If I don’t clean out my SPAM folder regularly, it builds up like a mountain of junk mail. This triggers my OCD tendencies, forcing me to delete every item on the page until it’s clutter free.
Occasionally, a valid email accidentally ends up in the junk pile, which requires a slow scroll through each message to make sure I’m not erasing anything important.
My life would be pretty exciting if the special deals offered to me via SPAM were real. I’d have unlimited spending on a platinum card, life insurance for just a penny a day, an awesome credit score, the winning sweepstakes ticket and a reverse mortgage on my house. I’d also have a marriage proposal from a Russian bride named Svetlana, miracle pills for bigger breasts, access to a married dating service and a cure for erectile dysfunction.
Lately, I’ve been noticing a disturbing trend in my junk emails. Whoever (or whatever) is sending me these daily notifications assumes that I need breakthrough diabetes medication, free Ray-Ban sunglasses, fungus removal and dates with all of the “HOT BRAZILIAN MEN” trolling my online profile for a perfect match.
Another thing I don’t understand is why I’m receiving a multitude of penis enhancement ads. These messages include clever slogans such as, “Size Matters” and, “When Small Is A Dirty Word.” The free pill samples promise to help “Get bigger, last longer, stay harder.” Who wants genitalia the size of an elephant’s? Anyone with an erection lasting longer than eight hours should be considered a human tripod.
I’m also getting plenty of offers for toenail fungus removal. The last time I checked, no one in my family was growing a mushroom factory under their toenails. There’s no fungus among us.
Since I have a bladder the size of a kidney bean, it’s no surprise that I receive emails from concerned medical professionals who want to send me a free, Do-It-Yourself catheter kit. Of course, their gift comes with a warning: “Please read directions carefully—do NOT insert catheter in the wrong area.” Thankfully, they’re offering me the self-lubricated brand, otherwise it would feel like sandpaper in my nether regions.
According to my SPAM mail, I’ve also been invited to unlock Adriana’s “naughty picture album.” What the message doesn’t reveal is that Adriana is ninety-four-year-old great grandma performing her pole dancing act on the geriatric ward.
It’s a good thing I check my notifications daily, otherwise I would have missed the news that I won a $5000 trip to Maui. The downside is that I didn’t claim my prize within 24 hours, so I’m stuck with a three-day trip to Luckenback, Texas, via Greyhound Bus and a check for $12.50.
Another interesting fact I learned from my SPAM page is that people are doing background checks on me through the criminal records archives. First of all, I don’t have a criminal record. But if I did, the only thing I’d get busted for is stealing extra ketchup from the hot dog stand or nabbing several packets of sweetener off a table at The Olive Garden. I wonder how much jail time I’d serve for that chicken drumstick I smuggled out for my dog from the all-you-can-eat buffet?
If I ever need a new car, I know where to find one. I’m inundated with ads for affordable sports cars. They may look like Corvettes on the outside, but I’m betting these vehicles are missing their floorboards. How else could they be so cheap? I’d have to use my Fred Flintstone feet and run like a hamster on a wheel to get the car going. At least my family wouldn’t have to worry about me drag racing down I-95.
There’s also some great weight loss deals advertised in my junk emails. For a low price, I can receive the secret Paleo diet that all the celebrities use. What? Eat steak every day and lose weight? Count me in!
If the Paleo diet doesn’t work, there’s always the special fat buster offers that clog my inbox. Fat busters work like Ghost Busters—they zap unwanted cells until they shrink and disappear. “Who you gonna call? FAT BUSTERS!”
My all-time favorite SPAM notifications are the ones that ask me if I’m interested in meeting “SINGLE SENIORS 50+ NEAR YOU.”
Please define “50 Plus.” What if my blind date shows up with a walker and a urostomy bag? Will our date include a ride on the senior citizen’s bus to the Early Bird Special at Denny’s? Will I be required to wear compression socks and orthotic sandals? I might be more enticed by the ad if it included the slogan, “Where Seniors Meet to Nip Whiskey and Play Bocce Ball.”
And now if you’ll please excuse me, I need to order my miracle breast enhancement pills, grab my free Ray-Bans and set a wedding date with Svetlana.