A can of spam

Once, I used to eat luncheon meat - also known by its leading brand, Spam - wondrously, thanks to ignorance. These days I get it everyday, thanks to the Internet. So it is time for our next round of Spamanalysis.

Apparently not only am I big on Friendster, I am in general a swell kinda guy. I am so swell that strange women (most of whom are named Kayla or Amber, strangely) write me all the time, but always from their boyfriend's or best friend's email account, signing off "write me at" followed by their real-very-own email. How lucky am I that these ladies are so desperate to contact me the instant I pop into their heads that they commandeer their best friend's / boy friend's email and write me then an there. My self esteem rose an inch. I dread the day they will discover browser-based email.

Moving on, I still retain the potential to become the world's biggest supplier or drugs, particularly Viagra. I am being offered so much everyday, if I bought it all, I could corner the market. I could make a killing. Will you fund my business plan, please?

Back to the women: apart from "Kayla" (mentioned above), there are various others who write me on a regular (and initimate, I might add) basis. I am their soul mate. They can't stop thinking about how we met (I can't either!). They will fly from Russia to marry me because they found true love (me!). Apparently I shoot off emails in my sleep and delete my sent emails, because I just can't find all these emails that I never wrote to people I never met who *just* liked it so much they want to practically nail me right now.

In this world of wonderous spam, I have but one complaint: If you write an email with the subject "I'm the girl you want to ****", seeing "Anthony" as the sender would not work. I mean, how stupid do you think I am? I am off now, to move the exciting fanmail to my inbox and start replying. At this rate, I will get laid like a gazillion times and definitely die happy.