Today I would like to address an emergent part of my audience: the hardworking men and women of the spamming community.
Dear Spammers – what the fuck?!
I know Akismet’s hitting you where it hurts and these are dark days for you, what with your uncrowned king getting arrested and everything but seriously? You have to stop. See, I have feelings too. And everytime you slip past WordPress controls and post a comment on my blog, it makes me very happy… until I find out that your comment was a single word, that you didn’t even get my name right, your flattery was insincere, and your heart was, um, out to lunch.
Every time the carrot of approval is dangled in front of me only to be cruelly snatched away, I crash and burn in the agony of a writer denied love. You think that kind of pain is going to make me buy, say, floor mats from you? Even if it’s from BMW? A car which I don’t own, don’t like and wouldn’t buy? Even if I knew how to drive?
Why? Why must you do this to me? I’m just a little Nemo struggling through the ocean that is the blogosphere. Ok, maybe I’m a Nemette. But I’m still just an itty bitty fishy – why would you want to set me up for disappointment like this? It’s cruel and unusual punishment. Not as bad as Guantanamo Bay, to put things in perspective, but it’s a crushing feeling to know that your love has a price on it.
Look, if you want to link to an object for sale, then go ahead, link it. I never said you couldn’t. And I won’t call the cops on you either. But for heaven’s sake, read the post and leave a genuine comment. Yes, I know you’re watching the clock but that’s no excuse for calling me ‘Jimmy’.
Do I look like a Jimmy to you? Here’s what a Jimmy looks like:
You think that’s me? An old white guy with capped teeth and grey hair who writes about Paris Hilton? And no, don’t tell me about inner beauty – I know you don’t care about my rainbow soul that attracts unicorns (fact!).
I’ll admit that it’s sort of therapeutic to mark comments as spam. Makes me wish one could do that with people and comments in real life too. One click and it magically turns pink and disappears off the page. But you’re not that kid who double crossed me in grade school and you’re not the boyfriend I wish I’d never dated, hence the therapy is limited.
So please, don’t do this any more. And if you do continue in your evil ways, may your eyes turn to goulash, your eyelashes into diseased palm fronds, your fingers develop carpel tunnel, your liver into a pea sized stone, your bottom into a cavern infested with vampire bats and your hair keep bursting into flame. Amen.
PS – That reminds me – don’t tell the Jesus Spammer where I can be found. Thanks.