spammin’ me

If I didn’t understand that the emails I get from Nigeria weren’t really setting me up for untold riches, I’d spend my life in a constant state of excitement.

This blog thing…well, that’s another story. Every morning I check for comments…and lately I’ve been getting a lot of what I hope is spam. Who do I know named “manolo splendorific” or “candies shoegal”?  I don’t know these people…and I can’t figure out what fake rolex watches have to do with anything I’ve ever written.  It’s hard enough to navigate the world without these people messing with me.  Who are these people? What is their game?  Do they really enjoy my blog?  Should I send them money because they enjoy my blog?

I do get some comments that are legitimate…and they really keep me going.  Something about writing in a vacuum sounds kind of unappealing…and the folks that have commented really help to take away that feeling of isolation.  One of these kind, legitimate responses makes up for a bunch of the spammy ones.

I think that for a writer it must be the ultimate indication that “the well is deep” when writing about spam (or the “critics”) becomes the topic of the day.

I’m not really sure how it all works…maybe mentioning “spam” opens up the dam of unwanted communiques….maybe I’ll be spammed into the next country now that I’ve questioned WHY I’m getting these comments?  I don’t really know.  You may think that you have some of this stuff figured out…that all the ducks are lining up ( is that a reference to the shooting game?  All in a row so we can mow them down?)….but somebody in Nigeria is going to mess up your day trying to be helpful.

And that’s another thing:  don’t ever let me hear anybody badmouthing any of the folks overseas (i.e. the Nigerians). They’ve been nothing but kind to me…offering me all that money and all the watches.  The world is a benevolent place…and if we all took care of each other like the Nigerians take care of their dead rich uncles who needed a place to put their money before the government took it to support an unjust military, who just needed a bank account to park it in so they can shelter it from the government, and who were willing to pay a huge fee for the privilege of parking the money somewhere…well…it would be a more benevolenter place…fer shure.

About Peter Rorvig

I'm a non-practicing artist, a mailman, a husband, a father...not listed in order of importance. I believe that things can always get better....and that things are usually better than we think.

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