A DISAPPOINTED PALINODE

A few months back I set up an on-the-road hotmail account for business contacts and other people I want to impress (I have an account at verizonmail.com, but there are spam issues with most decent servers, and my handle is 'spiritofbulkshopping,' which is not something I can tell somebody either before or after we talk about the circumstances of their children's/parents'/spouse's death in a gruesome air crash or what have you), but I soon realized that hotmail accounts are only good for the massive amounts of hilarious spam. Every couple of weeks I log in and chortle (thank you Mr. Carroll) at 'His Thing is Choking Me' or 'Invade Her Deep Trench qlieuehrxxjlh'. I always wonder how that poor girl choking on some guy's thing found a few spare seconds to email me about it. She must be an accomplished typist, is all.

Today: 55 new emails, none from anyone I know (natch, says Reggie), but only one or two are related to sex, and their language, almost prissy in their evocation of 80s sex advice books, has none of that overwhelming violence and intimations of assault that you find in the 'Hammer That Snatch' spam genre. 'Palinod Grow Your Willy Longer'. Thank you, but I grow my willy for twenty minutes each day, and not one second longer. 'How To Make Love Till You Drop!' reads one. I don't mind dropping in the midst of making love, since, you know, I'm really close to a flat surface anyway. The rest reek of paranoia: 'Is There Someone Else In Their Life?' I'm thinking, based on that sentence, that if 'they' have one life together, that there are more intriguing issues at stake. The rest are ads for email spy software, sharkish online loan agencies and human potential aides.

Palinode gets a ride home from work today, so he cuts all commentary.

parode - exode