Booker prize for spam

For some reason, my inbox has recently been aggressively targetted by spammers - all of whom think I enjoy some particularly niche sexual perversions (and I've never so much as touched a donkey, I swear).

It's incredibly frustrating, not to mention disturbing, but these emails from the ether have one redeeming feature - poetry.

Apparently, in an attempt to fool spam filters into thinking their emails are genuine, the spammers have started cutting and pasting random lines from classic literary works into their missives. It's not a new thing - the BBC wrote this article about it four years ago - but I'm hooked. Here's an email I received yesterday:

You're not the same person you were in Hawaii... Some of this was residual fright, of course (every now and then I had to remind myself that part of Percy's problem was that he was only twenty-one, not much older than Wharton) but I think most of it was rage.
I controlled my own urge to hit him only with the greatest effort.
Dark suit, plastic briefcase, glassy stare.
Most of the tribes went home after the weasels were wiped out.

It's better than a Paul Aster novel, don't you think? So, imagine my delight when I discovered a pair of talented animators called The Brothers McLeod have started making mini-cartoons based on their own spam-mails. Here's an example:


I say we organise a proper award ceremony for the best, most existential spam of them all. Post your entries in the comments box and we'll declare a winner next week.

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