Thursday, September 07, 2006

Spam at Work

Fastidious R. Thomson has taken the time to write and warn me that my penis may be too small. And who wouldn’t find that disturbing? I don’t know Fastidious, but neither do I know who’s been talking to him. An ex-girlfriend? That strange guy in the locker room at the pool? But before I can obsess too deeply, there’s more. Wallace J. Delicious thinks the problem is with my breasts. Ferdinand L. Welkommen says I need anti-depressants. He can get them for me cheap and without a prescription. Othmar P. Xylophonic knows that Viagra will make me and many women I have not yet met much happier.

Perhaps I should get back to work. There are reports to write. Phone calls to return. But the electronic bulk mail box is stuffed with troubling questions. Masonic W. Ruffhouse has heard that my credit may be bad. OK, duh. Emil C. Bushman thinks I need drugs to help me sleep. Again, certainly. But Bettye D. Celestial has frightening information from my personal horoscope. Cavernious Y. Homestead understands that I earn too little. And Candy U. Triumph knows what I want to see Paris Hilton do, and wants to help me out.

I consider all this. I’m not a very secretive person. I talk too much. Write too much. Post too many things on-line. If you type my name into Google you can find pages of hits. Still, it sure seems like too many people may know way too much. Do I have enemies working against me? What is the source of all this knowledge?

Just then a message arrives from Posterior V. Camelback. I am not, he insists, satisfying my woman. Well, this is one hell of a way to find out. So I ring “my woman.” Interrupt her at work. I say that I just got this email, and it says she is not satisfied. “Not satisfied with what?” she asks. I have to say that I am unsure. I tell her I just got this message, but it’s not like I’m going to open something from “Posterior V. Camelback.” There is a pause. I hear a deep sigh. Then her voice reappears: “Do you even have a job?”

copyright 2004 by Ira Socol Brenda, at Rubies in Crystal, posted her "recipe for spam" recently, and it reminded me of this, written "long ago"...

1 comment:

Brenda said...

:) I've been swallowed by Maple Foods this week. Perhaps it's the spam vengeance. I remember this piece, or an earier version of it, and like it even more this time around. I tried to write a 'found poem' in the structure of a recipe, which was ignored at Blogger but which found diverse reactions at other sites. Someone shared an actual split pea soup recipe with me (who else, NYJOYCE), people took it seriously & grumbled about spam, and someone even got it (Nathan at Gather). What spammers do to language is enough to make a woman scream (and not for viagra).