Thursday, November 30, 2006

My Annual Spam Rant

Papenfus C. Coakley is concerned about the size of my penis.

I don't know if Papenfuss C. Coakley is a man, a woman or some mad puppet cousin to H.R. Puffenstuff. I somehow imagine Papenfuss as a stern looking Nurse Diesel type with a clipboard and a ruler, passing judgment on my manly endowment with a rude look and proclaiming, "Why you no hung horse boy!!!" in jarring and broken English.

Alberta Golidupi is intent on selling me "Quality Refinement For Men And Ladies". What this means I have no idea, as Alberta's message is a mass of Hangul characters that I have no hope of deciphering.

Perhaps Alberta is a friend of Papenfus and the other ten thousand people who seem to think that my present girth is insufficient "FOR SATISFI YOUR LADIE FRIENDS".

And then there's DALTON SHERRON who has announced that I FOUND THE JACKPOT, eschewing all forms of internet decorum by SCREAMING his message about replica Rolex watches.

Everything's gone on-line, and I don't like it. I remember the days when if you wanted to purchase stolen goods, male anatomy enhancements or cheap Vietnamese Gucci knockoffs (and who hasn't?) you had to go downtown and hit up a guy down in The Nickel and hope he didn't shiv you when you handed over your five bucks.

What happened to the good old days where a stoner in a white van would drive up to your car and ask if you wanted to buy some speakers? You want that kind of service these days you have to go to the third world. And there's that whole mess of dealing with black market currency exchangers because there's always a run on the bank and only the criminals have any cash.

Knew a guy from Bangkok once, named Bunbah. Import / Export business. Nice guy. Firm handshake. Too many teeth. Smuggled gold out of Thailand. It was illegal to ship bars of the stuff, so he'd have it melted down and poured into jewelry molds. One of those loopholes that kept the local economy running.

Different way of doing business out there. Slow, polite. "How are you? How's the wife? Elephants okay?" It's all very Buddhist. Nobody hurries. Nobody gets to the point.

You could spend a day and a half haggling over the cost of mirrored elephant tchotchkes and not say a word about it.

What was I talking about again?

Oh, right. Spam. Or was it penis stretchers?

I'll go with spam.

For some reason over the past week my spam catchers have failed me. I'm getting more garbage in my inbox than ever before. Is it the holidays? I'm certianly getting more goddamn catalogs for shit I don't need in my mailbox.

I dig the surplus catalog I get, though. More Russian military mess kits than you can shake a crate of used Czech hatchets at.

So, anyway, I've been inundated with spam. I'm not quite sure what to do about it. I dig the names that come in. They always sound like a Groucho Marx character, like Rufus T. Firefly.

So what I'm wondering is what do I do with all that spam? It seems a waste to just drop it into my trash folder. So far I just cull the names and keep the more interesting ones in a file for stories.

Thoughts? Suggestions?


Toni McGee Causey said...

This post cracked me up. I love the van analogy. ;) But I completely empathize; I've recently given up an older e-mail address that I'd had for years because of the spam. So far, gmail is filtering it well, but of course, now that I've said that, I've completely jinxed it.

I wish someone would come up with a program that would be able to take the spam and boomerang it back onto the sender... and not their fake address, but actually worm its way through the internet and find the idiot who's sitting behind the computer, munching on cheetos and beer and make their computer explode in their lap.

I may be a little cranky.

Dave said...

I dug the Pufenstuf shout-out, which may have been a window into your repressed Freudian undermind ... you know the whole "Is Witchie-Poo just an archetypal castrating Overbearing Mother attempting to steal the Magic (phallic) Flute, or is she really a post-feminist riot-grrl in greenface?"

I think Spy magazine once actually did a deconstruction of the old early 70s costume cartoon shows. They even got Sigmund the Sea-Monster in there.

Oh yeah. About your spam. It's the holidays. Sorry. Your identity is about to get stolen, too. The minimum-wage slaves working in the bowels of corporate America are even now handing over the USB drives containing all your information to their Crank-Smoking Freedom Rock-looking boyfriends.

Which is a meme that I thought that you, of all people, could relate to...

anne frasier said...

thanks for the rant. somebody needed to do it.

about a month ago i accidently opened some spam. now i'm neck deep in it. seems like once they find a sucker, they tell their parasite pals. i've been trying to retrain my spam filter, but it doesn't seem to be slowing things down much. and i hate using webmail. what a pain in the butt.

Anonymous said...

I never thought of tossing the names into the old name drawer. The ones in there now are mostly me misreading a legit name, like today's "Karen Mozzarella."

I really liked this post as well. I suppose it's too much to hope for that the spammers will all decide to steal copper wire instead of spamming.

And P.S. I get some decent names from the word verification we both love so much: U. J. Pit, for example, is mine now.