Nathan Wilks

Nathan Wilks is a 38-year-old financial advisor who lives in Naperville, IL. Please feel free to google him, send him an email (as I did), and go to his home or place of work to learn more about him. I am using Nathan's real name because this motherfucker was brazen enough to use his real name in his efforts to cheat on his wife and scam my friend, Juanita, out of $100,000. He was semi-successful in his cheating and unsuccessful in his scamming.

Nathan, if you wanna anonymously do some shady shit when you’re on vacation in Thailand, be my guest. But if you’re gonna recklessly put your entire self out there, then I’m gonna put you out there too.

Juanita (not her real name) is a 45-year old project manager who lives in Glenview, IL. She spends time on various dating apps and recently met Nathan on Tinder. Juanita is divorced, has three children with two different dudes, and is therefore not the best judge of character when it comes to men. However, there will be no victim-shaming here and, as you will see, Juanita figured out that Nathan Wilks is a lying scumbag well before it was too late.

In April, Juanita and Nathan match on Tinder. His profile states that he is “looking for a relationship” and Nathan tells Juanita that he got divorced a couple of years ago. They eventually decide to meet for brunch at Egg Harbor in Oak Brook at 11am on a Thursday.

Juanita is impressed: Nathan is 6’2, physically fit, and handsome. After a few minutes, Nathan asks Juanita if she is on LinkedIn. Juanita says yes, and Nathan takes out his phone and invites Juanita to connect. Juanita figures Nathan is just networking, as financial advisors often do.

Nathan tells Juanita he is currently launching his own investment bank and that he’s very busy these days. He wonders, however, if Juanita would like to go on a “proper date" and asks what she is doing in the next few days. Juanita is enjoying her bacon, egg, and potato breakfast skillet and generally enjoying Nathan’s company, but she has two other dates planned, so she rainchecks.

After a week or two of underwhelming texts from Nathan (“Good morning!”, “How was your day?”, etc.), they set a date for a Wednesday night at J. Alexander’s, a contemporary American restaurant near Juanita’s house. Juanita appreciates that Nathan is coming all the way from Naperville.

The date goes well. Juanita is wearing her usual first-date outfit: jeans and a black v-neck which shows off her cleavage. Nathan is wearing a suit with a white shirt and a purple tie, which brings out the purple in his stylish tweed jacket. They sit at dinner for three hours, Juanita gets the prime rib, and they both drink old-fashioned’s.

J. Alexander’s closes at 10pm and there’s nowhere to go in Glenview, so Juanita invites Nathan back to her house. They have another drink, make out a little, and he leaves. Nathan is a good kisser and behaves like a gentleman.

Juanita and Nathan begin texting more frequently and Nathan seems more interested. They try to set up another date but Nathan says he is still very busy with the launch of his company. He is unable to make plans in advance and sometimes says “maybe tomorrow for lunch.” He also says that he can’t ever go out on weekends because his ex-wife has the kids during the week and he has them all weekend.

Nathan, I know of a lot of set-ups for divorced people, and this is not one of them. No dad takes his kids all weekend every weekend. Lie better.

Nathan offers to meet for a happy hour during the week. He again drives to Juanita, they meet at a bar for a little while, and Nathan bounces. Juanita thinks, “You drove all the way to Glenview during rush hour to hang out for less than an hour? Weird.”

Though Juanita would prefer to actually get together in person, they continue to text. Nathan shares details about his childhood: He’s from the South Side of Chicago, his mother was a crackhead, his brother spent time in jail, and he experienced homelessness.

Nathan, that’s some sad shit so, in this case, I actually hope you’re lying about some or all of it.

Nathan invites Juanita to invest in his business. Though Juanita knows there is no way in hell she is going to invest, she asks how many partners Nathan has, what the minimum investment is, and what the expected return is.

Nathan is dead serious about getting Juanita to invest; Juanita is not. She says, “You think I’m gonna give 100k to some dude I met on Tinder? Do I look like a crazy person?” She sends Nathan a link for the The Tinder Swindler. She gives Nathan her email but says that if he asks for her SSN, she’s out. 

She jokes, “Ok, I’m in. I give you 100k and then what happens?”

He says, “We meet up for dinner, we pop some champagne, and we go on a trip to celebrate.”

“Where?”

“Alaska!”

“Alaska?!? So you can push me off a cliff and keep my 100k? Fuck that. I just saw that story on Dateline!”

Nathan keeps coming on strong. He texts Juanita every day and starts calling her “babe.” They’re still trying to meet up for another date. Juanita’s daughter comes home from college, so she offers to go to his house. He responds, “Oh, I don’t know. My house isn’t very clean.”

Nathan, BRO, you’ve put yourself on Tinder and created this entire scheming lifestyle, but this is the best you can come up with? How about your house is being renovated or you have family in town? How about anything other than your house being dirty? If you’re gonna be this big of a bastard, you better up your game.

Juanita is now suspicious as fuck. First of all, this conversation occurred on a Monday and they were talking about going out later that week, so how does Nathan not have time to clean up his house? Second, if Nathan is really an investment banker, how does he not have a cleaning lady? Third, neither Juanita nor you nor I has ever met a man who wouldn’t leap at the offer of a woman to come to his house.

So Juanita says, “Look man. We’re not going out again until I see your place. Period.”

Nathan invites Juanita over for lunch on a Sunday. She pulls into the driveway and the house looks shabby. She meets Nathan at the door and he makes an off-hand comment about the lock-box on the door. He says he keeps it there in case his ex-wife needs to come by.

Nathan gives Juanita a tour. The house is kind of a mess with mismatched, outdated furniture. It feels sparse and neglected, especially for an investment banker. Nathan says this is the house that he and his ex-wife bought years ago when their kids were little. There are no women’s clothes in the closets, but Juanita feels very suspicious.

They go to lunch and, after 20 minutes, Nathan says he has to go pick up his kids. Juanita is confused. Nathan said he had dropped off his kids before she got there, so why would he need to go pick them up so soon? Jaunita is annoyed. She drove all the way out to Naperville for this?

Juanita gets home and immediately googles his address. She quickly discovers that the house is for rent beginning on May 15th. It is May 8th at this point. She also discovers that Nathan is not the owner of the house; he’s a renter.

Juanita looks up divorce records in Cook County and surrounding counties. There is no divorce record for Nathan Wilks and she presumes that Nathan is still married.

Juanita goes on Facebook and finds Nathan’s wife. Her profile states that she is married and there are recent pictures of her, her kids, and Nathan.

Juanita enters the Facebook group, “Are we dating the same guy?”, which she has successfully used before (and which was recently banned in Chicago because so many guys complained about it). Sure enough, Nathan is on there and someone has posted that he is married with kids and has attempted to con numerous people out of money.

In the meantime, Nathan has texted Juanita a couple of times and she hasn't responded. He writes, “What’s your deal?”

Juanita responds, “When are you moving?”

“What are you talking about?”

“Your house is listed for rent. I’m surprised you don’t know that.”

“Oh, it’s been for rent for a while. Bla bla bla. Bullshit bullshit bullshit.”

“Lies. You don’t even own that house.”

Silence.

Juanita finishes, “Are you done clowning now? 🤡”

Nathan, do I understand the desire to have sex with other women? Sure. But what I don’t understand is how you can put your entire personal and professional life at risk. What if Juanita (who, lucky for you, decided she has better things to do than fuck your shit up) had DM’d your wife, poured sheep's blood on your desk at work, or stood outside your kids’ school with a sign that said CHEATING ASSHOLE? You either hate your life and are subconsciously trying to self-sabotage or you’re just the stupidest motherfucker I’ve ever heard of. Best of luck to you.

I Wish Damar Hamlin Had Died

In a perfunctory, guilt-ridden spectacle, the entire world offered its "thoughts and prayers" to Buffalo Bills player Damar Hamlin back in January after he nearly died on a football field. It appears that millions upon millions of people genuinely love Damar Hamlin and care about his well-being.

I don't.

Hamlin suffered cardiac arrest after a vicious collision with a player on the other team. But I don't care about Hamlin's heart. I care about the hearts of the 400,000 Americans who die from cardiac arrest every year, most of whom suffered from heart disease due to the build-up of cholestrol and plaque inside the lining of the coronary arteries. The primary cause of this plaque build-up? Obesity. That's right; I care about those who suffer from the disease that affects 40% of Americans and is the #1 killer in our country.

Actually, I don't really care about them either.

I care about Micah Hyde, the player Hamlin replaced in the Bills line-up after Hyde himself suffered a season-ending neck injury. There are approximately 100 neck injuries in the NFL every year, and if you google Reggie Brown, Dennis Byrd, Mike Utley, etc., you can read all about the awful, appalling, atrocious paralyses and near-death experiences that occur regularly in the National Football League of Lawlessness.

I don't actually care about Micah Hyde. I'd never heard of him until recently. But I do care about Dane Jackson, yet another Bills player who was carted off the football field in an ambulance after a scary neck injury about one hour before Hyde's injury.

Just kidding, I don't care about Hyde or Jackson. I care about the real problem in the NFL which isn't neck injuries; it’s CTE (chronic traumatic encephalopathy), a neurological disease resulting from repeated trauma to the head. A 2017 Boston University study found that 99% of brains from deceased NFL players were positive for CTE. In 2013, more than 4,000 former players sued the league, which ultimately settled for $765 million. That was nice, but I still feel nauseated when I think about former NFL player Junior Seau who committed suicide by shooting himself in the heart, presumably so his brain could be used for research on CTE.

The more I think about it though, the less I care about all the players who suffer and suffered from CTE. I mean, these guys chose to play in the league, right? They chose to play a violent sport and they chose to put themselves in harm's way. They knew the risks. Screw them. Everyone knows how dangerous football is. They shoulda known better. 

Damar Hamlin definitely shoulda known better. Hamlin was born in 1998 in cosmopolitan Pittsburgh, went to a reputable Catholic high school, and ultimately attended the University of Pittsburgh, a hub of learning and research.

The thing is though, zero people were talking about football players and CTE in 1998, and Hamlin was actually born and raised in McKees Rocks (part of the Pittsburgh metropolitan area), which had a median household income of $22,278 in 2010. When Hamlin was a kid, his dad spent three years in jail for selling drugs and three of his friends died from gun violence. So let's just say that neurological trauma was the furthest thing from Hamlin's mind and football may have seemed like one of the only ways out.

Still though, when Hamlin first put on a helmet, he must have known the risks. He must have known about the concussions, the neck injuries, the spinal injuries, the paralysis, the CTE, and the disproportionate share of former NFL players who commit suicide. He must have known, right?

Fuck no, he didn't know. And neither did Micah Hyde, Dane Jackson, or Junior Seau. Or any other current and former NFL player when they were six years old and made their first tackle. 

You know who else didn't know? Heisman trophy winner and former NFL All-Pro Bo Jackson. Remember him? "Bo knows football. Bo knows baseball. Bo knows..." 

In 2017, Bo Jackson said that if he had known about the risks associated with CTE, he never would have played football and that there's no way he would allow his kids to play today.

No, I don't wish Damar Hamlin had died. But if he had, I would hope that a silver lining of his death might be that you, the casual NFL fan, might reevaluate your life choices and decide not to put your eyeballs on the modern-day version of Roman gladiators.

I know 40-yard touchdown passes are exciting and that the Cowboys cheerleaders are pleasant to look at, but the NFL is, quite literally, killing people. Perhaps if Hamlin had died, he would have whispered, in his dying breath, "Are you not entertained?!?"