least, until I get
To the part where I must pay
To get laid on the internet.
I have asked enough questions
Some of them embarrassing
To get the idea and understand
Why it’s me they are harassing.
By even clicking on their site
I’ve proved that I am a fool.
They say to themselves, I’m sure
“Will you look at this gullible tool?
Oh, and the promises they make!
They will rock my world with a word.
They will tell me the hottest things
That a schmuck like me ever heard.
But to clear the air, when they ask
For card numbers I don’t make a peep.
I am as ***** as a drunken rabbit
But first and foremost, I am cheap.
Dec 7, 2015
Dec 7, 2015 at 1:13 AM UTC
He came to me with a cry of help
in his voice and his demeanor,
I felt a feeling too dreaded
Empathy
So lost on human souls that it is weakness
I listened to his tale
an accident,
a sister in need
I went with him, understanding coursing through my foolish mind
And we walked
And we waited
And we parted
Later, after I had recounted my story to others
I had learned
Scandal, lies,
a robbery
I had lost everything and more
The good deed I had committed was a lie,
a farce
I had helped him and been ravaged
My empathy and understanding
filled instead with pure rage
I had been nice
I would no longer
and if I saw him again
well, nothing…...
Nov 17, 2015
Nov 17, 2015 at 2:40 AM UTC
Freezing Moon by the stereo
and as a bed poet
I'm takin' a ****
*Did you know about that guy
who slit his wrist… on this?* she says.
No; Martha, Jessica, Julia: but still…
Here, alone, with the MacBook Air
- or was it Pro? Nevertheless,
an useless tool for worthless ****
**** Pr0n, Pony - ************
Here, alone, I and only I writes with the capital I.
And after the **** has gone
it feeds the air with oriental glams of leprosy:
and after a long working day I am not afraid,
watching its face, as I'm flushing it in the toilet
just like all the bitches' poetries @ Home-Poetry.
Oct 27, 2015
Oct 27, 2015 at 5:02 PM UTC
There are ladies on the internet
Who are offering me joy.
They say they can transform me
To a man instead of a boy.
Another guy has promised me
A massive ***** size.
I’m not sure I am comfortable
To that talk from a guy.
Another woman from Nigeria
Said her husband has died
With a bank account chock full
Of Krugerands inside.
All they want from me they say
Is a check for one grand
And they will put half of the gold
Into my greedy hand.
Now, that and the ***** ladies
They say live near my place
Are part of what the internet
Pushes daily into my face.
But I have become smarter now
And I fully understand
That buxom comely lass is really
A fifty five year-old man.
Bill Gates will not be sending me
A lifetime Disney Park pass.
And there are no fifty dollar diamonds,
They are all made of glass.
There is no secret bank account
In Nigeria, I truly feel.
But that pill that makes my ***** grow?
Now that, I am sure, is real.
Oct 21, 2015
Oct 21, 2015 at 9:57 PM UTC