Since I first posted my list of senders of spam a while back, my friend M. and I have gotten in the habit of exchanging our favorite names and subject headings. It seems that recently things have taken a turn for the poetic. Today, for example, I received a message entitled, �Then the moonbeam boils.�

Is it possible that the avoidance of spam-eater programs is generating a new creativity? I am envisioning something along the lines of one of those magnetic poetry sets for assembling poetry out of spam subjects. I should perhaps consult my friend B., who is the brilliant inventor of a do-it-yourself post-modern speech guide (pick one item from each of three columns to assemble the incoherent statement of your dreams) and, more recently, seems to have branched out to a set of magnets of chimpanzee utterances(scroll down to the bottom for the picture).

In lieu of magnets, I have been forced to attempt my own assembly of a semi-coherent poem. Strangely, no matter what I do, it ends up sounding like a cross between John Donne and Richard Brautigan. Here�s the latest attempt:

Piroshki cups defined by O

My love, where are you?
At the professor�s quiet
Medals table?
My love, where are you?
On three black horses
Lost in a rip current?
Then the moonbeam boils.

Anyone else want to give it a go? The only rule is that each line must be an actual spam subject heading in its entirety. Repetition of the whole subject is permitted (as above). Punctuation may be added for clarity (or what passes for clarity).

Lest you think I have wasted an entire Saturday contemplating such things, I actually got a significant amount of diss work done AND took AJ on his first ever mini-golf outing. AJ was a little unclear on the concept of mini-golf, which is not at all surprising given the lack of skill in either of his parents. He was in love with his ball and kept picking it up mid-play to fondle it. He got tired halfway through and became a hazard for hole 11 by lying down in the middle of the green, his tiny club pointing to the sky. He wept piteously when he hit his ball into the water but after the ball was returned, instantly threw it back in to see it splash. Despite all of this, he still beat me by 7 points. Yes, I am that bad. The only good thing I can say about my mini-golf skills is that no one lost an eye. Unless you count the coyote sculpture I winged my ball off of on hole 7. But I think that eye was already missing. Wasn�t it? Wasn't it?

0 people said it like they meant it