Last Friday, as I was playing in the sandbox with my grandson, I began receiving calls and texts on my cellphone like the world had just learned I had won the Powerball lottery. That old Nokia was vibrating like an angry rattler and once I figured out how to bring up the text messages, I discovered some PC-pecking scum bucket in Nigeria had hacked into my email account. I don’t know how he did it but that yellow-livered septic sucker opened my address book and mailed an email to each and every soul in my contact list. Allow me to share some of this message with you fine folks, and disregard the misspelled words and poor grammar. This hacker isn’t the sharpest crayon in the box and is probably still upset he wasn’t allowed to attend his own sixth-grade graduation ceremony. So, here’s a sample of his email: “My family and I had a trip visiting Madrid Spain, everything was going on fine until last night when we got attacked by some unknown gunmen. All our money, phones and credit cards was stolen away including some valuable items…” Oh, it goes on about reporting the robbery to the police and my unsuccessful attempt to get the U.S. consulate to help us get back home. So, if any or all of my friends and family could mail $1000 (in euros, no less) to some foreign address, then my poor family could return home. Hmm, I wonder why my peeps began to call me instead of rushing to their banks and making a withdrawal of 1000 buckeroos? Was there something illogical about this hacked email that left everyone scratching their heads, except for my little brother who prefers to scratch his butt instead? First of all, anyone who has ever received a letter from me or had the misfortune of reading my view from the Crow’s Nest knows I have a way with words, a peculiar flair of cooking up sentences southern-style topped with country-fried colloquialism. Sure, I take some liberties with the English language, but seeing misspelled words and improper punctuation sends gritty sand down my drawers. Poor penmanship simply chaps my hide and most of my friends know this. So seeing the word “please” spelled with three “e”s tipped off some folks right away. The second mistake this ill-informed webworm made that suggested this email might be fraudulent was the part about me being in Madrid, Spain. Why the heck would I ever go to Spain? I hear the rain in Spain falls mostly in the plains, but other than that, I don’t know much about that country and have no reason to visit. I sure wouldn’t spend thousands to take my entire family to Madrid just to sample the cuisine, not when there’s delicious Mexican food just ten minutes from our house. The third strike against this nerdy nitwit successfully pulling off this scam was his request for euros. Really? Euros? Dude, what kind of friends do you think I have? My kinfolks are true Texans, my in-laws are living in the Carolinas, and many of my friends are lodged in the hills of Tennessee. Do you really think they have a wad of European currency stuffed under their mattresses? Most of them probably think a euro is a tiny green-breasted bird that makes a fine appetizer when breaded and fried. I’m not angry at this pea-brained, cryptorchid cretin for mailing out absurd emails from my Yahoo account to all my friends and family, begging for money to purchase a new inflatable housemate. All those calls to my cellphone did take my attention away from building sandcastles, but that didn’t make me mad. What really lit my fuse was discovering my entire Yahoo address book was deleted by this sorry sack of hyena crap. I had thousands of email addresses, okay maybe 11 if you count Amazon.com and cheapliquor.net that were stolen from me. I have been able to retrieve most of them, and I have a new email account, but that doesn’t mean I can’t carry a grudge against some low-life computer hacker. There’s a saying around these parts, well maybe just out here on the Crow’s Nest that goes like this: Hell hath no fury like a writer scorned. But I am a forgiving sort, known to drop my drawers and turn the other cheek to those who have transgressed upon me. So, to the poor, misguided, laptop-totin’ lad over in Africa who messed with Texas, I wish you the best, and allow me to extend this wish to you: May all your dawns appear bright and your sunsets beautiful, but for the hours between, may your bowels be filled with molten lava. A scorned Clint Younts is not a pretty sight. He can probably be seen running through the pasture, screaming words at his nit-witted, scum bucket of a hacker.