When I was a kid, one of the wittiest comebacks we had was, "Who asked you?"

Staring at a Spam-box which contains 735 pieces of unsolicited e-mail, I am tempted to ask, "Who asked you to send me this crap?"

I know I have caused at least a little of this myself. Still, it's hard sometimes to see how. Like the Viagra ads. I am female, and I cannot foresee a time when I will need Viagra. Ever. Mark to delete forty-seven times.

Don't need to make my women spectacularly happy for the same reason. And wasn't anybody listening when Pigmeat Markham sang, "It Ain't the Meat, It's the Motion"? Mark to delete twenty-eight times.

Sighing, I continue to put the little Check Mark of Doom beside communications from window-replacement companies (I may live in an apartment, but I was recently unwise enough to search for "Windows screen savers" on line because I was bored with watching the flowerpot evolve), Nigerian banker's widows (there must be quite a job market in banking in Nigeria just now), and people who think that because I am unwise enough to shop Amazon occasionally, I need their book. It'll do wonders, this book. Make me rich without effort, cure my toenail fungus, clear out my digestive system (complete with directions to photographs of other people who have done exactly this and now wish to gloat over the size, shape, and remarkable glutinousness of their resulting poo, or perhaps simply demonstrate to perfectly innocent strangers the shape of their lower digestive tract). Anything which is wrong in my life, this book can, and will, fix. And if I act now I'll get free shipping.

I'd like to freely ship you, you ...

Down now to a mere 34 pounds of Spam, I press on into a forest of dating-service offers. No. No. No thank you. No way in hades. No. These guys are what?! No! And, for resons mentioned above, I have no real interest in meeting hot chicks. I don't even have any fake interest in meeting hot chicks. My sympathy lies entirely with the hot chicks. Splat, the Check Mark of Doom lands.

How many times can I check my own credit without hurting myself? Check Mark of Doom, Doom, Doom, Doom. Hey, you could make a song out of this ...

When I feel the need to be a Mystery Shopper, I go to Amazon. I happen to like Elmore Leonard. Check Mark of Doom. There must be a lot of Unshopped Mysteries out there. Maybe they should make a TV show out of that.

I press the Delete button for the sixth or seventh time. My Spam miraculously clears to just one e-mail, this one from a cousin I've not seen in many years.

And that's why I don't just Empty the Spam.

Learn more about this author, Lin Barrett.
Click here to send this author comments or questions.

---

Add your voice

Know something about Humor: Unsolicited e-mail?
We want to hear your view. Write now!