Greg Peck: Spammers are irritatingly relentless
Complete Control asks me: “Would life with hair be better?”
A message from Girls Waiting urges me to “Discover your hookups tonight.”
Great Smokes offers “Great cigars including bonus humidor!”
Spam fills my email inbox at work like trash fills a wastebasket left untended for weeks. It's beyond annoying.
Horrid Asset will reveal “How to sell that annoying timeshare.”
Sorry, I don't own one.
The Ellen DeGeneneres Show Recap urges me to “view anniversary selfie.”
Sorry, I'm not interested. But Ellen and I must have become good buds somehow recently because her show sends multiple messages daily.
The Greatest asks me, “Needing to find some enhancement?”
Sorry, um, what?
It's insidious. It's relentless. It's a perpetual drumbeat on my email.
DYI Woodworking Projects claims “Anyone can build a shed.” So does Build your Outdoor Shed.
I didn't know I needed a shed. Will it require a building permit? Will it tick off the neighbors?
Japanese Singles urges me to “find top Japanese dating sites online.”
Don't think my wife would be amused.
Still, spam keeps coming. It's reminiscent of that ancient form of Asian water torture—drip, drip, drip, one more, one more, one more.
Flex Course claims its “ab training works for men and women.”
Insane Law sends out an alert suggesting “this law can actually ban gardening.”
Screw Store asks me, “When will you strip another screw?”
I'm not making this stuff up, folks.
Amazon Online offers its offerings in rapid fire: “Vouchers are only a click away.” “Your Amazon bonus card is here.” “Your card is just a click away.” “Your choice for printing ink and toner.”
It's the same thing day after day after day. The players, the senders, might change from day to day, week to week, but the flow that years ago was a trickle has become a gusher.
Sure, the delete button is fast, but somehow I think the spammers eventually will be faster. I can foresee the day when I'll need a full-time assistant just to hit my delete delete delete button for me.
The above spam samples—and 52 more—hit my inbox Monday. I stopped counting after 5 p.m.
Heck, if I wasn't so busy using my delete button and had time to check out and act on all these “great” offers, I'd have perfect vision and the nicest-looking garage floor. I'd be able to eat carbs once again and know which foods will make me fat. I'd learn all my ancestors, borrow $1,000 just like that, be able to hear a pin drop, afford health insurance on my family's budget and slash my home energy bills. Oh, and have a date every night.
Again, I don't think my wife would be tickled about that last one. But then, I could offer to take her on that private island vacation I got offered in another email.
I could, that is, if I just wasn't so busy killing spam—and otherwise tending to daily job duties.