August 2nd, 2006

Sproing

Has nothing to do with MySpace...

...but it does kinda make you wonder.
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I got a piece of spam today from 'Tom'. Just 'Tom'. I know a lot of guys named Tom, and one of the beauties of being on straight Pine for email is that I can, in fact, open messages from addresses I don't recognize, just to see whether they're legit or not. So I opened this one.

The first line was 'Hello I am beautiful girl looking for friend'.

My first thought: spam.

My second thought: Tom?!

Dear spammers of the world: if I were going to fall for 'wow, this person -- this attractive person -- is so frantic for human contact that they're emailing total strangers, maybe I should try to befriend them/have sex with them/give them all my money', I proooooobably wouldn't be taken in by a beautiful girl named 'Tom'. Not that I have issues with gender-neutral names, but some names simply don't inspire me to think 'golly, this person's gender is entirely indeterminate, and could go either way!'.

Idiots.
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cadhla gets email with some odd context.
  • Current Mood
    amused amused
bitch please

The world doesn't believe in take-backsies.

adjectivegirl forsees a rough week:

World: I'd like to fuck you.

Me: Really?

World: Hard.

Me: Well gosh. I don't really make a habit of turning down such offers...

World: Real hard.

Me: You drive a hard bargain, Mister, but I'll ONLY work every day this week at two jobs on less than 4 hours sleep a night until 3AM during a century-record-breaking heat wave IF you also don't pay me well. In fact, hell, don't pay me at all for that first job!

World: You got it.

Me: No take-backsies?

World: You can trust me.

Me: Okay, fuck away.

*truly dismal sound effect*


Context is non-existant; that's the whole post. F-Locked, QWP
  • Current Music
    Fergie - "London Bridge"
dark goat

How can we really know we are reading this post?

researchgrrrl is not very philosophisticated:

There came a day in a required philosophy class that I totally took against my will where some nimrod punk-ass dipshit had been all "But what is truth?" to the point that I fully expected my nose to start bleeding, my blood pressure had shot up so much. I finally lost my shit when the braintrust asked how we could know -- really know -- that this book was actually a book. As I packed my things and walked out of the class, I assured him that he might not be able to tell the book was actually a book but he was sure as fuck about to find out it was a suppository.

Context is reading Kant with its colon.