I Do Not Like Mean Words in Spam

You've Got Too Much Mail

I grew up hearing my elders fume about junk mail; then, as an adult, I felt the same irritation: “Who could possibly think I’d be interested in a free hearing test or discount coupons from a feed store?”

I discarded a letter offering a free night in a condo in Vegas for a few minutes of my time and a flyer advertising slippers that baby bunions, not knowing an eruption of something called spam would soon make supermarket flyers and circulars from used-car dealers seem inconsequential.

In the first three months of 2013, almost 100 billion spam emails were sent every day, and blog spam was increasing rapidly.

I appreciate WordPress for sniffing out spam sent to Aunt Beulah. My great-aunt — who knew Spam as a canned meat not even her skilled cooking and fresh vegetables could improve — wouldn’t have wanted to be the titular head of a blog bombarded by unsolicited messages that make no sense and are up to no good. Were she alive, she’d snort, “Ridiculous!” and probably add a bad word or two.

White conceptual keyboard - Spam (red key)

So when I read there are eleven messages in my spam queue, safely corralled, waiting for me to permanently delete them, I do so with a vengeance, snickering when senders tell me they are “reading views of all friends eager to getting known how;” that I should “read this or else, fun diptart9;” and that “asking questions are trulyy god thing if you are underfoot.”

The other day I deleted an unintentionally amusing bit of spam; but first I copied it for your enjoyment:

Definitely believe that which you stated. Your favorite reason appeared to be on the
net the simplest thing to be aware of. I say to you.
I definitely get irked while people consider worries
that they plainly do not know about nothing. You managed to hit the nail upon the
 top and defined out the whole thing without having side effect, people could take a signal. Will likely be back
to get more maybes thank you.

I was so happy to learn I had hit the nail upon the top.

If I were to reply to this convoluted inanity, my message would read, “I won’t beat around the shrub. You certainly bit upon more than you can gnaw here; and, furthermore, you’re woofing along the wrong tree.”

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