I get a lot of spam, and I’m sure you do too. Right now I’ve got 954 of them sitting in my spam folder. It doesn’t usually bother me as it’s mostly picked up by the spam filter, but in the last few days and weeks I’ve been getting all sorts of spam in my inbox. They’re as blatantly spamerific as any other e-mail that does get picked up by the filter, so why these e-mails have has recently managed to penetrate the system beats me (puns intended, indeed).
And now, some SEXUAL-EXPLICITNESS for your perusal.
video with little girls which sit on man’s shocking size kokz
it’s unreal sizes ;-)
I even got a little story! Unfortunately, though, it ends up in a flurry of indistinguishable phrases, which I can only assume to be the writer having his wiener smacked to the keyboard in an integral facet of him and his girlfriend’s weekly S&M bout. That, or the story depicted in this little novel is in fact a guy live-blogging himself. Oh, these spammers. They’re all nuts!
Behold the ‘orrible Faggot!
drowned in the ensuing uproar. The police ran to the Sempleyarovs’ box, curious spectators climbed on to the ledge to watch, there were explosions of infernal laughter and wild cries, drowned by the golden crash of cymbals from the orchestra. Suddenly the stage was empty. The horrible Faggot and the sinister cat Behemoth melted into the air and disappeared, just as the magician had vanished earlier in his shabby armchair. Ivan swung his legs off the bed and stared. A man was standing on the balcony, peering cautiously into the room. He was aged about thirty-eight, clean-shaven and dark, with a sharp nose, restless eyes and a lock of hair that tumbled over his forehead. The mysterious visitor listened awhile then, satisfied that Ivan was alone, entered the room. As he came in Ivan noticed that the man was wearing hospital clothes–pyjamas, slippers and a reddish-brown dressing gown thrown over his shoulders. The visitor winked at Ivan, put a bunch of keys into his pocket and asked in a whisper : ‘ May I sit down? ‘ Receiving an affirmative reply he settled in the armchair. mhh ghrhlh khrhllkho f s h ohh iginitm s imipiq ktfs f qf hgnfkfqfogr fjj ii igig ngmgtgjk mg o gjgg j qgnfngfg g pt uiuq thtprk tg tptotftlp ktut hti lsith thtirioiifgg ih hf jf ofjfufqj lfpfk f l iulrmq lqms l fl rl ljum m m rmi mpm niqmkm nmk utps pfpnpjqu p mqrt kt mohqjq oqjqu qqulqp q kql sdjksdfsdfsdlgkj sdflkjsdf lksdjfsdfsdf
This excerpt of an e-mail I got put my life in perspective.
Below, just one out of many e-mails containing most prolific poetry.
hark drum bird cross year,
more cork, peace brass exact.
folly try mist
So why have these, well, unsolicited e-mails managed to make their way into my inbox? They fulfil every criteria and have all the characteristics of a spam e-mail, and yet in the past few weeks, all of a sudden, I’m getting them in my inbox.