People can be shockingly gullible. Otherwise, why would anyone bother to assume the identity of a Nigerian cabinet minister’s widow who begs you to allow her to transfer several million dollars into your bank account because you—and you alone—are a person of integrity whom she can trust?
Lately, there’s evidence that I’ve been spamming myself. Filtered into my junk mail are messages from my email account. Unless I was in an Ambien-induced sleep-emailing state, I’m pretty sure I didn’t send anyone, much less myself, messages with subject lines like “She Will Need a Yardstick to Measure Your Throbbing Love Shaft” or “Lindsay Lohan-John Boehner Sex Tape” (which, if such an unholy thing were to exist, would undoubtedly involve kinkiness with Cheetos, because how else do they get their skin that color?).
I’m willing to bet that I didn’t send myself advertisements for Cialis, Viagra, ExtenZe, OxyContin, Vicodin, Valium, codeine, or discounted Rolexes. For the record, I am not a matchmaker for women from Thailand or Kyrgyzstan who are “Searching for Serious Relation.” I am not inviting you (or me) to “Chat with Me.” About what? The OxyContin I’m not selling or the Kyrgyzstani women I’m not pimping? If I want to chat with you, I’ll call you. If I want to chat with me, I’ll just talk to myself; I do it all the time, anyway, no email invitation needed.
Also, I did not send the following emails: “Tricks to Get Laid” (for the record, I am not an advocate of trickery, particularly with the goal of getting laid), “Experience with Bigger Penis Today” (experience what? And whose experience is it?), “Your New Weapon Will Remove Her Undies” (dexterous), “Boost Your Loving Charge” or “Power in Your Pants” (both of which sound like batteries are involved) or “Feel Her Womb Entrance with New Length” (how speleological).
Pretty much anything that says “naked photos” did not come from me. Sorry to disappoint, but I do not have a stockpile of, nor am I emailing, any of the following: “Angelina Jolie Naked Photos,” “Paris Hilton Naked Photos,” “Megan Fox Naked Photos,” “Katy Perry Naked Photos,” or “Glenn Beck Naked Photos.” If I ever saw Glenn Beck naked photos, I would blind myself.
I don’t know the “Secrets to Making Money from Home,” I have not put “Your Check in the Mail,” I do not have “Your Latest Statistics,” I am not offering “Free Shipping on All Orders,” I am not proposing “Our Meeting Tonight,” and, finally, I do not know how to “Take Control and Stop Your Dog from Barking,” because my dog is damned near perfect.
It’s just weird to know that my email address has been hijacked, and that somewhere out there, it’s landing in the inbox of some dude who’s jonesing for OxyContin or a throbbing love shaft or a glimpse of Beck in the buff or maybe just a break on shipping charges. What’s weirder is that I’m receiving emails from my own hijacked address.
Oh, what a tangled interweb we weave, when spammers practice to deceive.