Spam generates the weirdest random strings. You've seen them, so I won't bother dredging up examples. But recently, I've noticed that scores of the ads littering my Junk Mail folder (where your email lands, if you're not on the right list) are addressed to a certain Autumn Conwell.
A quick Google (and alltheweb) search reveals that there is not one single web page in the world that contains that precise phrase. No American phone listing, either. Autumn Conwell, as far as the Internet is concerned, just doesn't exist.
Until now.
So, Autumn Conwell, whoever you are, I'll be hoarding your spam, waiting for you to come forward and claim it, at least until the fourteen days are up and Hotmail banishes it to oblivion.
Yours truly,
Not Autumn Conwell.
2 comments:
And now for something completely different.
Michael Moore. What a crock.
Yes, I am the last person alive to see Farenheit 9-11. It finally came to the dollar theatre. Did you ever read Christopher Hitchens about it?
Ah, Mr. Chesterton, where has your memory gone?
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