Every so often, as the author of a successful blog, you’ve got to take a moment to respond to reader correspondence. You probably can’t imagine the daily avalanche of email and and such that require responses.
Of course, neither can I.
Notice that I said successful blog above. While Puddintopia is undoubtedly a lot of fun, it’s not exactly a cornerstone of internet traffic. I’m sure other blogs, like Scalzi’s Whatever, and Dooce’s, um, dooce, that generate upwards of tens of thousands of hits a day probably get more mail daily than Santa Claus, IN gets letters from grade schools in early December.
Puddintopia, on the other hand, gets, um, less than that.
At any rate, I thought it might be fun to hit the mailbag, except, as noted, there isn’t much of that around here. Well, there is, but it’s mostly spam.
But, you know what? Spam deserves a response every now and then, right? I mean, not like an actual reply or anything, because that only results in more spam, at best, or, you know, identity theft in the case that you chose to help that poor Nigerian dictator launder 27,000,000 dollars into the US through your checking account. But I digress.
So then…to the spambag*!
Earlier this morning, I received this golden little nugget:
To: Puddin at Home
From: Columbia House
Subject: Got the day off? Spend it with us!
Imagine my surprise at first, thinking I was being propositioned via email! I got my underthings into quite a bunch over it. In fact, I was preparing to write out a sternly-worded reply wherein I would suggest that
they ought be ashamed of themselves for attempting to tempt a happily married man and
their salacious offers might have better luck if they were to get to know their recipients a bit better and target the ones actually getting a day off of work.
I was not one of them.
I swallowed said stern reply, though, when I read that the inside of the email. It was simply a DVD club trying to sucker me in one of those 12-for-a-dollar deals where the "Club" somehow ends up owning not only your DVD player, but your house, your RV, your dog, and your first-born child if you ever try to escape, er, unsubscribe.
Nothing much fun to reply to there.
My next favorite item came from a magazine:
To: Mr. Puddin
Subject: SHIRLEY, A Something Offer for REAL SOMETHING Readers
Dear Real Something Magazine,
Based on the fact that you seem to understand that I’m to be contacted at firstname.lastname@example.org and you even included the honorific "Mr." as part of the recipient address, I’m a little baffled as to why you seem intent on calling me Shirley. My name isn’t Shirley, and with the exception of those three days I can’t really remember in Vegas in 1998, I surely don’t believe I’ve ever gone by Shirley.
Also, regardless of what your records might indicate, I am not now, nor have I ever been, a reader of "Real Something" Magazine. I’ve never subscribed to "Real" anything magazine. In fact, the only magazines I have subscribed to at any point in my life were focused on beer, cigars, video games, and/or photographs of heavily airbrushed scantily-clad female celebrities whose print features oddly seemed to correspond with a new TV show or movie release. As if someone was using the publication for press.
At any rate, at the moment, the only magazine I might have any interest in would proudly display covers of tall, curvy, glistening glasses of beer. As you can imagine, then, I’m not terribly interested in whatever homemaking tips your periodical has to offer.
Please make a note of it.
And again, don’t call me Shirley.
Finally, there was this jewel of a comment submitted to Puddintopia:
Subject: nzgbpqveejoupqjb, gsxoxjntpo
I, um, just don’t have words for this one. The best part, though, is that this comment was left today on a nearly month-old post. Really, comment spammers? Really? I mean, it’s like you’re not even trying anymore.
It’s sad really.
Please do better.
Because if this is how it’s going to be, future installments of spambag are going to be pretty dull.
And no one wants that.
*Minor details have been changed to either protect idiots or make this bit seem funnier.