Spam, Wonderful Spam

I just don't think spammers care anymore. There used to be an art to spam, a sort of tempting title to an email that you recognized instantly as junk and yet you were still strangely intrigued. You wanted to click, but you were worried that some bastard might have hooked up an auto-download feature up to the email and you would end up destroying not only your computer, but every computer on your network. There used to be a time where the spammer was hated and despised, where your inbox was an Indiana Jones adventure in disguise. But now...

I just deleted an email with the title "Tuainae Muirssa a were mason." Who, in their right mind, would ever open an email with such a title? I get a few of these a day. I stare at them, becoming more and more frustrated as I scan the subject again and again, just trying to make sense of what may be lurking underneath that asinine and feeble attempt at capturing my attention. It seems as though quantity has become the new quality, and that grammar has been replaced by a computerized dictionary spewing randomly generated letters.

I miss the days when my long lost third cousin twice-removed in Africa had died suddenly and that I, the closest known living relative, had inherited his multi-million dollar fortune as long as I paid a measly couple of thousand for some processing fees. I yearn for time where my finances had been pre-approved, where free viagra and cialis rained from the skies, and my next vacation could be all expenses paid.

There was once an age, but no! There was once a golden era where "hot lesbian sluts" used to crave my "steaming cock," where I would have to spend time to individually weed out the temptations and tend to my email account. But now my mouse simply moves directly for the Delete All, without a second glance, without ever looking back.