Today I'd like to talk about something near and dear to everyone's heart, and that is SPAM - the email of champions. Spam initially was thought of as something cute and fuzzy, like a little kid trying to get you to buy them a toy. Then it evolved into the teenage years where spam became a 12 year old boy obsessed about body parts if you know what I mean. Then when everybody got mad at spam it evolved again. This time it jumped right to old age and started talking like a dirty old man, always wanting to keep everything up. Occasionally they'd want you to get a prescription here and there. And now spam is in the dementia stage. It is sad really, to see spam degrade to such a state. I now receive spam with gibberish in it all of the time. "byu theis caiialis fromm me" is just not going to work. I don't understand how it can think somebody will buy something with an ad like that. Sometimes it's like their not even trying to sell me anything, they just want to talk. "How about your good self?" says one email. No punch line, no link. "How's Tricks? Ayeye qay" says another email as I quizzically stare at it. Then there was a sign of coherence in another email, but alas, no link, no punchline, just text from a novel "Every evening he had studied the sky from his narrow yard, which resulted curiously in the gift in later years of a great reflecting telescope to a famous university" All I can say is why? The only explanation has to be that spam is close to death. They've tried everything. In order to get past all of the filters they have to send out emails that don't make sense, which won't work. So as spam dies we can remember its formative years as a cute and fuzzy bunny.

Thought of the Day

"The key to faking out the parents is the clammy hands. It's a good non-specific symptom. I'm a big believer in it. A lot of people will tell you a good phoney fever is a deadlock, but you get a nervous mother, you could wind up in a doctor's office--that's worse than school. You fake a stomach cramp, and when you're bent over, moaning and wailing, you lick your palms. It's a little childish and stupid, but then so is high school."

Ferris Bueller