You really can’t call it “Return of the Spammers” because the spammers never left. They are irritatingly ever-present and there must be a way to stop them. I mention this in hopes that some young enthusiastic, energetic and enterprising nerd of an IT person will spring out of nowhere like Batman and destroy the spammers and their frustrating hourly posts to our defenseless blogs.
Where is that person, that nemesis to the world’s latest list of worry warts? You could be the next Bill Gates if only you can stop the spamming! Once we have their internet addresses, why can’t we at least be able to bounce the signals directly back to them or deflect the bombardment of senseless spam?
At least give us the ability to send them a short sweet message that goes something like this:
Hey, Dumbass! I am 71 years old and I do not need any of the following junk mail you insist on sending me:
I do not need to be on the China Dating Team or any hot Latina women or hot brides from Russia. It is summertime down South and it is already hot as hell. Why would I want a hot body attached to me that might possibly give me a heat stroke? This naturally precludes me from the urgent need for a natural testosterone booster. The only booster I need is the one that will gently toss me out of my easy chair.
I am not in such bad shape that I need a jacuzzi walk-in hot tub. The Lasik special at $299.00 per eye does not interest me. What if I have one eye fixed and then go broke and can’t afford to get the other one taken care of? I am already dizzy enough. I do not need the e-cigarette. I have not smoked in over 30 years. Why would I want to start back just pretending I am smoking? I do not care if smoking makes you look cool. I do not care if I appear cool. I am burning up!
I do not need “The Prestigious Business Nomination,” you idiots. I do not work. I am not in business. My only business is waking up each morning and attempting to get vertical. I do not need to refinance this house or go solar with it or replace the windows. It is not my house. We rent it.
I do not need the advice or lessons from the Pimsleur Language Experts. Let me repeat, I am 71 years old. I live Southern and I speak Southern. The only people who do not understand me are Yankees on the telephone who are trying to sell me testosterone boosters (the natural ones, of course). I am married to a wonderful woman and I feel sure she will let me know if I need to learn any additional words.
And finally, I really do not give one hoot in hell how Kim Kardasian plans to lose her baby fat after the baby makes the grand appearance. Following right along with this same train of thought, I really don’t give a half-a-hoot-in-hell how Angelina Jolie, Chelsea Handler or Jessica Alba lose their fat and I hope if you purchase the Dr. Oz cleanser, it will at least be helpful in cleaning your kitchen sink drains.
The only spam that caught my attention a little was the one that read “Brittany Spears loses her fatty arms in one month (see how).” Now I know these women are all worth a bunch of money but I had no idea you could just lose your arms. How will she get them back? Can she afford to go out and buy new arms? This is more than we need to know. It’s gross. Where do you shop for arms?
There’s a fortune waiting out there in cyberspace for the smart young computer whiz who can help us strike back at the internet interlopers. Step up to the plate smart person. Help us old geezers out of our cloudy misery.