Spamalot

Today, I reflect on my life. I choose to evaluate myself on all the emails that, no doubt sadly, end up in my "SPAM" box. Did you know that they eat more spam per capita in Hawaii than anywhere else? (You're welcome).

First, of course I need a new penis. After all, I am not one for marginal improvements. If it ain't good enough, get a newer, younger model, is what I say. I also mix metaphors. So thanks for all the variously attractive titles, spammers, but please come back when stem cell research meets the adult film industry, preferably in the vicinity of a stable, or at least a barn (Yes, MM, the multiple-entendres are a pain to go through, but that's my style!)

Second, despite considering myself abysmally shy and anti-social, a closet misanthrope if you will, apparently I am just the social lubricator. Speaking of lubricator, today I had a cab ride with a rather interesting conversation about KY Jelly with the driver. But I digress. "CY", you say, "you would not be able to pick up a manatee if she were the last thing left on the deserted island". I would of course dither: "...but she smells of fish!!"

But no! And I am not talking about me trying to hug a lamp post (I hope that's what it was - perhaps a very sturdily built woman, modeled after a domestic appliance?) after some tequila shots, which of course is an effective social lubricator. Get ready: Apparently, I am just the cad over at Friendster. Everyday Jenny or Michelle or Debbie or McKenna tells me how much she likes me. I don't think I have a photo there. I don't think I have an account there. But I love the attention. When life gives you lemons, squeeze it in the eyes of someone you despise. I also love mangling idioms.

And I rest easy in the thought that when the farce called the financial industry melts down in its entirety, I will be able to get a job as - get this! - a Secret Shopper. I thought "secret shopping" was actually called "thievery" (or "kleptomania" if you are rich and white, like Winona Ryder), but apparently I was mistaken. Do you, dear reader, have such exciting options? Thought not, loser.

I also have at my disposal, a vast variety of fake branded time pieces to choose from, to be non-delivered just as soon as I send my credit card details. I take it I will use that to time how fast my "pork" will grow, or "meat" will rise, while I take cod-piece enhancers bought over the safety and anonymity of the Internet.

And where would we be without some crafty marketing: I also need (in no particular order) to "stop repelling my manliness", peruse my sales receipt from Amazon, immediately sign up for a weight loss diet, take note that "Life is Greener with Motorola", and be aware of the fact that the "US Potential Outreach to Taliban hits a snag". Perhaps the snag is that the email has porn, which the beards take a dim view of? For heaven's sake, they have not even adjusted to safety razors, and we want them exposed to battery-operated sexual fantasy? I fear the worst yet.

If you will excuse me, I am going to create my own website NOW, because I MUST. Welcome to SPAM.

PS: I did watch Spamalot in London a while back, and thoroughly enjoyed it.