I will never understand poetic spam. Sure, I can see the purpose of poorly constructed ads for Cialis or home refinancing loans, even if they annoy the shit out of me. Ultimately, I can understand why there is somebody out there who is forced to put these meager offerings together and send them to a massive contact list, and I imagine their own realization of the fact that their job is totally ineffective only contributes to the care which they invest in their work, which then, in turn, makes the ads even less effective, and so on and so forth. At least, failures as they may be, those types of spam messages have some kind of purpose in mind. But relatively often I'll find a message containing a haiku, or a single cryptic line and can't see why anybody wasted the bandwidth on it. I mean, I guess it's kind of entertaining, but if you're really that bored I would think buying a Playstation 3 or masturbating for a couple hours would be a way more satisfying investment.
Anyway, what prompted this little post was the email I got today from Dru Orabi, and maybe if my name was that fucked up I'd have fallen into a life of sending asinine spam emails. He wrote me the following, "He beamed again, his face red as he turned and headed for a back room." There are untold volumes of context surrounding that sentence I'm sure, and we'll never know. Oh Dru, you merciless tease.