They call it SPAM for a reason…

Once in a while I open the SPAM folder and look at the offerings left there.  My cats, quite frankly, have dragged into the house more interesting carcasses than what spammers hawk at us.  Oh, I know that SPAM is not to be taken seriously, and I don’t, but -like those flyers that come in the mail offering more mailing labels than any human could possibly use in a lifetime- I can’t help but look.

I can tell that spammers really have no idea who they are spamming.  Why else would I be getting offers for sex toys and naughty pictures?  Look, if I have time for sex, quite frankly, I’m not going to waste it on a gadget.  When you have a kid like J in your house, romance is important, but jumping at the chance is even more of the essence.  And whatever nasty pictures you can show me, I have the same stuff at home…it’s not as young and airbrushed, and -heaven forbid- it’s not pierced or tattooed, but it’s here, thank you.

Also, and let’s be honest here, I don’t really have any use for Prada…or knock-offs of Prada or anything else.  I feel fortunate if I manage to find a purse that won’t immediately swallow all my belongings.  I know, and I have witnesses, that there are things I put in purses and will never get back, not because they were stolen or lost, but because most purses are black holes we carry around.  When I was cleaning out my closet before our move across the country, I found three purses I hadn’t used in years…and countless things I’d already replaced because I couldn’t find them in those purses when they were in the rotation.

I understand that spammers are trying to make money.  They get, I suppose, paid for how many e-mails they send out, how many posts they pile on other people’s pages.  I feel their pain.  Times are, indeed, tough…but REALLY????  If you are going to troll looking for a wall where you can throw a noodle to test for doneness, shouldn’t you at least make an attempt to read?  There is no connection between what is being posted to my SPAM folder and what I’m writing; the syntax, also, gives it away all too easily: most interesting notes on a point you have clarified so well I will tell my friends certainly about it.  I wonder if times are tough in Dagobah and Yoda has had to augment his Jedi Knight pension with a little spamming on the side.  The facts exposed herein are of a most interesting nature, you enlighten me. Buy condoms in bulk, vibrators by the gross, and I will convey my opinions on your thoughts later.  How low has the Star Wars universe sunk…we thought it couldn’t get worse than Jar-Jar Binks but NO…Yoda’s lurking in the SPAM folder.

When I finally open that folder and see what is in there, I tend to turn towards J (who sits on the couch giggling at the cats hissing at each other) and wonder if this is all for naught.  Oh, I know there are those who read and realize that, perhaps, some of what I say rings true to their day-to-day lives.  I know there are not a lot of scrum caps out there (at least not on people who DON’T play rugby,) but I know your own versions of our family life feel a little less weird when you peek into this page.

Rest assured, then, that the SPAM doesn’t faze me much.  It baffles me, but I take it for what it’s worth…canned compressed pink meat, neither nutritious nor satisfying in the long term.  There have been times, I admit, when I’ve shaken my head in disbelief and asked what does this have to do with my life.  The answer is nothing!  While I sit here and type this, I am going through the little events that pile up to form our reality, and the fact that there are those who merely pop in to regale me with pointless advertisement for things I neither want, need, nor can relate to is moot.  How would I feel if I suddenly found that every single Autism-related spammer in the planet has homed in on my page and decided to offer me some snake-charming flute to fix J?  I’d be shaking my head at that, too…

If you are a spammer and you have accidentally landed on my page and have been absolutely powerless to remove your eyes from what I’ve written, my apologies.  I don’t mean to disparage you.  You bother me.  You make my endeavor seem pointless, but I can’t let your influence nullify whatever it is I offer to the other people who, sensing I might be saying something that won’t make them feel like a fish flapping about in an inch of water, read this more frequently and mindfully than you, dear spammer, do.

I know that, among those who know what I’m talking about, there will be a giggle of appreciation when I reveal that I sat on the carpet today and, when I got up, several pieces of laminating plastic were stuck to my butt, remnants of the PECS laminating frenzy I’ve been in for the past few days.  Also, rest assured that in this corner of the Universe we are discovering that Velcro travels in mysterious ways and attaches itself to the oddest items…I found a piece of Velcro stuck to the bottom of the little straw purse (ok, it’s not a purse, it’s an Easter basket) that I carry around during the summer.  J, much to our chagrin, has discovered that he can channel Jafar and control the board when I’m not looking…which means he has us scheduled for a full day of hitting every major store in town on Saturday…  And don’t even get me started on the newest trend: refolding all of mom’s underwear and separating it by color and texture.

Yeah…spam about THAT one!







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