More from my spam file. I have to browse the file, first and foremost, because normal messages are often corralled into the wrong place. Sorry Red Cross, I can’t help with your disaster relief fund because your message was sandwiched between ‘hotttcamzz’ and ‘totally roooccckkkeeedddd!!!!’

Then I’m lured in to read some nonsense that always guarantees a laugh.

Spam begs these questions:

* Who writes this stuff?
* Why do 238 messages flood my email everyday?
* Where do they get my email address?
* Why do they think my name is Marcibunni?
* Are they really trying to sell me something?
* If they are, why all the unintelligible and misspelled words?
* I won’t open that .gif file that is usually attached. If I do, will the attachment arm my Vaio with nuclear warheads and launch missiles to destroy the world?

The masterpiece below appeared yesterday. Typically, I like to accompany the spam with my own commentary, but this one speaks for itself. This message comes from “Co,” which reads like an incoherent diary entry. Or a really bad trip to Vegas.

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Subject: fizzle dirt-poor

They have to out f*ck and suck the more popular girls.
Sunday it stormed terribly all day.
Speaking of which I have an appointment with some pushups.
I never pushed her into telling me because I wasn’t sure she could handle reliving it.”Actually, that works out perfectly.
Carrie was scheduled but never called or showed so at 12:15 ,after an hour of being there alone, I told Diana to leave. Carrie was sprawled on the coach passed out on what she assumed was painkillers.
My own personal favorite is the Monte Carlo Hotel as it allows your family to have a good time without being bombarded with too many kids and endless arcades.
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That’s all for now. I have to go. I have an appointment with some pushups.