Somewhere, in a darkened office-park, the spam author works late into the night, spinning a complex narrative of survival fear and toxic masculinity. Did they find this career, or did it find them?
An old friend of mine used to say she wanted to write spam for a living because: what else do you do when you’ve got a PhD in, basically, “how awesome is Shakespeare?” I remember those conversations; they usually ended with us agreeing that the good spam-writers work for Big Marketing. They’re really all just spammers, only some of them put on airs.
Today’s spam-nugget illustrates some of the surrealist creativity that occasionally bursts into my in-box and sometimes survives my bayesian classifier:
What the heck is a “blooter”?
Obviously, I went and checked in Google, but the definition of “blooter” that came back doesn’t seem to work right in this context.
You’ve got to love the substitution of “costless” for “free” (doubtless an attempt to avoid the high spamicity scores that associate with “free”)
Also, “Gun-Carrier-Carrier Chief Editor” is a title that no man would want to bear.
“Blooter” has got a Trumpian ring to it. Mr President, is that you?