Crayola colours
It may come as a surprise to some of the people who email me, but I really don't want to update my penis. I don't think I would want to update my penis even if I had one. I think I might be very concerned about the processes involved in updating a sensitive part of my anatomy.
I don't want to gain 3+ inches in length, either, because I've been five foot six since the age of fourteen, and I'm used to it. (I assume that I am supposed to be measuring myself while lying flat, and that that's why I'm being offered an increase in length rather than height.)
I certainly don't want any magic potions to increase my girth: I'm more than capable of doing that all on my own by the simple expedient of upping my Pringles intake - I don't need to pass my credit card details on to some dubious purveyor of snake oil for the privilege.
Much to the envy of my male colleagues, I don't only receive these marvellous offers on my home email address. Oh no. Having committed the cardinal error of once having had my email address published on a consultation document on my employer's website, I get them at work as well. All the time.
The firewall catches most of them, and sweeps them off into a secure facility from which I can, if I choose, release them onto the servers. (The wrong choice at this juncture could, I feel, be a funny way of handing in my notice.)
It doesn't catch them all, though.
Just the other week, I was working at home on something very complicated and technical, and concentrating like a very keen person, when an email notification popped - and I use the word "popped" advisedly - up in the bottom right hand corner of my screen, screaming
"You can see her clit!!"
(I couldn't. Just in case you were wondering.)
Even the aforementioned male colleagues who wish they could receive emails from nice Russian girls who are bored and would like to talk to them blanched a bit at that one.
Astonishingly, even the opportunity to catch a glimpse of naked pudenda pales into insignificance in comparison with the quite unspeakably-grim email title by which I was met this morning:
"Jerk your cum crayon and colour me white!"
Don't get me wrong. I am fairly robust. I am familiar with the existence of pornography. I find these "ride her all night and make her scream for more" emails laughable rather than distressing. But, "cum crayon"? Please don't tell me there is any man anywhere in the world who uses that as an affectionate nickname for his knob....
I don't want to gain 3+ inches in length, either, because I've been five foot six since the age of fourteen, and I'm used to it. (I assume that I am supposed to be measuring myself while lying flat, and that that's why I'm being offered an increase in length rather than height.)
I certainly don't want any magic potions to increase my girth: I'm more than capable of doing that all on my own by the simple expedient of upping my Pringles intake - I don't need to pass my credit card details on to some dubious purveyor of snake oil for the privilege.
Much to the envy of my male colleagues, I don't only receive these marvellous offers on my home email address. Oh no. Having committed the cardinal error of once having had my email address published on a consultation document on my employer's website, I get them at work as well. All the time.
The firewall catches most of them, and sweeps them off into a secure facility from which I can, if I choose, release them onto the servers. (The wrong choice at this juncture could, I feel, be a funny way of handing in my notice.)
It doesn't catch them all, though.
Just the other week, I was working at home on something very complicated and technical, and concentrating like a very keen person, when an email notification popped - and I use the word "popped" advisedly - up in the bottom right hand corner of my screen, screaming
"You can see her clit!!"
(I couldn't. Just in case you were wondering.)
Even the aforementioned male colleagues who wish they could receive emails from nice Russian girls who are bored and would like to talk to them blanched a bit at that one.
Astonishingly, even the opportunity to catch a glimpse of naked pudenda pales into insignificance in comparison with the quite unspeakably-grim email title by which I was met this morning:
"Jerk your cum crayon and colour me white!"
Don't get me wrong. I am fairly robust. I am familiar with the existence of pornography. I find these "ride her all night and make her scream for more" emails laughable rather than distressing. But, "cum crayon"? Please don't tell me there is any man anywhere in the world who uses that as an affectionate nickname for his knob....
The Editor
posted by
Lady Bracknell | Friday, July 04, 2008
12 Comments:
It's not the smuttiness that I find offensive, it's the total lack of literacy, grammar and wit.
I rather wish you hadn't mentioned Crayola, in future I will never be able to walk past Early Learning without sniggering.
Mine's called Eric.
I got the *PERFECT* timing on on one of those spams one time:
I am a transsexual. Guess what operation I was returning home from?
My partner thought it was hilarious.
Hmmm.
'Pudenda'
Now there's a word you don't hear everyday in polite conversation; nor indeed in impolite conversation.
I shall make it my mission to use it as often as possible from now on.
Since Tim nicked my intended joke, I shall strenuously deny that my mighty weapon of lurve has a name, nick or otherwise!
I'm so appalled that I published this entry in the first place that I am determined not to compound the felony by responding to comments.
Can we pretend this never happened...?
Come again?
I got one of these emails asking me if I wanted to be able to satisfy my wife better. Better? I already know exactly how to satisfy my wife ... provide her with salt & vinegar crisps.
And I'm always amused by these spam emails/site comments - am publishing a new 'spam selection' tomorrow, but sadly most of them are just a series of links, rather than anything you can actually turn into entertainment...
But as for a 'crayon' of any description, that's a new one to me. However I have heard of the Bruce Juice Introducer®, if that's any help.
Um, thanks for sharing that particular gem.
Although I'm not sure it's good for my skin to have to do that much crawling...
But, yes: quite right on the crisps front. I'm convinced these emails are aimed at men who have never actually conversed with a woman on equal terms - let alone lived with one.
What I think are particularly mean are the ones which say,
"Women may tell you that the size of your dick isn't important, but they are lying!!"
And there - if he is sufficiently insecure to believe the people who market these snake-oil trouser-snake-enlargers - goes a poor chap's last sliver of hope...
Although quite why women should be portrayed as so villainous and insensitive as to either laugh at the size of a chap's appendage, or lie to him about whether or not it matters is beyond me.
...brings us back to that old joke: the key elements to a good relationship are sex and laughter. But ideally not at the same time...
Please don't be embarrassed about this post! Truly, you bring an air of dignity to a sometimes crass subject.
Also I laughed so hard I spooked my cat.
I don't get this spam, for some reason, only people wanting my money, of which there is none. And rude implications about my weight, which are uncalled for.
Thank you, Carapace.
You have eased my mind considerably.
After I got up off the floor from my convulsions of laughter, I said, "Thank goodness for my fabulous spam filter!" Frankly I find this kind of stuff repulsive (just like anything else even vaguely pornographic; I'd much rather read about cats or surgery or whatever else I'm searching on the net at the time...). However, your spin on it was absolutely hilarious! As for their poor grammar, what do you expect from the kinds that peddle this kind of indecency? Offensive, indeed!
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