Skip to main content

may the scorpion of bad karma find its way into your back passage

EDIT :: apparently dom got this email twice today as well. so we have our own battle of the bulge going on...

it's been a while since i received any noteworthy spam, but this morning, something made it through all my filters and landed front and centre in my inbox, so as i was sipping my morning coffee and enjoying a hard-earned day off, i was confronted with the subject line no person ever wants to see:

"Being overweight is a terrible thing. We can help you!"

well thanks for that notice. being overweight does actually have a lot of undesirable side effects and can cause long-term health damage if you don't get it under control. but i don't know who the hell you are and i'm pretty sure i've never met you, so it's a little bit douche-y of you to just go into a conversation with your mind made up that i'm overweight. sure, i've been trying to shed a few pounds. but that's my thing. i don't need commentary from the peanut gallery.

nonetheless, since i was spam-starved, i decided to check out what "FixMyBody Daily" had to say to me. i mean, even douche-nozzles can sometimes help you, right?

"Another pants get too tight to wear and you suffer from the very thought of going to the shop in search of gigantic clothes to cover your overweight body."

ok, the grammatical disaster that starts things out is just not something i can deal with before i'm fully caffeinated. if you're going to speak to me early in the morning, your subject-verb agreement needs to be up to snuff. but once i got beyond that, i the full force of the insults started to hit me. you suffer from the very thought of going to the shop in search of gigantic clothes to cover your overweight body? seriously? exactly how big do these people think i am? 


admittedly a good bright season outfit
i have a waist people. 

and what marketing genius thought that heaping shame upon the target market was such an ace strategy. "hey, stay-puft, why don't you take a couple more antidepressants so you can stand yourself long enough to finish reading this email?"

and yet somehow i found the fortitude to continue...


"It is not your personal problem. Hundreds of obese people hate to see their looks in the mirror but they are not able to get back to normal with a traditional "gym-and-diet" approach."


so i'm no longer overweight. in the space of nine words, i've become obese

i'm gaining weight every second i'm wasting reading this email. 


why bother with clothes at all?
but there's more! 


"You need something that really works, a formula that will suppress your appetite and give you a real chance to lose at least a dozen of kilograms a month."


so apparently, i'm gaining weight at such an alarming pace that scientifically proven methods of weight reduction are too slow. i need to hook myself up to some kind of shop-vac stomach pump or i'm going to start absorbing the neighbours like the blob. lives are at risk here. 

i need to lose at least a dozen kilograms a month. for those of you who haven't quite made it to the metric system yet, that's close to twenty pounds. 

look, i'm five foot two. to lose twenty pounds in a month, i'd need to amputate a leg. and go on a juice fast. 

but apparently things are more desperate than i thought, because over the course of the day, i received this alarming email three more times. by the time you read this, i'll probably be dead because my obese body in its gigantic clothes has squeezed all the oxygen out of our apartment. 

but on the off chance i've survived, i'd like whoever is responsible for sending those emails to know that i will shove an angry scorpion up their wazoo if i ever get half a chance. 


en garde, bitches.
until then, eat healthy, be as active as you can manage and upgrade your spam filters. 

Comments

as long as you're here, why not read more?

dj kali & mr. dna @ casa del popolo post-punk night

last night was a blast! a big thank you to dj tyg for letting us guest star on her monthly night, because we had a great time. my set was a little more reminiscent of the sets that i used to do at katacombes [i.e., less prone to strange meanderings than what you normally hear at the caustic lounge]. i actually invited someone to the night with the promise "don't worry, it'll be normal". which also gives you an idea of what to expect at the caustic lounge. behold my marketing genius.

mr. dna started off putting the "punk" into the night [which i think technically means i was responsible for the post, which doesn't sound quite so exciting]. i'd say that he definitely had the edge in the bouncy energy department.

many thanks to those who stopped in throughout the night to share in the tunes, the booze and the remarkably tasty nachos and a special thank you to the ska boss who stuck it out until the end of the night and gave our weary bones a ride home…

mental health mondays :: the plane truth

here we go again. it's sad enough to hear that nearly a hundred and fifty people died at the hands of an individual unwisely entrusted with a a potential missile, but now we get to observe the media circling and waiting for confirmation that the man who may have murdered them had a mental illness. and what a grotesque spectacle it is, because it basically consists of nothing but ominous insinuations that this co-pilot was depressed and so he flew a plane into a mountain, without trying to provide any larger context about the disorder or the millions of people who suffer from it.

to be clear, i don't have a problem with his apparent record of depression being brought up as a possible explanation for what happened. it's possible that there is a link. but smashing a plane full of innocent people into a mountain is not the act of someone who is merely depressed. there is a whole other level of illness going on there and, with the information we have thus far, it seems disturbi…

eat the cup 2018, part seven :: oh, lionheart

it all seemed so magical: england's fresh-faced youngsters marching all the way through to a semi-final for the first time since 1990. everywhere, the delirious chants of "it's coming home". and then, deep into added time, the sad realization: it's not coming home. oh england, my lionheart.

now, if we're being really strict about things, my scottish ancestors would probably disown me for supporting England, because those are the bastards who drove them off their land and sent them packing to this country that's too hot in the summer and too cold in the winter. and indeed, shops in scotland have sold through their entire stock of croatian jerseys, as the natives rallied behind england's opponents in the semi-final. however, a few generations before they were starved and hounded from the lands they'd occupied for centuries, my particular brand of scottish ancestors would have encouraged me to support england [assuming that national football had even…