Spam. A lot.

I hate spam.

I'm not just talking about the pink meat wannabe, which I don't like anyway. Who doesn't notice their spam folder exponentially increasing in girth, or unsolicited email scum polluting their inbox, without disgust? Whatever hellions concocted the scheme of emitting mass emails to unsuspecting and unentreating innocents for the sole purpose of force-feeding their products should be flogged, verbally abused, whipped, and tickle-tortured. Then followed up with a nice round beating.

Perhaps I should ask for forgiveness for the strength of my declamation. I'm normally not an angry person (...I think I've said that before...), but sometimes my patience with a practice reaches a breaking point. Not only does my spam folder routinely break the 400-email mark, but the admittance into my Inbox of scandalous emails from people I have never known is becoming more common. So many times I want to reply to the emails that I find, but I know that by so doing I would only be confirming that my address is, indeed, connected to a real living, breathing, consuming individual.

No thank you, but I would not like to modify any body parts, whether naturally or artificially, mine or anybody else's. I'm afraid I would only get prescription drugs from my own trusted physician, not from your internet store, and certainly not for a condition that I do not have. I also have no desire for a Rolex knockoff, I do not want a relationship with an unknown (and most likely imaginary) young lady, and I would have no need whatsoever for Hannah Montana tickets.

Thank you Internet, but no thank you. Take your crap somewhere else.