Gmail is usually pretty good about catching spam. However, one got through today, which made me chuckle. After than chuckle, I wondered how much humor there would be in my pile of inbox spam, and it turns out, the answer is a lot.
The title of this entry was one subject line. I was a little taken aback at first, given the implications and directness of language. I opened it, to see just how Ms. Kera Yan proposes to bigger my short && thin d11ck, and unfortuntely, I began to suspect that English was not Ms. Yan's first language. I was a little disappointed, too, because she did say her way was cheeap.
The way that the names attached to each e-mail address is also quite fascinating. They usually put two randomly selected names together so that it is conceivable that there is a person on the other end, sending you information on how to get illegal pharmaceuticals for rock bottom prices. (Maybe Bud Selig needs to start snooping in Barry Bonds's spam collector.) The fake name technology in unwanted spam mailings, however, must lag behind the Madden fake name technology because I'm pretty sure that out of the six and half billion people roaming this planet, not a single one of them is named "Scraped J. Bethlehem." It might be tough to find "Antechamber K. Eula" on a novelty license plate in the tourist traps and if you were to ask the folks at Disney World to "Shipboards B. Bacchanali" on your mouse ear hat, they'd probably look at you funny.
I understand that there is very little human oversight in this field, but really, why would something like "Burl Willis," "Deterrent O. Sequoya," or "Waclaw Macintosh" even be in the database that the randomizer draws from? That Nigerian widow, Dr. Abacha, was much more polite and believable than "Vigor I. Shoestring." If I'm going to by vlitagra, levitora or cialmis, I'm going to buy it from her. After all, she is a doctor.
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