PFISHING WITH THE INTERNET

I reckon this here new computer sittin in the dinin room is gonna ruin my life. It's done got a head start.

It all began when that banker feller, Harless, called me in to ask what was I doin trying to draw out one. Hundred. Thousand. Dollars? He said it like that and I said:

"Are you off your gourd or your meds? What would I do with that much money? And if I got all that loot in this bank a yours you damn well better start talkin so's I can get it out."

Well the next thing I knowed I was bein interrogated by that id-jit Sheriff's Deputy, Cooter Ray. Says he might have to haul me to the Iron Bar Hotel for bank fraud if I couldn't explain my way outta this.

Well, hearin that, I listened to Harless a might closer. Turns out someone out there in Cyber Space done went and stole my identification. "Cyber Space" was Harless's words. I reckon he's all ga-ga over space aliens and UFOs. But I just smiled and kept on listening.

Anyways, just to shut him up, I showed him my i.d. just to prove I still had it. Sides, his whiny voice was wearin my patience to the nub. But, Nooooo. He kept on a goin.

"Seems you were a victim of an on-line crime," he was sayin while Cooter Ray nodded his head and grinnin like they was in on some private joke. Then he said someone used a website -- Jeez where are these fellers from -- a looney bin or what? -- and then, as if that weren't weird enough Harless said someone actually fished all my vital information.

"So, just tell me, how can someone fish with a line from space into a web? And why?"

"Fished, Mr Gravis. P-F-I-S-H-E-D. Fished."

Okay, so he's looney and he can't spell. I got no problem with a banker what's a little nuts. Happens in every family. But if he's gonna keep up with my loot he'd better damn well know how to spell F-I-S-H.

"Seems you or someone in your household went to a website called "Goggle" and they were given all your credit card numbers, bank account number, and, well, all your numbers."

Well I knew who that was. My live-in-boss. She's got all my numbers for certain. So once I talked my way outta all that banking scandal I went straight home for some answers.

That's when things got real confusin.

While I was tryin to tell the new Queen of the Computer about what happened she was peckin away on that keyboard with one finger like a starved chicken. All the while talkin about how all the other womenfolk in that Garden Club had computers and were buyin stuff super cheap. "Bargain Gushers", she called them.

"I was told to go to Google and type in what I wanted and I'd find it right quick like. See!"

She was pointin to a "page" which isn't a page at all on her "desk top" which is really a kinda TV screen sittin on top a the dining room table. And there it was. Googel.

"Honey, that don't spell Google. That's Googel. Google is spelt G-O-O-G-L-E. Here, see, Harles wrote it down for me."

So when she opens up a new "window" -- which isn't like any window I've seen -- types in Google the same lookin page show up. But there, when you "search" for something you ain't lost, it doesn't ask for your life history from the get go.

So now all I gotta do is change the numbers on my bank account, telle phone, one tapped-out credit card, our home address, driver's license and social security card.

Or... I could just go to the Bar None Bar and Bar-B-Q round up auto graphs for my petition to shut down that "Garden Club", and see if anyone is interested in a barely used computer, and maybe get a lead on a good marriage counselor. There's bound to be a passel of em in town.