Saturday Night In The Spam Bin

Casting about for a topic, much like a puppy scampering after a lief blown in the wind (it’s a Norwegian puppy, apparently), I spy with my little eye a note from WordPress that informs me “there are 444 comments in the spam folder.”

Oh? Really. Surely there must be some true gems of wisdom in there to admire as I listen to the “Saturday Night Safety Dance” on SiriusXM. TURNED UP REALLY LOUD!!

(Right now it’s Annie Lennox & The Eurythmics, “Sweet Dreams“)

Kaitlynn says, “Do not push me.”

No context for you, says Kaitlynn! She sounds like she’s on the edge, ready to snap. One wonders if her alarm clock failed to go off this morning, leaving her to run off to work without coffee or a shower, only to find once she got there that she was being assigned to a twelve hours shift without bathroom breaks in customer service and returns on the day after Christmas when every unhappy consumer in South Gloustenberry is trying to exchange or return whatever crap their mother-in-law saw fit to re-gift or dump on them.

This has been mere speculation.

(“Oh, Yeah!” by Yello is now blasting through my office. My head is bobbing.)

“Helpful info. Fortunate me I discovered your website by accident, and I am surprised why this twist of fate did not took place in advance! I bookmarked it,” says Beatrice.

Beatrice sings the siren song of poor grammar in spam, but not because she (or, more precisely, her cheap, black market, Nigerian software) speaks lousy English. No, Beatrice is playing the long con. She wants you to think that she’s ignorant. But we know that she’s not. However, she bookmarked this site – see, it says so right there. So now she knows that we know. But we know that she knows that we know. Except that she knows that we know that she knows that we know. Which is extremely clever of us, because we know that she knows that… Oh, hell, Beatrice is just a lonely old lady in Ogaminan, hanging around the official post office, looking for a good time on a Saturday night. Just like you and me.

(“Love Shack!” Love shack, baby!)

According to Glinda, “Excellent goods from you, man. I have understand your stuff previous to and you are just extremely excellent. I actually like what you’ve acquired here, certainly like what you are stating and the way in which you say it. You make it enjoyable and you still care for to keep it sensible. I can not wait to read far more from you. This is actually a great website.” Well, she’s got that last part right. And I do care for to keep it sensible. “Extremely excellent”? Well, duh! It’s no wonder that Glinda is a wise and good witch. But I’ve always thought she was a real sanctimonious bitch for not telling Dorothy about the powers in the Ruby Slippers earlier. “You had to learn for yourself” my ass, how ’bout a little help here?

(“Take On Me” by A-ha. One of the best, still love that rotoscoped animation!)

Annette wants us to know, “The larger the pipeline, the larger the water sprinkles will certainly be. Remember that beyond the hookah shaft is often constructed of a steel that could rust.” I hate it when my hookah shaft rusts. I will now be indebted to Annette for life because she has warned me about this hazard. (No, my old hookah hasn’t rusted, working just fine, thanks, no problems, none at all, not that I think about it much and it’s not a euphemism damn it, why do you ask?)

(“Dead Man’s Party” by Oingo Boingo! I am filled with sorrow that I never got to see Boingo live. Sigh…)

Shanel says, “They can be just as important as the medical side of things. In order to save money on your air travel, you can opt to buy tickets for a roundabout trip. With a size twice that of Manhattan island, the asteroid was first discovered by Gustav Witt on August 13, 1898.” Shanel seems to have been smoking some seriously weird shit. Either that, or she didn’t listen to Annette and now her hookah shaft has rusted. Shanel seems a bit unfocused. But we’ll have to remember to throw a 118th birthday party for that asteroid next August 13th.

(“I Melt With You” by Modern English is up, the Bass Meltdown Mix. I mean, what ELSE would you play in the Saturday Night Safety Dance?! C’mon, hum along with the bridge!)

“Though cats are generally sociable dogs, not every guy lives easily with a associate. A few like a solo living.” That’s what Cleveland Browns Apparel has to say. Obviously, Cleveland Browns Apparel is so depressed about the butt-kicking her team is going to get tomorrow by my beloved Kansas City Chiefs that she’s started drinking so heavily that she can’t tell the difference between cats and dogs. I’m guessing that she’s living solo, whether she likes it or not.

I do wonder why almost all of the spam messages come with female names if they don’t have some sort of sales pitch for a name. “Michael Kors Handbags” is not an account ID that’s going to discourage a belief that your message is spam. Every single other one that I see uses a female name. Rowena. Valerie. Freda. Jacquetta. Deborah. Carla. Mary. Susan. Reno. Cathy. Vicki. Kamela.


(The really, REALLY Not Safe For Work Unedited Version of “Eighty-Eight Lines About Forty-Four Women” comes on as I start to realize that Shanel and Annette may have been a bad influence on me tonight. The universe might be messing with my head. Or vice versa. Wow, man, look at all of the colors! Farm house!)

Fade to black. Delete all in spam queue.


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