I love my blog. I love having a blog. I love knowing that when the mood strikes, I have a spot on the interwebs dedicated as my outlet to wax poetic about um, I dunno, pickle brine. I love having a place to put all my craziness right out in full view of the world. And more than anything, I love getting your reaction it.
I have to admit that the one thing about blogification that I don’t love is…duh duh duh…comment spam.
*crash of thunder*
Really, though, what’s the freaking point? In most cases, the comment spam I see is from “someone” going by a ridiculous moniker like “Equestrian Sample Bloomers” and the “comment” is an impressive collection of seemingly random words sort of forming grammatically correct sentences. It’s like a sentient computer like the HAL 9000 was genetically crossed with a meth addict and programmed to refer only to the Roget’s Thesaurus for output purposes.
In other words, I routinely open the Puddintopia Comments dashboard and find 15 comments, all of which consist of messages such as:
Finger ice cream censors bingo protagonist bishop, ergo windstorm moonlights sing lake word focus suggestions. Snipe at traffic cones, Mao Tse Tung. Snipe at traffic cones like a hexagonal trilobite. Captain Planet summons a furious cymbal to mistake a kilt for John Major! You are the most broken-hearted temporal warp. Handcuff a waistcoat, flog a toaster; just don’t measure the diameter of a soup spoon.
I know, crazy compelling reading, right? I’m thinking of writing an entire novel like that to compete with the Hunger Games. I’m already spending the cash from the movie rights.
Now, if I was someone else, perhaps the accumulation of that kind of silliness wouldn’t bother me. But I’m not someone else, I’m me. And “me” is the kind of guy that doesn’t like digital buildup. I can’t stand having uncompleted red tasks on my electronic to-do list or more than, say, 40 or so emails in my Inbox. If my PC beeps at me, I get all twitchy and start looking for the little blue pills to calm my nerves.
Admittedly, that doesn’t make a lick of sense given that, left to my own devices, I’d let the incoming physical mail stack up on the counter at home until Mount Correspondence came crashing down in a landslide of car route sort and Business Reply envelopes. And yes, I’m happy to side-step Thomas the Train track setups on the family floor until the Department of Transportation has to condemn the thing. The Puddinette fears, on a somewhat realistic basis, I’m afraid to say, that if anything ever happened to her, I’d end up living out my life oblivious to the inches of dust settling around me.
Still, knowing that after a few hours of neglect, I could have up to ten (10!) spam comments sitting in my moderation queue gnaws away at me like the Walking Dead with a fresh noggin. Regardless, I’ve accepted that it’s simply price of doing business. You want to have a blog? You gotta deal with the occasional load of nonsense comments.
But the thing the really cooks my noodle is….why?
What in the name of Earnest P. Worrell is the point of this foolishness? It’s not like anyone who’s internet savvy enough to understand comments to the point of actually leaving one (yes, I realize the bar for that kind of knowledge is relatively low…that’s kinda the point) is going to suddenly decide to check out that link for “Facebook of Sex” that links to piggeltywiggelty dot goodhotlovin dot net.
In my mind, then, this begs the question: is someone, somewhere paid by the comment to leave ridiculous links to websites that no one’s going to click anyway? If so, who’s paying them? Because, dang, I just can’t see any way the profit and loss statement on that kind of contract ends up in the black.
Must be that new, fancy J. P. Morgan-style accounting.
All that said, I think today I might have receive my favorite spam comment to date. It was left (and immediately quarantined, I might add) by someone calling themselves “Antique Glass Vases Question”, because obviously this blog is the place to come when you’re confounded about antique glass vases. The comment was even better—in a non sequitur kind of way:
Neat Post, I have coated lots of facets to putting together an beneficial company strategy. Right here we can discuss questions that have been asked by some of my students with regard to creating a business venture idea as perfectly as other miscellaneous connected inquiries.
Well, congratulations, sir and/or madam. I’m amazed at how many facets you’ve coated, and further appreciate the compliment!
Although, why in the name of all things bright and shiny anyone would think that such a meaningful discussion (even as I don’t really get how it pertains to, you know, antique glass vases) should be initiated on a post as deeply compelling as yesterday’s silly limerick about non-fiction will surely be debated by scholars for ages to come.
Or, well, it might have.
If I hadn’t just deleted it from the queue.