You never forget your first Nigerian Prince. From the desk of a barrister named Art Vandewald, His Royal Highness himself has sent you, of all people, a distress e-mail, urging you to send help in the form of a nominal bank wire. You’re his last and only hope, and in return for that kindness, he’ll reward you handsomely… when he surely gets out of his temporary bind.

In the early days of the Internet, hapless princes all seemed to have secret fortunes, but the Nigerian variant was the wealthiest and most generous of all. Of course, he was nothing more than the latest incarnation of a century’s old scam, one that had circled the world and back, but he was effective because he preyed on one of our greatest weaknesses: greed.

But he’s losing his charms.

The technology that once brought him to life is now thwarting his distress messages, but more importantly, we’ve simply grown tired of him — he always asking for favors. So con artists are adapting the beloved Prince to infiltrate our most intimate social circles. It’s Spam 2.0: the Prince is getting a makeover. . . . . . . . . . . . .
The Nigerian Prince used the same basic premise as the “Spanish Prisoner” scam from 400 years back: a Marquis in the French Revolution, a soldier in the Spanish-American War or our Nigerian friend in modern times asks for a small wire. Then, in exchange for your kindness, he promises to give you a piece of his fortune, in the form of frozen bank accounts, Cuban gold or gems buried on a Parisian estate.

The cons work because deep down, we’re greedy. We also believe that where there’s turmoil — during a revolution or war or, in the case of Nigeria, a country whose government is up for grabs — people can make out like bandits. And maybe, this one time, it can be us.

[size=18pt]“There would be no 419 scam if there are no greedy, credulous and criminally-minded victims ready to reap where they did not sow,”[/size] said a spokesman for the Nigerian Embassy in Washington.

But once you take the bait, of course, unexpected delays start popping up, problems that need you to send more money to solve. “The longer you play along, the more you fall prey to what economists call the ‘sunk cost fallacy. . . .. .


http://techland.time.com/2013/07/03/the-nigerian-prince-and-the-valley-girl/