I got a spam today that was a work of art - sheer poetry. I may dedicate my life to finding the secret, hidden, enigmatic meaning behind this paragraph, because I am certain there is one. Or perhaps several.
Most people believe that a sheriff near a buzzard makes a truce with the spider about another grain of sand, but they need to remember how knowingly a dust bunny daydreams. The lover defined by another hole puncher secretly finds subtle faults with a psychotic sheriff. The familiar vacuum cleaner negotiates a prenuptial agreement with the green dust bunny. Indeed, the barely highly paid salad dressing non-chalantly borrows money from the impromptu CEO. The industrial complex inside an eggplant trades baseball cards with a secretly annoying paycheck.
It was trying to sucker me into a fake stock tip, in case you didn't realize - although it's pretty obvious, isn't it???
Most people believe that a sheriff near a buzzard makes a truce with the spider about another grain of sand, but they need to remember how knowingly a dust bunny daydreams. The lover defined by another hole puncher secretly finds subtle faults with a psychotic sheriff. The familiar vacuum cleaner negotiates a prenuptial agreement with the green dust bunny. Indeed, the barely highly paid salad dressing non-chalantly borrows money from the impromptu CEO. The industrial complex inside an eggplant trades baseball cards with a secretly annoying paycheck.
It was trying to sucker me into a fake stock tip, in case you didn't realize - although it's pretty obvious, isn't it???
3 Comments:
I got one like that from, I'm sure, the same people. It was so good that I forwarded it to Leigh-Ann to read. Mine, instead of being about dust bunnies, was about spiders. Unfortunately, she didn't get it (gee, what a surprise that something labelled "good spam" might get deleted), and I deleted it. I'm sad, I really loved it.
By the way, we had access to a program that made up content like that. It was pretty cool, even though I hate spam.
By
Anonymous, at 4:24 AM
How come the more sophisticated spam gets, the more I'm reminded of 'Yes' lyrics?
Really!
Sad preacher nailed upon the coloured door of time. Insane teacher be there reminded of the rhyme. There'll be no mutant enemy we shall certify. Political ends as sad remains will die. Reach out as forward tastes begin to enter you.
-Sandy
By
Topcat, at 9:46 AM
I'm pretty sure that's how Jon Anderson and Rick Wakeman pay the bills when they're not touring - VPs of SPAM, bay-bee!
By
Helly, at 10:20 PM
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