Deleting the Spam

I had three “comments” on my blog today that were nothing but irritating stupid spam.  I deleted them.  Sell your shit elsewhere, thank you very much. And thank you to WordPress for filtering it and not just letting it go out there for anyone else to see.  I’m sick of porn peddlers and networking gurus and sales people trying to extract free money from me and other people.  I’m sick of ads for penis pills- if I ever need them I’ll go to a doctor, thank you.  I don’t even like that on TV.  I’m sick of ads for single women in my area.

I cringed yesterday watching some poor schmucks from the video dating era, maybe the 1980s or earlier.  There they sat in their polyester or whatever other cheesy looking wardrobe choices they had made, and these guys were compiled because they were your garden variety pathetic loser.  The success stories didn’t need to be told, I suppose.

I had 3700 emails, two of which were rightly filtered as spam, and another advertisement about how I needed to know if I could be depressed.  Well, geniuses, I AM depressed frequently, but your advertisement and these spams and these messages I’m supposed to filter through are just irritants.  I don’t need your fucking tests to tell me what I am.  I figured it out already without your help.  I go through and delete the crap every so often.  I’m sorry, I don’t always read every post from every other blogger, or every comment on other bloggers’ blogs, although that would delight me if I could.  Your comments to me are deeply appreciated and I do read them.  Please do tell me if I sucked, or if what I write has any redeeming quality, whatever that was, so I can succeed as a writer.  And I read every blog I can and I love to read other bloggers’ conversation threads, but there’s a limit and I’ve gone past it.

The worst spam email I saw today really pissed me off.  It read “your inbox is full” and it said it was from Craigslist or something.  I don’t have a Craigslist anything.  Fuck off, commentnapdonor.com, whoever the fuck you are.  I’m sure if I had clicked on anything it would have been either, best case, worthless and not helpful, and worst case, would have unleashed some hellish virus on my computer.  Fucking ‘tards.  If there’s anything worse than a waste of  my time, it’s a waste of my time that also wastes my already inadequate money.

There is no filter adequate to the spam in our lives.  The spam distracts us from what is really important, and what’s worse, it robs us of the time we need to handle what is really important.  There’s junk snail mail still to this day.  There are well meaning friends who send me an email to send to 500 of my closest friends or I’ll miss out on the latest giveaway from a corporation which has no idea whether or not one forwards the bogus promises, and, what’s worse, the fires of hell will be unleashed because obviously I didn’t love Jesus enough to forward the chain of bullshit.

There’s spam cluttering our houses.  We have shit we don’t use that we don’t need that we might need someday or that was a gift from our dear relative who never comes over to the fucking house to check and see if we’re using that thing.  It’s in the two car garage instead of our two cars.  We think it’s harmless clutter, but I wonder if we’re better off keeping it.

There’s spam cluttering our emotions.  We have people telling us something they don’t really mean, bait and switch, just like a fucking spam email.  We have people telling us how much we suck, when it’s not really true.  Those kinds of people manipulate and abuse and get their jollies feeling oh-so-superior to us.  We have people telling us they love us, but when it comes down to it, they don’t want the same things we want, they don’t love the way we need to be loved, and they won’t learn because the only people they really give a shit about are themselves.  They want to take something from us, and they use our emotions, our fears, our self-doubts, to get what they want and once they have it, there’s no reciprocation, there’s nothing coming back, but oh how they want us to get our hopes up.  Fuckers.

Spam people are the second worst people on the earth.  If there was a filter button I’d press that damn thing.  Would there be anyone left?  I know a few liars who made promises to me that I’d want to see what the filter did to them just for the grim curiosity.  I’d watch at least once.

I read a blog from an absolute gem, a lady who keeps on finding the little men behind the Ozzian curtains, hiding in the Emerald Cities of their minds and pretending to be more than they are.  They play with her emotions to try to get what they want and then she finds out they are ass holes, liars, …  you get the picture.  They’re the typical guys you’d rant about if you met them and they treated you like they’ve treated her.  To spite all of that, you want to read her writing- it’s genius and she continually holds out hope and humor in spite of the trial.  She inspires me to hope in my circumstance, and you know that takes a lot if you know me.  She has left behind a trail of trials, exposing the failures of man-kind, of seemingly skilled relational spammers, and come out with her delete key, and charm, intact.

Because I ignore my emails and because WordPress doesn’t show me the history of inbound articles, I almost missed what she wrote this last time.  Read her latest delightful humor about a humorless misadventure here.  I don’t know how she does it.  I’d have become a bitter lesbian long ago.  I would hate men, because they’re all pathetic selfish shitheads.  Wait. I may already be a bitter lesbian, trapped in a man’s body.  Because you ladies are all beautiful to me, I love a beautiful brain like a zombie, and I want everything nothing.  I’ll let you be the judge.  I don’t really want to escape this body, or mangle it.  I’m rather attached to it.  But really.  Oh.  Holy crap she’s a novelist too.  Buy her books.  I still have to borrow one because I have cash flow issues and a wife.  I confess a jealous feeling about people who are farther along on their dream-fulfillment quest than I am and she is three times farther along than I am.  And that’s hot.  Don’t send me links expecting me to buy anything until I’ve gotten my ass out of debt, and I’ve fixed the broken necessities I crave to fix.  Sorry.  And, spam phone callers, stop calling me trying to sell something, ask donations, or seek my political advise about who to vote for.  I’ll ignore those easier than almost anything else I ignore.

Her experience, my experience, I am betting your experience, begs the question:  Are there any genuine people out there?

Well don’t look at me.  I’m not what you’d call “normal.”  If I tell you I love you, I love you and that’s the end of that.  I love you and I don’t want anything from you.  If I tell you you’re beautiful, you’re beautiful to me and that’s the end of that.  I don’t want anything from you.  If I give you a gift it’s because I care.  If it’s clutter, chuck it or regift it.  But as soon as you tell me you love me back, there are strings attached. I want more.  If I express my love to you and strive to learn how you want to hear it, in spoken and unspoken ways, and you’ve told me you love me back, I want to hear that expressed in languages I dream of hearing, not just the language you naturally speak.  Within the limitations of my pre-existing condition of being married.  I’m pretty traditional about that “til death do us part” thing I said.  And she’d kill me long before I ever thought… strike that.  Well I still bet she’d kill me first.

I once read about a guy who said he got gifts for his wife and he either played off the romantic gesture or he was genuinely sick of her, I’m not sure.  He said he got them because it it was his duty.  Well, I don’t want gifts given because it’s your duty.  I want them because they’re heartfelt and genuine.  Anything else creates an atmosphere of emotional spam.  I want the real thing.  I don’t have time or energy to waste if all I’m getting in return is forced, faked, or worse, annoying to you.  Just don’t fucking bother.  Just fucking go away.  Also, I’m a bit jealous, I want to get gifts for Mrs. M.  It might improve her disposition because of my evincing my commitment (of cash).  Or, she might delete them as spam.  Or resent I’ve wasted the money or something.  If she doesn’t appreciate when I do stuff for her and makes snarky shitty remarks imagine if she thought I was wasting (her) money.

The strings are firmly attached in my life, to people who swore they loved me back.  And some I sometimes wish I could cut.  But I can’t.

I’m starting to think some food is spam, which is why people are unhealthy.  I mean, it’s one thing to go to the junk food place once in a while and have a little guilty pleasure, but it’s another to do it by habit or necessity.  Ice cream is never spam.  Never.  Until the third dish.  The third dish would be spam if I ever ate a third dish, just like a third alcoholic drink would be, for me.  And steak and wine are never spam, despite the lies my limited budget keep telling me.  I shudder to think that those shows I binge watch because they’re awesome, may be another form of spam.  Except your favorites and mine.  Because no, Criminal Minds and Futurama are not spam.  Or are they?  Spamn!  I mean, Damn!

Even people I love have the potential to be spam.  Imagine the consequences if an inappropriate-but-harmless remark I made flirtatiously came back to bite me on the ass.  First, I don’t like being bitten on the ass, there are other places a gentle nibble, or whatever,  would feel so much better.  And second, I’ve made promises to certain people and I want to keep those promises no matter how enticingly sweet the alternative might be.  So just delete my overly flirtatious comments, or translate them into “I love you and don’t want anything in return.  And, I think you’re beautiful.”  Unless you’re single as I’m averse to bullets and knives coming out of disgruntled spouses, and you’ve got a lot of money and a willing, passionate, loving and generous heart.  Then, look me up still ignore me.

I’m sorry for sending spam to your email, resting securely in the knowledge that what I write is mostly absolute bullshit, or it’s of a shit caliber.  It’s a .50 caliber bullet lodged in a .22; if I ever really fired it off, the gun would break.  If you follow my blog and get notified when I post something new, please accept my humble apologies.  And click delete.

I’m slowly learning to delete the spam I can delete.  Sadly, one can’t delete the senders of the spam. It’s a little bit against the law.  I hope we’re all able to make progress uphill against the endless downward stream of wasted time, spam and other bullshit.  Good luck.  If I get up there I’ll throw down a rope.  And you may trust me on that.

Love, (honest!)
DM

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8 thoughts on “Deleting the Spam

  1. Damn Spam! Hope you are having a spamless day and Mrs M appreciates you and shows you the love!!! Wow I checked out your friend and she reminded me of my younger self, hope she learns better than me how to pick the good ones.

    Liked by 1 person

  2. I’ve never met the lady, but I love her writing. I’ve got a guy I followed when I first started blogging and I confess I stalked several of the blogs he liked and followed, to see how to do it better. Her writing is excellent.

    Like

    1. I absolutely LOVE this piece on spamming! I loved it so much, I tweeted it. And that was before I realized I was part of it. You rock! And your senses of observation, humor and sarcasm are stellar! I am a fan. 🙂

      Liked by 1 person

      1. Thank you very much, Su, (can I call you Su?) You have no idea how encouraging it is when people compliment my writing. Oh wait, maybe you do. Yeah, I’ve read .several of your articles and the feeling is mutual. Holy crap, is this what reciprocation feels like?! And, thanks for the tweet. For which, I apologize in advance to all your followers.~DM

        Like

    1. damn! Ham?! Now I’m hungry too. I think I’d like eggs and grits and hash browns with my ham, and maybe some toast. Now if I can convince the boss to let me go home to make that… Or if I could get someone to go to a local breakfast spot and bring it back for me. And OJ. not that my food fantasies are detailed. I had a “breakfast bar” and not one that involved vodka in my OJ. I didn’t even have OJ

      Liked by 1 person

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