The Wallet Trick and Bob’s Mighty Secret

Back in my Black Hat days, I had a favorite party trick. It wasn’t pulling a quarter from behind someone’s ear or guessing their card from a shuffled deck—no, my trick was predicting passwords. Specifically, I used to brag that I could guess a person’s password just by looking at the contents of their wallet. It wasn’t a magic act, though some people thought it was. It was just a matter of knowing how people think, how they tie their security to things familiar to them, and, frankly, how lazy most people are when it comes to passwords.

One night, I was at a bar with a group of friends, and the topic of hacking came up. I made my usual claim, and as expected, the table erupted in laughter and skepticism.

“Come on,” one guy scoffed. “There’s no way you can get my password from my wallet.”

I smirked and took a sip of my drink. “Bet you I can get close,” I said. “People are predictable. Most folks use things they see every day—names, birthdays, their favorite brand, their dog’s name. Give me your wallet, and I’ll make an educated guess.”

At that moment, my buddy Bob, sitting across from me, suddenly got very quiet. His face went pale, and he started shifting in his seat.

I raised an eyebrow. “Bob?”

He swallowed hard. “Uh… yeah?”

“You look a little uncomfortable.”

“N-no, I’m fine,” he said, not fine at all.

I leaned forward, resting my elbows on the table. “Bob, buddy, let me see your wallet.”

Bob hesitated, then reluctantly pulled his battered leather wallet from his back pocket and handed it over like he was handing me a loaded gun.

I flipped it open and rifled through the usual suspects—credit cards, an old movie stub, a folded-up receipt from a McDonald’s run. And then I found it. A yellow Post-it note, tucked neatly into one of the card slots.

I pulled it out, unfolded it, and immediately burst into laughter.

Scrawled in Bob’s unmistakable chicken scratch was:

Login: [email protected]
Password: mightypenis6969

I swear to God, I nearly choked on my drink. The whole table went silent for a beat, and then the roar of laughter shook the bar. Bob turned about six different shades of red.

“You absolute legend,” I gasped between wheezes. “Dude, what the hell?”

Bob snatched the note back, crumpling it in his fist. “It’s a strong password!” he protested.

“Yeah, Bob, it’s mighty alright,” someone quipped.

I wiped a tear from my eye. “Okay, but why the hell do you have it written down in your wallet?”

Bob sighed, utterly defeated. “I kept forgetting it, alright?”

“And yet,” I said, leaning back in my chair, “you still somehow managed to make it even worse by literally carrying your login credentials around like a business card.”

The laughter went on for a good five minutes. Bob tried to play it cool, but he knew he’d never live it down.

And Bob if you still using mightypenis6969 it’s time to change.