“Russ Wang” wants me to call for information on a “Bacheelor, Masteer MBA” or “Doctoraate diploma.” The fact that he’s not able to spell it is, shall we say, troubling. Today I was offered “Academic Qualifications” from a “prestigious non-accredited” university, attainable “without examinations, classes or textbooks” and just a phone call away. How valuable is such an academic qualification from a non-accredited university, anyway?
“Royal Vaughan” promises my organ’s enlargement is possible with just two capsules a day, resulting in a “larger, more powerful you” — er, me. “Mari Gaston” concurs, that, herbally, I can expect a month by month “increase in size” of up to — well, I’ll leave that to your imagination — and it’s going to take some imagination, since I’m female.
I am, as you may be, too, daily electronically peppered by pretend-Chase, pretend-JPMorgan, pretend-MSN, pretend-PayPal, pretend-Google and other “pretend-ities” who presume to know me. The really offensive ones have stopped, which is both the good and bad news, for while I hated being on those lists, they did generate some excitement in the office, a little unsolicited mini-porn.
What perplexes me is the absolute tenacity of all these messages, the hope in them that this day, unlike the hundreds before and after it, is the day I will decide to click on this absurdity and give them — well, anything.
The newest twist on the pepper grinding out of the e-mill is notice that the date of my high school reunion has been changed to Friday. The “celebretion” was changed to Friday of last week, too (I didn’t go then, either). What’s more, it’s being held at the “Savoy Room,” according to “Susanna Hamilton.” I don’t know where the “Savoy Room” is, and neither “Susannah Hamilton” nor “Frankie Reeder” (who sent me last week’s notice) was in the…