Spam is Not for Dinner

Sometimes spam amazes me. There was one tonight that caught my fancy. The comment was a bit off, one of those “you make a good point, keep up the good work,” sort of things, and then I check the email address and it says “causes of sore feet”…which just cracks me up. Why? I dunno. But…it just seemed odd to me. And considering how my feet hurt after standing at the Wall for an hour in His “slut shoes (the ones in the header)…al 6.5 inches of them…it was kinda appropos. In a skewed, spammy way.

Then there is the spam that hits post, by post, by post. Same exact thing, sports shirts at discount prices. *shakes head*

And the phenomenon that aisha noted a week or two ago, about the spam that sounded just real enough to be a true comment. For those, I try to write to the email to see if they are really spammers, or people who get caught in the spam net…and they are 99.9% of the time…Spam. But they write some squirmy stuff on those. I wish I had saved the one that I got last week coz that was smokin’ hot and made me a bit…

…um…

turned on.

Yes.

Turned on by spam smut.

That’s kinda dirty isn’t it? And I’m torn between admiration and aggravation, really. How dare they beat me at my own game, and turn me the fuck on and be fucking spam?

And then a bit of shame.

How *easily* I *get* turned on.

And then the shame turns me on a bit…and you see a general self-fulfilling loop developing here,  don’tcha?

Which is why I don’t have that hot spam to share with you…coz the only sane thing to do is throw it the fuck out.

And this little discourse made me flash back to my childhood..and the “real” Spam (talk about an oxymoron!)

No one eats spam anymore do they? Survivalists, maybe? And really..if you ate it, would you admit it?

Maybe a guy would.

Maybe.

But a woman? A cook? The Bastion of the Family Kitchen?

Isn’t there a big old heckle just waiting in there?

“you eat SPAM????! EWWWWWW!”

But yanno, that’s just me maybe. Too many spam meals when I was a kid. That’s back when we were sure that we’d all have George Jetson space planes to commute to work in, and robots helping us clean our homes. When we ate tv dinners in front of the tv after waiting 30 minutes for them to cook in the oven, the tantalizing scent of “fried chicken” wafting into the living room as we watched Walter Cronkite tell us about the VietNam war efforts, and drank our Tang, waiting for 7:00 when Star Trek would come on.

Yeah, I’m old.

But I’m not eating spam for dinner anymore…and not getting turned on by it in my spam box.

nu huh.