James Veitch

My hobbies are playing piano and guitar, pining for girls, worrying about climate change, pining for girls, and the poetry of John Keats.

People say we live in an age of information overload. Right? I don't know about that, but I just know that I get too many marketing emails.

I went to see my mother the other day, and she told me this story that I'd completely forgotten about how, when we were driving together, she would pull the car over, and by the time she had gotten out of the car, and gone around the car to let me out of the car, I would have already gotten out of the car and pretended to have died.

That's the worst health condition you can have, not being alive.

Crazy stuff happens when you start replying to scam emails. It's really difficult, and I highly recommend we do it.

I remember it when I used to go out, I used to dress as Superman, but then I used to dress as Superman dressed as Clark Kent. So, actually, I would be like a little seven-year-old boy going out in a business suit. But I would never expose the fact that I was Superman, but I knew, that should there be any trouble, I could take care of it.

Some of the best scams that you get are the ones that pretend to come from friends of yours, because you can just say anything you want, because a scammer has no idea about your relationship with that person.

A lot of people see scammers as, like, just one guy in a basement with his computer, but actually, I think it's probably almost kind of a call centre.

I get a ton of scam emails. But instead of deleting them, I decided to hit reply.

You can succeed as a terrible director, but try doing that with stand-up: try being a terrible comedian and getting up on stage. The funny will win out very, very quickly.

I do bits about dating but mainly about what I did and how incompetent I am, not any genuine people writing to me.

I just feel so upset when I think of all the lost years when I could have been doing stand-up gigs.

The Internet gave us access to everything; but it also gave everything access to us.

I'd really like to be able to whistle with two fingers. Is this a biological thing? Is it to do with the teeth? Who teaches people to do this? How do I learn?

I suspect I wasn't loved enough as a child.

I had an awkward moment when I got a phone call from the person pretending to be Winnie Mandela. 'Winnie' sounded about 12 years old, unfortunately - she'd probably been pushed to the telephone because she was the only one who spoke English.

I've sent thousands of emails - the conversations in the book are just the success stories.

I woke up one morning to an email from my friend Alex that said she'd had her bag stolen. Ordinarily, I'm quite quick on the uptake, but - maybe because of the way it was worded - I immediately replied, 'What??????' As soon as I hit send, I realised I was being scammed. But then they replied, and I thought, 'Well, why not?'

I think of the spam folder not as Pandora's box but as a costume shop in which you can play and play at being whoever and whatever you wish. If only for a time.

Don't get me wrong - I don't want to be mean to the scammers. There are lots of people online who do that. I'm content merely having fun inventing, and I figure any time they're spending with me is time in which they're not scamming vulnerable adults out of their savings.

Most scams are absurd - so absurd that one wonders how anyone falls for them at all; yet if no one falls for them, how do the scammers make money?

I know some people whose father has basically spent their whole inheritance on scammers. He's old; he wants to feel important, like he's doing business, so he goes to his bank and pays out - it's terrifying.

The marooned friend is one of the best-known scams, principally because it's the one that dodges the spam filter most often. It comes from someone you know but often only tangentially. It's since become - hands down - one of my favourite scams.

Just remember: if ever you feel weighed down by the bureaucracy and often mundanity of modern life, don't fight the frustration. Let it be the catalyst for whimsy.