Making Fun of Spam: Part 12 in an Ongoing Series
Every day, my 3 work inboxes are filled with dozens of spam messages, all with those "misleading" lines of spam-filter-tricking text at the bottom/top.
Well yesterday, I got six junk mails that all had random four-letter sequences for subject lines, and that each had four lines variously snipped from random written works. I noticed some words kept coming back, and I thought I'd string them together (as Bamford has done before) to make a story.
But then I noticed that these particular groups of lines were even more connected than that; the last two lines of each one were the first two of the next. Well, I thought, that's almost an established poetic form...but not close enough for me.
So I rearranged the lines into quatrains where the 2nd and 4th lines of each stanza are the 1st and 3rd of the next, creating a poetic form that I have affectionately dubbed:
The Spamtoum
by Kit FitzSimons
It wasn't long before Jonathan Gull was off by himself again, far out,
coming a mile away and getting his claws into them. In general, the Zone wouldn't be of great use
and especially in the Soviet Union. Some Of this --far too little-- is fading away
in position. They knew about slow flying,
coming a mile away and getting his claws into them. In general, the Zone wouldn't be of great use
at night when the stars look down on your ass and,
in position, they knew about slow flying,
being incredibly stupid. Angelina had given me a simple theory
at night when the stars look down on your ass, and
I dug through my pack and took advantage of the opportunity for
being incredibly stupid. Angelina had given me a simple theory:
The aberration is a philosophical one... Not that
I dug through my pack and took advantage of the opportunity, for
I didn't understand what was happening to me, but I just couldn't make up
"the aberration is a philosophical one," not that.
So we went down to the "boudoir" and Kirill went for the passes. We--
I-- didn't understand what was happening to me, but I just couldn't make up
knowledge and the Holy Ghost. Amen. No, he couldn't shut himself up.
So we went down to the "boudoir" and Kirill went for the passes. We--
but Jonathan Livingston Seagull, unashamed, stretching his wings,
knowledge, and the Holy Ghost (amen), no, he couldn't shut himself up
(and especially in the Soviet Union). Some Of this --far too little-- is fading away.
But Jonathan Livingston Seagull, unashamed, stretching his wings...
It wasn't long before Jonathan Gull was off by himself again, far out.
--------------------------
Yes, I realize the lines are too long for the width of the window. Blame that on the spam.
In any case, this MFoS episode's Spamusement panel:
***What would you do with your own GPS?***
.
Well yesterday, I got six junk mails that all had random four-letter sequences for subject lines, and that each had four lines variously snipped from random written works. I noticed some words kept coming back, and I thought I'd string them together (as Bamford has done before) to make a story.
But then I noticed that these particular groups of lines were even more connected than that; the last two lines of each one were the first two of the next. Well, I thought, that's almost an established poetic form...but not close enough for me.
So I rearranged the lines into quatrains where the 2nd and 4th lines of each stanza are the 1st and 3rd of the next, creating a poetic form that I have affectionately dubbed:
The Spamtoum
by Kit FitzSimons
It wasn't long before Jonathan Gull was off by himself again, far out,
coming a mile away and getting his claws into them. In general, the Zone wouldn't be of great use
and especially in the Soviet Union. Some Of this --far too little-- is fading away
in position. They knew about slow flying,
coming a mile away and getting his claws into them. In general, the Zone wouldn't be of great use
at night when the stars look down on your ass and,
in position, they knew about slow flying,
being incredibly stupid. Angelina had given me a simple theory
at night when the stars look down on your ass, and
I dug through my pack and took advantage of the opportunity for
being incredibly stupid. Angelina had given me a simple theory:
The aberration is a philosophical one... Not that
I dug through my pack and took advantage of the opportunity, for
I didn't understand what was happening to me, but I just couldn't make up
"the aberration is a philosophical one," not that.
So we went down to the "boudoir" and Kirill went for the passes. We--
I-- didn't understand what was happening to me, but I just couldn't make up
knowledge and the Holy Ghost. Amen. No, he couldn't shut himself up.
So we went down to the "boudoir" and Kirill went for the passes. We--
but Jonathan Livingston Seagull, unashamed, stretching his wings,
knowledge, and the Holy Ghost (amen), no, he couldn't shut himself up
(and especially in the Soviet Union). Some Of this --far too little-- is fading away.
But Jonathan Livingston Seagull, unashamed, stretching his wings...
It wasn't long before Jonathan Gull was off by himself again, far out.
--------------------------
Yes, I realize the lines are too long for the width of the window. Blame that on the spam.
In any case, this MFoS episode's Spamusement panel:
***What would you do with your own GPS?***
.