Spam

Some days I have profound thoughts, like the day I realized that Mel Gibson is not my real father, as my mother insists, because he couldn't possibly be Jewish -- what Jew ever had an Australian accent, come on! But today is not a day I'm having any profound thoughts, which has led me to write about something that anyone who has ever had email finds annoying: spam. And not the kind that's tasty to eat with eggs, jam and toast, but the kind that pours into my email inbox at every hour of the day. Spam for Vioxx, for Viagra for estranged generals looking to use my bank account to make me a multi-bazillionaire. I hate spam like tall men hate airplane seats, like construction workers hate powerful winds, like my skin hates the rest of my skin when I'm watching Oprah Winfrey on television.

First off, who the hell likes spam? I have trouble conjuring an image of someone pathetic enough to happily open any email that hits his Inbox: I picture a large, shaggy man with no pants and grizzlybear back-hair sitting in a ragged trailer set down in the middle of the desert with a cable running from his computer to the nearest city (probably Nevada). I believe it was The Beatles who wondered where all the lonely people come from. I don't know that they ever got an answer to that question, but I do know this: those folks aren't lonely anymore, they have THOUSANDS of new friends who write them every day.

It might be presumptious of me to assume that anyone likes spam, but I'm giving the spammers the benefit of several doubts. Why would they keep spamming if it didn't work? Either they're crazy (well, they are crazy), or they're drumming up business this way. So lets assume there is a segment of the population of the earth who like nothing more than receiving email ads for things that they absolutely must have. And how would they know they needed those things if they didn't get emails announcing their existence? How stupid am I? Or, as Grandpa Schlomo would say, "You're a schmuck, now pass the pork chops and the magic markers."

I read somewhere, probably in the New York Times during a dream, that the number of spam emails is greater than the number of real emails sent by real people. Which begs at least one metaphysical question: which are the "real" real emails? Huh? Ponder that! No, don't. Spam is not real email and quantity is only better than quality when it comes to champagne, ice cream and Zsa Zsa Gabor. But it does make me wonder about the quality of email in the first place. Remember a time way, way back, when people wrote carefully crafted letters? Those days are gone -- suggest writing a letter to someone and you'll be crushed by their manic laugh and soul-crushing punch to your solar plexus. Folks don't have time to write anything of substance anymore. In fact, most folks (especially lazy bloggers) don't even have the time to even think anything of substance anymore. They're too busy watching shows with words like "ghost," "spirit," "telepathy," and "Jay Leno" on the television. And lord knows we have to be fed constant stimulation: in my office building they recently put up ridiculous TV screens in all the elevators that shout out useless statistics and news all day. Who cares what Brad and Angelina are doing, besides their press agent and 2.4 billion people?!

Oh wait, I was talking about spam. Err, spam. So what to do about it. I have several suggestions. First, make it illegal. I know, that probably treads on at least one amendment to the Constitution, but I wonder if the founding fathers or the various amenders ever envisioned their lofty ideals being used principally to sell erectile dysfunction medication (though Happy Stan points out that those guys NEVER smile in paintings, so who knows...). Do democratic principles necessarily even go with capitlist ones? An unoriginal thought to be sure, but worth pondering next time some spam hits your Inbox. Like now. And now. Now. Another thought to stop spammers: track 'em all down, put them in a city that no one is using anyway (Phoenix?), build really high fences and then force feed them all the medication they've been selling. Then film it. Now that's some television that'd be worth seeing. Now I'm getting hungry -- yup, for spam and eggs.