posted: March 29, 2004
Like most people online, I tend to delete spam without looking beyond the "from" and "subject" lines and I've long ago figured out the strategy of dictionary spam which fills the header and body with legitimate words in nonsensical arrangements to poison or trick filters. Once in a while, though, a header amuses me so much that I must look. It has yet to be worth it to look inside the virtual envelope, since the contents never seem appropriate or up to the wacky promise of the header. However, the headers have furnished me minutes of fun during otherwise dull spam-eradication missions.
Recently, I adopted one of these nonsense headers for a screen name, since it tickled me considerably to be a phantasmic flowering shrub compared to the Spanish region of Leon (or possibly like a fellow named Len). Thus, I've been "nightmare rosebush len liken" for about a week. So, there is at least some amusement value to spam.
Receipt of "corrode Idaho" gave me pause, however, to wonder if this is a secret message to alien agents lurking on Earth (hey, it could happen!) "Go forth, my alien brothers, and corrode Idaho! The time is ripe!" A clever opening gambit in their bid to rule the Earth. Not that most of us would miss Idaho much, but it's the principal of the thing which matters, yes? (My husband say he wouldn't miss Idaho: he's a very good shot.)
Since Idaho has large copper deposits, I figure it's a prime candidate for corrosion, but it's sooooo large, what chemical agent would you have to use to break through the surface crud? Water, though the universal solvent, is not going to work fast enough, nor anything too toxic, as the directive is to corrode Idaho, not to turn it into a noxious pit of radioactive waste--parts of it already are, anyway. So, what to use? Bleach? Sulfuric acid? Scrubbing bubbles?
Agent Orange! No, no, not that toxic shit they dumped on Vietnam. The scary goop that comes in jars labeled "citrus cleaner." (Though, I usually clean my citrus with plain water, thank, you....) That stuff will cut through anything. And it's only made of orange peels, so you have to wonder... how does it do that? Rubbing oranges on my counters doesn't seem to make them any cleaner, nor have I had any such luck with rubbing any other citrus rinds on the cat, who is in in dire need of de-greasing after a mysterious adventure with an oil can. There must be more to it than that.
Our friend George believes that this secret Agent Orange is actually extracting an unrecognized toll and that somewhere, someone must be paying the ultimate price for this "miracle cleaner". Devilish cleaner, would seem more likely, as I suspect that if you read the very, very small print, you will discover that, every time you use a citrus-based super-cleaner, you're selling fractions of your soul to the Devil and, as an added treat, small children in murky, unknown, fifth-world countries die horrible (but pleasantly orange-scented) deaths. There's never something for nothing, no free lunch and all that jazz, so it stands to reason that there must be a hitch and I suspect, this is it.
No need to sign the contract on the dotted line in blood. Oh, no. The forces of Evil have learned a lot from observing the goings on in parts of Washington state and they fully understand the concept of the EULA and implied consent. The moment you stick your hands into that slightly gritty, orange-rind-scented goop, you have given your permission, backed up by a DNA-sample from the skin sloughed off your hand, to de-soul and de-populate while de-greasing. How sad: we sold our souls for environmentally-friendly, spotless floors.
And to think we could have stuck to soap, which never would have corroded Idaho, unless the aliens had very-stiff bristled brushes, nor corrupted our souls into the darkness of cleanliness at the expense of someone deep in the wilds of... someplace. Perhaps filth is the better part of valor. Thank the gods for spam, which has alerted me to the perils of citrus-based cleaners through the machinations of evil aliens who have designs on our potato-growing neighbors. I'll never wash again.
Well, at least not with anything deliciously orange-scented. I'll have to stick to non-citrus, just to be safe. Oh, but what if they discover you can do this with avocados, too? or potatoes? Oh, no! So that's why they want to corrode Idaho: they want our potatoes so we'll never know our downfall by its scent! California's and Florida's avocado crops are next!
Save a soul: make guacamole!
Back to top of this page, please.