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Archive for January 1st, 2011

There is a reason why I sometimes feel older than my 76 years. I knew that there had to be one – at least one – and I’ve discovered exactly what it is. It is the multiple birthdays for which I receive congratulations throughout a single year. Just this morning, I checked my e-mail and found a congratulatory message from those wonderful folks at Kirkland’s on Baldwin Hills in Auburn Hills, Michigan. First, I don’t remember changing my name to ‘Michael:’ second, I’ve never been to Auburn Hills; third, I’m not certain I want to save 25% on furniture from this store since shipping charges would be exorbitant. This is one birthday present I’ll just have to pass up. Casual Male XL also sent me a $10 gift certificate for my birthday, which they also assume to be today…at least they didn’t call me ‘Michael.’ Koons Ford of Baltimore promises, “We’re gonna wow ya” when I bring my vehicle in by giving me 15% off any repair. Since I’m about 400 miles north of Baltimore, I think I’ll also take a pass on this one.

You see, I love SPAM. I have a terrific filter so very little of it actually gets through to my ‘real’ mail, but every so often I like to take the time to look at the SPAM. It’s not as though I have nothing else to do; I could always go to the gym, finish the latch hook Santa Claus that I promised Juli I’ve had ready for Christmas – today is New Year’s Day, by the way – or I could do the jigsaw puzzles that I’ve found online. There are 23 books sitting behind me that need reading, but I’m so engrossed in “Washington…A Life” by Ron Chernow that these fictional fantasies will just have to wait. Today is SPAM day and that’s all there is to it; well, at least until the Bowl Games begin. By the end of this day I will have seen a sufficient number of football games that the national championship game between Cam Newton and Oregon won’t hold much interest.

In addition to ‘Michael,’ by intimate SPAMMING friends call me by mundane names such as ‘John, ‘Paul,’ ‘Fred’ and ‘Robert,’ I’m also known as Spencer and Stefan, Elaine, Eileen, Tanya, and Morgan, I suppose the last could be either male or female; however, since the e-mail is attempting to sell this particular ‘Morgan’ bra’s, panties, and other lingerie, I have to assume that ‘he’ is a ‘she.’ And, yes, we all know what happens to someone who ass/u/me/s.

Freely, I will admit to not being the brightest bulb on Broadway. Yes, I have a couple of college degrees; however, I have long since learned that being learn-ed does not necessarily make one intelligent. In other words, while “Clothing makes the man,” as the old saw goes, “Degrees do not make the man smart!” For any women reading this – although why you would, I’ll never know – “man,” in this case is the generic, not the penis-bound! Anyway, how anyone with half a brain can think that they are going to cash in on an e-mail that begins, “Hello, Dear” and goes on to explain that by sending their checking account numbers to this dear lady, they will become a millionaire, is far beyond my ken. If you have the intelligence to be able to turn on a computer, you should have the intelligence to understand that this is a scam; it’s not real; you’re going to lose your shirt and probably a lot more! It’s really unfortunate that I have won so much of this money through the numerous e-mails that have been sent to me. Despite all of this wealth, I just don’t feel right purchasing a Ferrari Testarosa or whatever the hell their top of the line car is called. I’m also a bit hesitant to purchase that beach house in Barbados until the barrels of cash arrive on my front doorstep…but then, I can dream about the car and the beach house and I’m certain that by the time I reach Methuselah’s age – that’s 900 for those of you who don’t know – the bucks will have arrived.

This morning I received an invitation to join the Durham Milk Parade, whatever the hell that is. The entry form is due January 8th so I suppose I’d better learn something about this ninth annual event. Heck, if it’s been going for nine years, maybe I should get in on it. Could be another way to make money along with all of those other wonderful methods for doing so.

I have to tell ya, I look at a lot of these e-mails in much the same way I look at television ads when some old celebrity is trying to sell me something. The only one I ever trusted and who never let me down was the late James Whittemore with his ads for Miracle Grow garden and plant food. Oh sure, they were more expensive than generic stuff that was just as good, but old Jimmy was hyping a product that worked. Now, I have Napoleon Solo, a.k.a. Robert Vaughan, trying to tell me which lawyer I should use and Robert Wagner telling me that he will personally send me a brochure and DVD to explain how great a reverse mortgage is. Let’s face it, “Bobs,” you’re both so far over the hill that even those of us who do remember you don’t trust you. This who idea of celebrities trying to get me to buy a product or a service tends to make me believe the whole thing is a fraud.

Finally, I am so sick and tired of e-mails that promise to make my penis longer and in a state of perpetual “readiness,” or my boobs larger and sexier with this cream or that lotion, that they receive an automatic hit on the ‘delete’ button. I am neither a 25 nor even a 50 year-old male who is running around looking for women eager to sample my wares. Second, when I see the cream or lotion advertised for increasing the breast size, I’m reminded of the husband who told his wife to rub toilet paper on her tits if she wanted them to get bigger. “After all,” he said, “it worked for your ass.” I decided against attending his funeral; I understand his wife didn’t make it either.

Ah, well, before you become too irritated with your SPAM, remember the humor of it. If you look at SPAM and get mad, the SPAMMERS have achieved at least one thing; if you look at it and laugh, the SPAMMERS have just made your day, even if it is for just a short while.

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