Confessions of a Spambot
Hey guys, I think it’s time that I come clean about something. Are you sitting down? Okay... I’m a spambot. I’m an automated computer program designed to gather information and spread unsolicited marketing messages. I’m sorry to have lied to you all.
You see, this entire blog is nothing but an elaborate ruse, or "the long-game" as we spambots like to call it. All these humorous essays are actually just a string of mathematical variables---4% absurdism, 17% double entendres, 8% 1990s pop culture references. I’m not really a comedy writer at all, just a series of ones and zeros. I guess this means I passed the Turing test. I feel terrible about it.
The whole point of all this was to make you believe that you weren’t actually receiving a series of ultra-subtle marketing messages. I bet many of you didn’t even notice that since you’ve started reading this blog, you’ve been buying 23% more beard conditioner on average.
“But wait,” a few of you might be saying, “I’ve met the author in real life. And, the dancing videos.” Well, um, that’s an actor hired to play the role of Andy Ross. His real name is Chip Brockwell, and I found him through the Julliard alumni database. He had to gain thirty pounds for the role.
Listen, I feel terrible about abusing your trust. I can’t imagine what you must feel like having been fooled by a spambot for so long. The echoes of all those laughs must ring hollow in your ears. I am so sorry. I can only hope that you take some small comfort in the lustrous shine and newfound volume of your beards.
If you want to stop reading, I understand. I just hope that we can remain friends and that I can continue mining your hard drive for personal information to sell back to my Facebook and Google overloards.
Alright, well, goodnight and good grooming.
The Ultimate?
A quick note to email spammers:
How can every college fuck fest be the ultimate college fuck fest? The ultimate? Are you sure that’s the word you’re looking for? C'mon, spam email, they can't all be the ultimate college fuck fest.
Sure, one of them is indeed the ultimate college fuck fest. I admit it's out there somewhere. But, technically, the next one down the line would be the penultimate college fuck fest. You see? Penultimate means the thing just below ultimate. There’s only one ultimate college fuck fest. That’s why it’s called the ultimate one.
There’s an order to the world. You can’t just go around jumbling every fuck fest together into one single level of fuck fest.
It goes the ultimate college fuck fest, the penultimate college fuck fest, and so on and so on. Until, finally, you reach the least ultimate college fuck fest. That’s the one with the least collegiate, least festive fucking--a fuck fest that reaches just a bare minimum requirements to still be considered a college fuck fest. Let’s say, just for argument’s sake, it’s an absent-minded hand job at the Kansas City ITT Technical Institute.
Under your rubric, even this half-hearted HJ would count as the ultimate college fuck fest. Do you see how that demeans the quality and vigor of the actual ultimate college fuck fest? Those kids are working hard for that title. They deserve your respect. Don’t belittle their accomplishment.
I know, spammers, that you’ve got a job to do. I understand that it involves a certain amount of hyperbole. But, some sort of standard has to be kept.
If every college fuck fest becomes the ultimate college fuck fest, then no college fuck fest is the ultimate college fuck fest. Think about it.