Poetic Spam
We got the coolest spam mail today in the support box. I'm pretty sure it's just random bits of things strung together to confuse bayesian filters, but somehow it almost makes sense. It's like a new form of poetic prose. So I thought I'd share. The title is the subject line of the mail:
Philanthropic Cocky
I find myself more and more at odds with it. When we live under a strict
code, we end up murdering each other in the name of God. Nothing like
snuggling by a fire with something to scare the hell out of you. As I
said, it is registered under the name, Corey Anderson.
Humanity continues to prove me correct. Case in point with this one.
So I enjoy the cool temperatures.
I drove down the dirt roads this morning and trees dropped bright orange
and yellow leaves onto the gravel.
No Peanut Festival in Fort Lauderdale. If you can only putt along in
First gear for a while, do it.
Everything resetting, recalibrating. I know, I know: the thought is far
worse than the event. I have to leave and get cash and come back.
The fair meant less, or so I thought.
The third installment was my favorite, but they all warranted a playing
or twelve. I also had a Columbian Boa for years named Zeus.
Easy to reach if you, for some weird reason, enjoy re-reading those
things over and again until your eyes bleed. I hope I can see it again
some day soon. I am in the evacuation shelter now, brickabrack and
various animals fly by the boarded windows. , a chronically depressed
person, tries a little of everything to make it.
Dude, you know I am to be spritzed liberally three times a day.
The Orkin man fargin killed my iguana, how do you like that? But I
suppose the last thing I should be doing is lamenting everything until I
become as depressed as ever. Tender the plastic once again and wait for
the return. Maybe some plants, a little waterfall, heck, maybe even a
jacuzzi.
I hand him my information, which he stares at for a moment. When we live
under a strict code, we end up murdering each other in the name of God.
I stepped in thinking Mom and Pop diner and ended up with a magnificent
meal. I am still, even in this age of pill-popping, nervous at the idea
of having chemicals altered. They are not easy to care for, and can be
hell to manage. I have changed my entire life. Oh, I was thankful for
him last night, no doubt.
The only time I can ever remember getting swiped at by him was when I
had my hand in between him and certain prey. I kissed a girl if not for
the first time, damn close to it at The Fair. That the only way to quell
my incessant need to worry, have anxiety and dive headlong into
crippling depression at nearly nothing is to numb me.
Philanthropic Cocky
I find myself more and more at odds with it. When we live under a strict
code, we end up murdering each other in the name of God. Nothing like
snuggling by a fire with something to scare the hell out of you. As I
said, it is registered under the name, Corey Anderson.
Humanity continues to prove me correct. Case in point with this one.
So I enjoy the cool temperatures.
I drove down the dirt roads this morning and trees dropped bright orange
and yellow leaves onto the gravel.
No Peanut Festival in Fort Lauderdale. If you can only putt along in
First gear for a while, do it.
Everything resetting, recalibrating. I know, I know: the thought is far
worse than the event. I have to leave and get cash and come back.
The fair meant less, or so I thought.
The third installment was my favorite, but they all warranted a playing
or twelve. I also had a Columbian Boa for years named Zeus.
Easy to reach if you, for some weird reason, enjoy re-reading those
things over and again until your eyes bleed. I hope I can see it again
some day soon. I am in the evacuation shelter now, brickabrack and
various animals fly by the boarded windows. , a chronically depressed
person, tries a little of everything to make it.
Dude, you know I am to be spritzed liberally three times a day.
The Orkin man fargin killed my iguana, how do you like that? But I
suppose the last thing I should be doing is lamenting everything until I
become as depressed as ever. Tender the plastic once again and wait for
the return. Maybe some plants, a little waterfall, heck, maybe even a
jacuzzi.
I hand him my information, which he stares at for a moment. When we live
under a strict code, we end up murdering each other in the name of God.
I stepped in thinking Mom and Pop diner and ended up with a magnificent
meal. I am still, even in this age of pill-popping, nervous at the idea
of having chemicals altered. They are not easy to care for, and can be
hell to manage. I have changed my entire life. Oh, I was thankful for
him last night, no doubt.
The only time I can ever remember getting swiped at by him was when I
had my hand in between him and certain prey. I kissed a girl if not for
the first time, damn close to it at The Fair. That the only way to quell
my incessant need to worry, have anxiety and dive headlong into
crippling depression at nearly nothing is to numb me.