Domo Arigato, Mr. Spamboto

I haven’t been here in a while, so I logged in intending to write something strong yet poignant, as I often imagine myself doing at 2:00 in the morning. The little dashboard updater thing told me I had 11 queued spam comments, though, so I went there first and, boy howdy, am I glad I did.

I should maybe go back a little and say that I have a great fondness for spam. I’m really not bothered by finding it breeding in my inbox (ya just read everything you want to read and then mark everything to be deleted all at once; not so taxing on one’s sanity, but anyway), and one of my favorite sites (Pajiba) is frequently attacked by what the commenters called spambots because of the ‘bots ability to slyly tailor their posts to the article while still telling us about how we can meet rich guys looking for love (and Asian brides who know how to keep shtum). There’s something of a cult of spambot arising over there, with prophecies to be fulfilled in a Terminator-style holocaust. Sooner, rather than later, if we’re at all accurate.

Anyway. I checked out what the little spammers had sent this way and I was rather delighted. There’s sometimes a bizarre cleverness to the messages; it can read like found poetry, albeit on the so-weird-it’s-great end of the spectrum. A lot of it is about credit scores or sex. I often associate the two myself; just another reason to love it. So here’s what I was gifted (rearranging mine):

It felt sleeveless
to relubricate
my toungues intently to her boxes
and know her
socially
freakier
elegantly against my manhood,
which ached as if
it would surreptitiously
stop.
End of invader 1)haved myyyyyyyy
and I could woo
my anna kournikova
nude videos
closing undies again.
I was the intense to jubilant
my boredom and gesetzt
my campfire
in hers, she was the sarcastic
to damp my hips.

Erotic, yes? Excuse me while I check my credit rating…