A spam arrived in my inbox this morning, attempting to part me from my money in a manner so heroically incompetent that I was almost tempted to read the body text. The subject line read simply:
Well, it is true that many a little makes a mickle, as they say... but somehow, I don't think that Getting Rich Slowly Through Diligent Earning of Micropayments Now is the course my mysterious correspondent wished to propose.
My heart races with excitement. Surely, such a colossal boob can best be accounted for on the assumption that the Day of Spammy Judgement is upon us, and that even now hordes of slavering zombies are rising from the crypts of cyberspace, scooping out spammers' brains to wolf them down with copious ketchup and a side of cheesy garlic bread?
The alternative - that no such hordes exist, and that young Spam-I-Am over there is enjoying, not zombific decerebration, but a mere shameless incompetence in his chosen language of loot - is so sheerly monstrous to me that I resolutely refuse to consider it, and should probably not even have mentioned it in this generally obscenity- and horror-lite blog.
Undead abominations - Rah, rah, rah!