Canning the Spam

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I groaned and buried my face in my hands. There in my private, unpublished email account’s inbox was spam, loads and loads of it. For months I’d thumbed my nose at spammers by keeping this account secret, giving the address to just a few people I trust, and using it for my freelance work.

Then, one day a lady—it’s no one who reads this blog—broke a cardinal rule I set for her. She has a habit of forwarding multiple emails to people’s inbox every day; some have politely asked her to stop, others ignore her.

When I gave her this address, I asked that she not include it in ANY of her forwarding emails, that if she wanted to forward jokes, send it to my YAHOO account; that was like asking the wind not to blow. A few weeks later, there was a forwarded email from her; a few days later, here came the spam.

I flick “cyber-boogers” at the spammers by blocking them; that doesn’t phase the little darlings. They retaliate by changing their address and sending me twice as much junk the next time.

And so now, I sat there in my squeaking desk chair, peering between my fingers and hoping, by some small miracle, the spam had disappeared on its own. I wasn’t that lucky. It was still there, all twenty-five messages, wanting me to see or do various things.

Disgusted, I rose from the chair and stomped out of the room, leaving my email for later.

I flopped on the living room couch beside John , snuggling against him, enjoying the roughness of his “five o’clock shadow” on my cheek, and the sweet, spicy fragrance of his cologne.

“Should I get my penis enlarged?” I asked mischievously.

“W-What?” John turned his attention from the TV show long enough to study my facial expression. Seeing the humor sparkling in my eyes, he smirked and replied, “I didn’t know you had one, but if it makes you happy. . .”

“That’s news to me too. Maybe I’ll have it done after I get my free prostate exam.” Laughing, I got off the couch and went back to my email.

Like every one else, I’m tired of getting junk emails. Tired of getting messages that read:

“Take a look at this hottie.” I never open them, but just the sight of them makes me feel ill.

I’m seriously thinking of taking a picture of myself before coffee one morning—hair waving everywhere, no makeup, bloodshot eyes—and sending those creeps an email that reads “Take a look at THIS hottie.”

Think they’ll get the same feeling of revulsion I do when I get their emails?