Your Spam Will Be Graded

Is it just me?

Or do the spammers lately seem just a little desperate?

Yep, it’s spam folder clean out day. Bad news, spammers, not all of you will be advancing to the next grade.

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- Hi, we are two geeks, and we would like to show you how we work for just a few minutes each day while we let our robot make us hundreds of dollars per year while we do whatever we want. It's so amazing, and simple....we are SHOCKED that not everyone is doing what we are doing...there really is no competition, and everyone could be rich if they want to be. It's crazy that we just have to work a few minutes per day. With a robot that can make you hundreds of dollars per year, I too am shocked that not everybody is doing what you’re doing. Wow. Hundreds of dollars, I gotta get me some of that.

- Women will bake you pies because of your mega size. Ohhhhh, I love pie. What kind of pie? Shoefly pie? Apple pie? Cherry is my favorite, just saying. And I purely hate peaches, so no peach pies, thanks. Also, I'm not sure I'm what you'd call "mega-size" so I probably don't qualify for a whole pie per se, but maybe they could bake me a tart or something? I'd be good with that.

- Prepare your manhood for deeds! The tagline from the next Van Wilder movie, no doubt.

- How many times have you lied about size of male pride? Never. Swear to God.

- Best oil for pork motor. I, uh, pork motor, what? Pork is greasy already, seems to me if you could make a motor from it, it wouldn’t need oil.

- A big instrument is a mortgage to success. Like a tuba, now that’s a big instrument. Chicks dig the tubaman. One thing though, I don’t think “mortgage” and “success” belong in the same sentence, just sayin’.

- Your cock size will be written on your forehead. There was this Marine once, when I was in Navy technical school, who drank too much Jack Daniels at a party and passed out. We wrote his cock size on his forehead, along with some helpful comparison diagrams. In permanent laundry marker. Then we took him downtown in a taxi and set him on a bench on the fishing pier in his skivvies. Oddly, the next morning, despite having his personal dimensions penned on his forehead, the chicks didn’t seem to find him all that attractive – admittedly, the vomit and sunburn might have been putting them off. From then on he was known around base as Corporal Dickhead.

- At spring girls put on their boobs and legs, dont miss your chance. Don’t miss my chance to what? And speaking of Marines, did I ever tell you about the two Jarheads who stole a one-legged hooker’s prosthetic leg? No? Well, they did. She was somewhat famous in that port, going by the professional moniker of “Hopalong.” There were T-shirts and everything. For the Marines it was sort of a rite of passage. Apparently she was quite enthusiastic, but had trouble staying centered, being as the missing leg was severed on the upper thigh near the hip. Supposedly this feature separated the men from the boys so to speak, as it required a certain degree of skill to remain properly positioned. Anyway long story short, she used to have to take her prosthetic leg off while, uh, servicing customers. She’d hang it on a nail on the wall. These two idiots took it as a trophy, I guess they figured they could outrun her – being Marines and all. Next morning there was a huge angry mob on the pier. No less than the mayor of the town was leading the procession and demanded return of the leg. The Master-at-Arms searched the ship, the leg was found in short order (though its location did have the MP’s stumped for a while) and the Captain himself returned it to Hopalong there on the pier in front of basically the whole town and had to apologize to the mayor. Later, at Captain’s Mast, the Marine’s defense consisted of the immortal line, “Shit, Skipper, I was so drunk, I thought it was my leg.” Just for future reference, really don’t use that as an excuse should you find yourself before the mast under similar circumstances.

- A giant, snow-covered banjo. Uh, what?

- Your wife will be cooking you food so you can have her right. You haven’t had my wife’s cooking, if dinner was left up to her we’d be eating frozen waffles and microwave pizza treats every day.

- Your will have such a biggie pride it will be enough even to divide. Now that’s what I call a reproductive system.

- Give her a serious bombing. Really, dude, you’ll be dynamite with the ladies. Talk about domestic terrorism.

- You'll brake walls with your boner. Well, hell, I’ve already got enough home repairs to do around here, I don’t need to be patching drywall too.

- Show your girlfriend what a real Sax is! Apparently they’ve got a pill that turns you into Charlie “The Bird” Parker. Go Pfizer! Instructions on the bottle: Grasp instrument firmly, place mouthpiece between lips and blow. Use tongue for extra effect…

- Get Clinton's charming skills. Um, which Clinton? Because, you know, it matters. You’d don’t want to be like Cypher in The Matrix, boy oh boy I wish I’d taken the blue pill…

- Every woman would like to hunt that beast inside your pats. Ah, yes, the fearsome pats beast. Bag enough of them, and with the right taxidermist you could make yourself a coat rack.

- Heave your sexual event with splendid medicaments. Look, I know we’re working through a translation barrier here, but generally it’s not a good idea to use "sexual event” and “heave” in the same sentence - also, I’d steer clear of “Ralph” and “upchuck.”

- Teach your woman obediency! Um, suuuuuure. You go first.

- Women always belittle men who don't amaze them with their extra dimensions. Ah, yes, the old, “excuse me, I’m a quantum physicist, you didn’t happen to see my superstring laying around did you? Give it a good yank and it’ll open a wormhole to extra dimensions you’ve only dreamed about, Baby” line. I understand this is heard most commonly in the bar at Mensa conventions.

- Now men with abnormal sizes can enjoy this life. Well, that’s good because I wear a size 10 1/2 narrow hiking boot, and they’re a bitch to find.

- We will make the serving size of your meat much larger. I understand Wendy’s was considering this as an advertising slogan, but it wouldn’t fit on the banners. Ultimately they went with “Supersize” instead.

- Wearing a small member is even worse than wearing hand-cuffs. Yeah, but if your member is small enough, you could use it to pick the handcuffs. That would be a useful skill.

- Magnesium oxide insufficiency is not your problem. Well, that’s good to know. Also, I’m pretty sure that Chromate Hexafluoride insufficiency is not my problem. Neither is Bromide Permanganate deficiency.

- You can't rent a big friend in your underwear… Yeah, but wouldn’t it be cool if you could? Howdy, welcome to RentaCenter, how can we help you? Well…

- Women will be standing in line just to touch your watch. Because the bitches are shallow like that. Whoa, whoa, whoa! Ladies, please. No pushing, no shoving, and no throwing panties - well, Ok, but only in the Jello Pit. Really, you’ll all get your chance to touch my fake watch…Ten dollars for pictures with it though. $20 for a video of me putting my arm around your neck, $25 if you ask me for the time...

- Sleep with a sexy married woman tonight! Well, see, I already planned on that. Don’t tell anybody.

- A big equipment in your pants brings big fruits for hot chicks to pick up. Who’s this targeted at, Migrant Farm Labor?

And last,

- You have dishonored your families, your company and your nation. Even the hookers you invited to last year's lavish Christmas party now avoid you in shame," Mr. Robotto says. "Oh yeah, It's Seppuku time!" Jesus Christ, I’ve been drunk a couple of times and regretted it the next morning, but not to the point of actually embarrassing my entire nation. Even the hookers are ashamed, folks. Giving a ten dollar blowjob next to a roach filled dumpster in the back alley doesn’t bother them, but you? Well a girl has got to have some standards is all. Holy shit, dude, what the hell did you do? Painful Japanese suicide is the only answer, Loser-san. (I’m not really sure what this email was about. The spammer forget to include the usual link for man pills or faux Submariner watches – maybe it was for Samurai swords, or a job with the George W. Bush Freedom Library).

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And with that, Whoosh! the spam folder is cleared out until next week.

And for you statistics nuts

Over a 1 week period:

Legit emails: 438.

Spam emails: 10,832…833…834…5…6…