Dog's Dinner

"You're not loved because you're lovable, you're lovable 'cause you're loved."

Friday, February 11, 2005

Derick Pelletier-- My Part in His Downfall

I'm in the midst of several daunting tasks of revision and selection-- working on a screenplay with/for Jim, going on a mad deleting rampage through my e-mail, and annotating the list of my favorite films posted recently (I've decide to allot one sentence to each film, which of course does not preclude logorrheic deliriums a la Faulkner or Tolstoy).

So before deleting this urgent message (titled "Best offer of this year ;)") from "Brady Winslow" (accenting@dan.com) to "Derick Pelletier"(me), I want to post it for your consideration-- I always thought that spam just meant penis enlargement scams and requests for transfers of bank accounts to Nigeria, but this kind of spam (which I only started receiving about two years ago, bizarrely enough) asks for nothing in return, while providing much food for thought and/or laughter. I've highlighted my personal faves.

Your attitude determines your altitude.
The supply of government exceeds demand.
A faculty for idleness implies a catholic appetite and a strong sense of personal identity.
There is no waste of time in life like that of making explanations.

Pro football is like nuclear warfare. There are no winners, only survivors.
Character is formed in the stormy billows of the world.
The main dangers in this life are the people who want to change everything or nothing.
A friend is a person with whom I may be sincere. Before him, I may
think aloud.
Art raises its head where creeds relax.
One pain is lessened by another's anguish.
A nation is not in danger of financial disaster merely because it owes itself money.
But who would rush at a benighted man, and give him two black eyes for being blind?
The 1980s are to debt what the 1960s were to sex. The 1960s left a
hangover. So will the 1980s.
Great causes and little men go ill together.
You look rather rash my dear your colors don't quite match your face.
Paris, a city of gaieties and pleasures, where four-fifths of the inhabitants die of grief. [About Paris]


For more fun with spam, see Sutton's post on the subject.

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