Spam, My New Vocation

Warning: I think I may have abused the word "cunt" in this post. I really try not to abuse this word, as it is one of the last truly BAD words. Words that when uttered just about anywhere illicit a gasp of dismay or delight. I am hoping that by rationing this word it will retain it's power to describe my mother in just ONE WORD. No, this post has nothing to do with my mother. Another day. Also, the word fuck + various conjugations of the word fuck. I also used the words "whore" and "bitch" but with extreme provocation. Again, you're leaning toward a "mother" post I can tell. Nope, no mommy in sight. I like it that way.

I want to be a spam commenter. I want to get paid to think up catchy phrases that will fool people into thinking that I really read their FABULOUS post and I want to pass along another great blog or website that I found. I'm tired of the same old spam commenting and I think I could kick it up a notch with some real originality, genuine thoughtfulness and attention to detail. I've listed just a few for your reading pleasure. Please note: These are patent pending, trade marked, have the Sam seal of approval and cannot be used for lubrication or pleasure for him or her.

Example #1
Hey stupid cunt- I read every fucking post and it sucked so bad I almost killed myself on three separate occasions. I have seen dog piss in the snow that made more sense than your mindless drivel. Don't ever come to my blog you stupid cow.

Example #2
My blog is emotional, well-written and my heartbreak is never ending. My boyfriend hurts me sometimes and I cry. It's all so sad and hard to bear. I never curse for that is indeed a sin against all mankind. Please come visit me, I'm so lonely.

Example #3
Hi, I'm Mandi and I really like your blog. I'm really shy in person but on my blog I'm much more open about myself. I like giggling and sunshine and bubbles. I think living in California is the greatest. I love bubble baths, too.

What do you think? It's a little rough around the edges because it's 12:30 in the fucking morning and I can't sleep because I'm waiting for a phone call.

****Time passes****

Holy shit. Some stupid cunt is being well... a stupid cunt. Here's a Reader's Digest version and I'll post more about the whole deal some day:

My Dad (biological, not ex-stepdad aka Poppa) lives in another state. The Dooce state if you know what I mean. No, he's not Mormon. Long story. So my Dad is sick. Not like "I have a cold and I don't feel good sick". More like "Weeee.... I'm circling the drain sick". I get an email every morningish from my dad (yes I just made that word up-fuck you) to let me know that he is still alive. Sounds bizarre but there is a method to my madness. Really. So it's 11:30pm my time on Thursday when I realize that FUCK I haven't received an email since Tuesday afternoon. Shit.

So I search gmail (that's google mail) and find the phone number for CNS. Stands for "Cunts? No Shit!" They call it Nursing something or other. It is an 800 number and the email says that it is 24/7. I take this to mean that I can call 24/7 and someone is working and will be able to tell me something. Ha! I assumed. Fuck me! A nice woman takes my info and tells me that someone will call back. Great! I can rest tonight knowing that my dad is alive. It's a fucking fantastic feeling I'm imagining. I get a call back.

Cunt: Is this Sam? (In an irritated, snotty voice like I just woke her up because I was hungry for a fucking pizza. I can't even eat pizza you stupid bitch.)

Sam: Yes. (In my most hopeful please tell me that my dad is alive voice.)

Cunt: You want to know if anyone has seen or had contact with your father recently?

Sam: Yes. (Still happy and eager.)

Cunt: Well I don't have any access to this information at this time. I can't give you any answers, I don't know where you are but it is 1:30 in the morning here. You can call back in the morning.

Sam: Oh, I'm sorry. I thought I was calling a 24/7 phone number. (I swear I was so polite and kind and remorseful with only a teeny bit of vinegar in my voice.)

Cunt: Someone will answer the phone 24/7. You can call back in the morning for this information.

Sam: Okay. Thank you. (Still sweet.)

Click. OMG. Sometimes I swear there is this evil nice person that takes over my mouth at the least appropriate times. Instead of saying something like:

"Look you fucking cuntbag whore, I want to know if my dad is fucking dead or not. I don't give a smallest piece of little baby bird shit whether you lost 10 minutes of sleep over this phone call because I will be up all night wondering if I'm going to hop on an airplane in the morning to view my dad's fucking body. Bitch."

I said "Thank you". She called me from her home or cell phone number. Which means that I could potentially call her every night at 1:30am her time and tell her how much she helped me get a good night's sleep. But let's face it. Underneath all this crankiness I'm too damn nice to pull that shit. So I rant and vent and get no sleep and wonder WTF (in this case "where the fuck") is my dad.

By the way, the snake has an official name. Wesson. For the corn oil. I pay tribute/homage to the reader that lead me on the correct path with the suggestion of Mazola.