| Content Warning: This work contains no sexual situations. If this bothers
you please press the delete key now. This is a work of parody and as such
is fully covered under the US copyright laws governing fair use. Any
similarities between person(s) or companies living or dead is purely
intentional. This material should be mandatory reading to every minor
child trolling these newsgroups as an object lesson.
Author's note: I swore my third would be my last for a while. But quite
frankly Stranded, my third work raked me over the proverbial coals and
back. I needed something a little more light hearted to end my time here
and something a little more light hearted so I could at least get some
sleep tonight. So I couldn't resist this quickie. The inspiration for the
story came from the people who replied to my postings (Thank you, thank
you, how kind, can you really, really do that? I'm flattered really but
not in a million years, no I think the law would take a very dim view of
that, no, no, yes, yes, and cool!) and the spam that flowed in at roughly 3
e-mail spams to one ligit reply into a virgin box. Read on, I think you'll
get the gist soon enough..
Subject Matter: (Parody) Rating: (PG) may wish to review subject
Author: The SandMan Copyright: 1998 firstname.lastname@example.org Distribution
Rights: May be distributed freely WITHOUT MODIFICATION on USENET, USENET
II, not-for profit web sites, not-for profit ftp sites, and news archival
services which offer free public access to archived articles. All other
rights are specifically reserved by the author.
Creation Date: 1/4/98 Distribution Date: 1/4/98
Judgment Day (By Sandman) Or of the Spamee.
"You sent it!" Dave's eyes where positively huge as the fact slowly
worked through that ten inch skull to the few brain cells the lay deep within.
I nodded. A week in the making, I had merged the best sex scenes from
the best on the net, ran them though a grammar checker and a spell
checker and ended up with a completely original work. The best damn thing
I had ever seen that's for sure. "Posted it last night." I said proudly as
I turned on the computer to see the threaded reviews.
I never made it that far though, "You have mail!" sounded in the room,
an everyone knows e-mail comes first. I clicked on the box and sure enough
there was a letter waiting, it was addressed to the account but the
subject was RE: Nympho Cocksuckers. The title of my
masterpiece. "Well how many pervs would choose to write anyway?" I thought.
Just a harmless fluke, no harm done.
Curious I opened the letter.
"Oh Gotham, that was THE sexiest I've ever read. It had me wet
from the first paragraph and by the end I didn't even need to touch myself
it was so hot. My ICQ# is 30234938471638493856729120394, call me into chat
when I'm on stud. I'll be waiting. Maybe we can even meet in RL, you
gotta be good. - Crystal Spheres."
Dave and I looked at each other awed at the power we had just gained at
the tender age of 13. We grinned at each other for a second and then
did a high five "Psyc!" We yelled beating our hands and feet on the desk. I
jotted down the ICQ #, you never know when you might want a good laugh. I
deleted the mail and made sure to empty the trash, were sneaky
these days if you didn't cover all the bases.
I closed the mailbox and prepared to visit the newsgroups and "You Have
Mail." Sounded again. I sighed and clicked open the box.
"Dear Gotham. Congratulations on your recent posting to
[alt.sex.stories.increadably.unrealistic.sex] as an obviously creative
individual you should instantly recognize the value toys play in fostering
imagination and have we got a toy for you!"
We didn't get further. We looked at each other and made our traditional
ugly face, "SPAM!" we cried and sent it spiraling into the trash, followed
by a quick flush to erase any last traces of it from the HD.
I didn't even get to close the box this time. "You have mail!" was
followed quickly by "You have mail!"
Two more spams one for a porno web site, and one for a porno web store.
I didn't even get the chance to flush the second one, five more arrived
before I got the chance.
"Oh My God!" I whimpered feeling very, very small. "They're talking to
each other! They're trading my e-mail address!"
The computer had given up announcing each individual message now and had
resorted to saying "You have ten new messages waiting. You have fifty new
messages waiting." As the room began to spin I unplugged the computer and
ran to my bed.
Dave, who sometimes showed more intelligence than I gave him credit for,
quietly slipped out the bedroom door. Spam was contagious, it spread worse
than the flu, and there was no known cure. And this was the worst kind of
spam, it was the kind that pointed a great big neon finger with subtitles
that said "Teenage has been places he shouldn't be" straight at me.
And in the depths of my disappear a solution dawned. It was so simple.
I'd call AOL and cancel the account. The spam in the box would disappear,
the new spam would bounce and by the time the box got back up everyone
would be convinced it was a bogus address. I could already see how the
conversation with Dad would go. "No pop I don't know what happened. Just
AOL screwing up again, remember that year we couldn't get on at all?" It
was soooooo brilliant.
I picked up the phone and dialed. "Welcome to AOL! America's largest
on-line service, unless you count Microsoft. We are very happy to serve
you with our very super efficient totally automated computerized telephone
system. At any time you may press zero to get a human we hired because we
felt sorry that he had to walk around all day pushing a shopping cart and
had to drink from almost empty liquor bottles he chanced to find along the
way. If you would like to sign up for our service please press 1 now."
There was a short pause.
"If you would like to sign up for our new premium features like games
which used to cost money to access and then where free, but we decided we
made more money if we charged for them and you haven't discovered that
third party games like quake are completely more radical and are completely
free please press 2 now." There was a longer pause.
"If we have over billed your credit card and you are considering
pressing charges please press 3 now." There was an even longer pause and I
began to whimper.
"If you are considering engaging in legal activities against AOL for
failing to provide adequate connections, censoring our news groups, or your
child was sexually molested as a result of a chat in one of our chat rooms
please press 4." This time during the pause they started playing elevator
"If you would like to listen to these selections in another language
please press 5. Anapaita kapella domini sactu valorum pronto hus hus.
Kacow gi now fi dow ta pi. !@#* )!@#( *#$(#* (@#*$)@#$*#" , I started to
moan when the elevator music was replaced with Peter Paul and Mary singing
Puff The Magic Dragon, the encore performance version.
"If you need instructions on configuring your AOL software, or you are
installing Windows 2000 bugfix 215 and need help, or any other technical
assistance please press 6 where you will be forwarded to our friendly
helpful operator, who thanks to the charitable job we have provided him no
longer has to drink from liquor bottles but has brand new shinny ones!"
This time they played bach, making sure they squeezed in the entire
"If you would like to send spam to all 35 million members of AOL, please
press 7 where you will be forwarded to Trixi who was last month's playmate!
She will hop right on over and answer any questions you might have to your
complete and utter satisfaction.", This time it was the collective works of
"If the latest version of AOL infected your computer with the blackmail
virus sending us a copy of every secured folder and document on your
system, please press 8 now, where we will discuss the terms of
non-disclosure.", this was followed by the collective works of nirvana
played backwards and slowed down to reveal the sound track from Mary
Poppins and the Sound of Music. I endured it, there was only one number
left. I was finally at the end of the tunnel.
"If any of our most popular selections did not appear on this menu,
please press 9 for the extended menu now. You have five seconds to comply
or this call will be terminated." In terror I jabbed the 9.
I cried as I held the handset to my head and endured another hour of
menu selections Finally I sat up as the overly cheerful automated voice
said, "If you would like to discontinue your AOL service please press 9
now, you have two seconds to make a selection or this call will be
terminated." I think I only just barely made it.
"We're sorry, all circuits to that exchange are currently busy at the
moment, please hang up and try your call later."
I was to late. I head Dad downstairs now. I ran down the stairs to try
and run a stall but it was to late, he had already sat down. The phone had
been dialed. The connection was made. "Hello! You have 9 million 2
hundred 57 thousand 8 hundred and 63 new messages!"
He opened the box and I saw his hands go white as he clenched the chair.
I turned to head back up the stairs but he bellowed "JIIIIIMEEEEE!"
Busted. It was the ultimate punishment - total revocation of my
computer privileges until he got to the bottom of it, and he only had to
read the fifth message to get the bottom, another of my "fans" had written
me apparently with a full critique that I would have found flattering, but
my did not.
I was scarred for life by that event. My life fell into a dark spiral
of misery and gloom. No more computers, ever. My only career choices
would be garbage or a politician. I chose to be a garbage man, I still
had principals after all. And I was a garbage in more ways than one. I
saved for two years to get the computer and the net access, and forged
enough documents and credits to reserve the downtown stadium for two weeks.
Then I spammed the spammers. The worlds first spam convention, where the
ultimate secret to conning people out of their money would be revealed.
The best advertising gimmicks. The best way to annoy people. And the
final triumphant master stroke, a DVD disk to be given away containing the
e-mail addresses of every person on the face of the planet.
No spammer could resist. They showed up in droves. The stadium had
been appropriately modified. When they were all seated the metal clamps
bound them to their chairs while the large screen diamond vision showed
infomercial after infomercial of really cheezy products hawked by lower
class English salesmen. Between each infomercial was a full five minutes
of feminine hygiene commercials. It took two days to get the tubes in
their mouths but it was worth it when I threw the master switch and
pressurized spam began to ooze through the stadium.
I figured by the time they figured out a certain Mr Wallace doesn't have
the funds to cover the stadium rental and the modifications the have either
died from spam poisoning, dehydration from all the salt, or just be stark
Thanks to them I'm a garbage and if there's on thing they teach you
on this job it's how to take care of the trash.