what fun is a vacation if you don't relive it?
Get Outta Here: Leave My Colon Alone
Most folks in Indiana know it’s time for spring break because basketball tournament talk cranks up several notches. We usually get one last snow pile we don’t have the mental energy to shovel. Wal-Mart stuffs its end caps with Starburst jelly beans. But me – I know it’s March because this is when I let spam email get under my skin.
Face it, there’s so much weird advertising landing in everyone’s mailboxes these days, it’s no longer funny to talk about male enhancement. We’ve all read the pleas to give a foreigner our bank account numbers so they can hide millions of dollars there and give us a cut. Who hasn’t been told Bill Gates will send them something for forwarding the email? Yawn. Delete. Forget. Yawn. Delete. Forget.
But since rolling into 2008, several times a day I receive an offer to cleanse my colon. Get outta here – like I would do something like that via the Internet! Yawn. Delete. Forget. Except I’ve sat in this chair in front of this computer for nearly three straight months now. Stared out the same window to see the same dead, colorless landscaping. And I’m starting to get really testy about strangers presuming to horn in on the state of my bowels. Particularly folks with a return address like @aujna.circumcisetorpent.com (a.k.a. “circumcise to repent.” Definitely an upstanding, trustworthy operation).
Once you start talking back to your email, it all goes to pot from there. I start my day angry because people want to sell me business cards. I pound on the delete button when some goober thinks I’m gullible enough to click here for a new Apple MacBook Air or a Vizio 50-inch plasma TV. (Is Vizio even a good brand?). My Real Age is none of your freakin’ business. And just why would I care about a Creative Memories party? Oops, that one is legit. I think I erased my receipt for the iTunes download this weekend, too.
I can’t wait to spend a few days on the beach, letting the sun bake my bones while the ocean erases my irritation and I can once again yawn. Delete. Forget.
Face it, there’s so much weird advertising landing in everyone’s mailboxes these days, it’s no longer funny to talk about male enhancement. We’ve all read the pleas to give a foreigner our bank account numbers so they can hide millions of dollars there and give us a cut. Who hasn’t been told Bill Gates will send them something for forwarding the email? Yawn. Delete. Forget. Yawn. Delete. Forget.
But since rolling into 2008, several times a day I receive an offer to cleanse my colon. Get outta here – like I would do something like that via the Internet! Yawn. Delete. Forget. Except I’ve sat in this chair in front of this computer for nearly three straight months now. Stared out the same window to see the same dead, colorless landscaping. And I’m starting to get really testy about strangers presuming to horn in on the state of my bowels. Particularly folks with a return address like @aujna.circumcisetorpent.com (a.k.a. “circumcise to repent.” Definitely an upstanding, trustworthy operation).
Once you start talking back to your email, it all goes to pot from there. I start my day angry because people want to sell me business cards. I pound on the delete button when some goober thinks I’m gullible enough to click here for a new Apple MacBook Air or a Vizio 50-inch plasma TV. (Is Vizio even a good brand?). My Real Age is none of your freakin’ business. And just why would I care about a Creative Memories party? Oops, that one is legit. I think I erased my receipt for the iTunes download this weekend, too.
I can’t wait to spend a few days on the beach, letting the sun bake my bones while the ocean erases my irritation and I can once again yawn. Delete. Forget.
Comment
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Comment by CW Merv on March 13, 2008 at 10:56pm -
Hey, how would you like a nice, refreshing colonoscopy with a billiard stick?
Sorry, someone had to ask...
I have a really long story to tell you about my roommate and spam next time I see you, so don't let me forget!
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