I have always liked spam mail. In fact, I once even wrote an entire one-act play made up entirely of spam mail subjects entitled "Vanilla Extracted". The names of the characters were those of the supposed senders. For kicks, here's a sample of my masterwork:

GERI HARGROVE (silently, wistfully): My first million of impressions: A good man deserves a better life.

ALONZO FROG (laughing hysterically, pointing to GERI and turning to GOTTFRIED): Get a key to her heart!

GOTTFRIED ERASMUS (out of the blue): OLKSTOOT!

Mind you, I hadn't any artistic pretensions when I wrote this piece. Nor did I set out to prove anything, really. I merely wanted to see if I could write a play entirely out of spam mail titles. And you can, though they rarely make sense. One could say the same about much legitimate theater, actually.

Nonetheless, I do delight in the absurdity that is spam mail. I delight in the absurd generally. And if one ever needed a daily dose of the ridiculous, just click on the spam folder. Enclosed is a wealth of delights: unlikely names, unlikely situations, sales pitches not even the most foolish could possibly fall into (though I'm likely wrong), viruses, chaos, impending disaster mixed with the artifice of such-and-such's breasts as headline news, all written in an English I sordidly hope becomes an official dialect.

I think on the people who create these. Some are part machine, assuredly. But there must be a human somewhere. I would like to meet these people. The dubious typically have an interesting story to tell. Perhaps we might thank them for sticking to spam mail and not other, more illegal ventures. I have the image of a perfectly turned-out gentleman. Articulate. Has a few people working for him. Likes fine literature in translation, which may account for the garbled-up versions of classics that make their way nonsensically into certain e-mails in a grand attempt to dodge the filters.

Spam mail may be a pain. I say it is a gift. Be as absurd as it is, and be inspired at that. Write a subject-play. Turn them into dramatic solliquies, record them and post them on some website somewhere. Ponder the meanings of "Brujevit" and "Olkstoot". Pretend you have a double life. For I doubt your "normal" mail makes much sense, either. Don't discriminate.

With that, I treat you to the end of "Vanilla Extracted":

ALONZO: (Solemnly, watching GOTTFRIED and BUD float away): A true godsend to your little soldier of love.

Which may or may not make some sort of a point.

Learn more about this author, Sarah Martinez.
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