Skip to main content

the offensiveness of junkmail has been taken to horribly new levels

Sometimes I check my junkmail folder to see if there's anything good in there.  You know how sometimes you get real live emails that for some reason end up in the junkmail?  Yeah, well, usually I miss those, because I get like 250 messages a day delivered to my junkmail and I only randomly check it....like once every 3 months....if there's a full moon.....and I've eaten enough chocolate.

Tonight was one of those nights.  (Ok, honestly I don't know if there's a full moon, but I did just eat a handful of chocolate chips.) So I did it, I checked my junkmail folder.

And the absolute RUDEST email was in there. 

It was so totally offensive that I couldn't even believe it was really in there.  But I stared at it for awhile, and sure enough, I wasn't hallucinating this time, it was really truly there. 

You know, I expect the emails from overseas bankers asking me to transfer them money, and I except the sleazy singles websites wanting me to look at their scantily clad photos, and I totally expect to get 50 messages a day telling me how awesome it would be to enlarge my....you know.  (Not that I even have a "you know", but if I did, it could be the size of elephant's trunk if all the offers I got were true.  And then WHERE would I find pants to contain it, I ask you?)

The email in my junkmail tonight was so much worse than money scams and "you know" sizes.  SO MUCH WORSE.  (For the faint of heart I must warn you to turn away now, and please don't blame me after you get as offended as I am.)  The subject line of this email was exactly this:

GET A NEW BRA

Can you even believe it?!!!!  I didn't even have the courage to open the email.  The NERVE of some people.  Just because I have saggy, I-put-granny-knockers-to-shame-with-these-old-things, boobs doesn't give random strangers the right to send me such horrid emails.  Even if my junkmail filter was trying to protect my fragile booby ego and hide it away.

I am sorry to have forever scarred you with such horrendous things. 

I just wanted you to understand that if you ever write to me and I don't answer, it might be because your email accidentally ended up in the junkmail folder, which I now solemnly vow never to look in again.  And plus I might be a little busy giving my saggy granny knockers a little peptalk so they'll get up off the floor once in awhile....or possibly I might be using every spare minute I have to learn some kind of specialized Kung Fu where I use my boobs to swing around and smack people, because then I can hunt down the emailer and beat them senseless....or maybe I won't answer because the moon just might not be full.

Comments

I'm pretty sure that Oprah endorsed a magical bra at Nordstrom that would cure every woman in America of saggy granny knockers. I think she either sends Nate Berkus or Dr. Oz over to fit it for you, even.
I know! I hate junk mail. One time, early in my emailing days, I opened one that had sexual references just to unsubscribe to it. There was no "unsubsxribe" button, so I replied to it, asking them to remove my email address from their list. Umm, duh, NOW I know what a misktake THAT is and that you should never should do that, but then I had NO clue!
Autumn said…
Just so you know, I'm dying and my roommates are dying. You're friggin hilarious.
elesa said…
Ooh, I think you might be on to something with that specialized Kung Fu. You could teach it in Rest Homes and stuff and have a secret army of deadly old ladies!

Popular posts from this blog

I am an artist.

I really am. But not one of those deeply moving, "what do you mean you don't understand my painting, it's BLUE" kind of artists.  I'm more like one of those "oh hey, a pen and a napkin, doodle doodle doodle" kind of artists.  Because I do it for fun.  And yeah, for money.  But still.  Fun....most of the time. But I feel like branching into new mediums.  Do you know how long it's been since I painted?  Like with something other than finger paints or the kids' water colors where all the colors are mixed so they just come out brown anyway? It's been awhile.  I've been itching to paint for months. I've also wanted to let Monkey loose on a canvas for awhile.  He's not like my other kids (who all carry mine and Husband's arty genes) who like to draw endless pictures of unicorns, princesses, transformers or dinosaurs.  Monkey likes to feel his art.  He'll probably end up being one of those deeply moving types.  And I'

I won't be offended if you answer NO to the question at the end of this post

So this post will probably lose me a lot of respect and friends and possibly even a few phone calls to the Health and Welfare department. But I just feel like posting it, it's kind of like saying it outloud, but without having to watch someone's face react to the horror. And today, I really feel the need to say it outloud. So if you read this and don't feel like being friends anymore, I get it. With everyone's kids going back to school (and our school district being the last to start in the entire world, so I'm still sitting here dealing with summer child overload) I keep reading the posts about how mothers are sad to see their kids go, and how much they're going to miss them, and how much they absolutely love motherhood. Want me to tell you what I think about motherhood? I hate it. There are times when I hate it more than any other thing on the planet. And there goes most of my friends. But I'm sorry. I do. I hate being a mother. I don't hate my c

I'm not fat, my scale just hates me.

That's what it is. It's probably an evil scale anyway.  Always lying to me.  Telling me I'm fat. The worst part about it is that the scale has also convinced all the mirrors in my house to play along.  And I know it got my pant size on board ages ago.  It's also managed to get the camera to cooperate, even though I treat that camera like one of my dear precious children.  And this evil, hateful scale has attached a big mound of blubber right on my midsection. Well guess what scale - I hate you too. ***************************************************** I think showers are a waste of time. You get in just to get all wet, emerge dripping, get a nice clean towel wet, redress yourself, figure out something to do with your crazy 'just got wet and now it's going to dry ultra fuzzy, don't even think about using a blowdryer' hair, and put on all the makeup that you just washed off even though your mascara could probably have passed for a whole extra d