I Quit Counting At Fifty

My name is not Steve.

There is no portion of my anatomy that needs lengthening, hardening, or improved endurance.

I don't know who "she" is or why her enjoyment hinges upon my performance, and I don't care. "She" can take care of herself - I have a family to look after.

I don't care about what's left of Victoria's secrets - those scraps of fabric wouldn't cover my big toe, let alone the rest of me.

I don't need to find someone's phone number via a shady Internet service. I have a phone book.

If I need pharmaceutical aid, I have a doctor and a pharmacy that can oblige me - I won't be going anywhere I need a passport to get my medication.

I don't care how wonderful your computer program is, I am not interested in it. My laptop is full. Full I tell you! It will not hold a jot more, not one little bit.

I don't care to see your new pictures or live web-cam. I certainly am not interested in seeing you in your underwear. Have we met? What makes you think I give a rat's patootie about your anatomy - if I want nekkid or barely dressed, I have children who will oblige me whether I like it or not. Underwear does not turn me on - it reminds me of laundry I haven't done yet.

I think Pandora jewelry is several kinds of hideous and wouldn't wear it, let alone advertise it, without being paid huge, disgusting, truly obscene amounts of money, and even then I would still say I thought it was hideous. It is not improved by being presented in another language (especially a language that I barely speak). If you love it beyond measure, hurrah for you, you can have my share and godspeed - we each have our own tastes and mine don't run in that direction.

Whatever you think I want to get up to in a photo booth, you're wrong. Just wrong. Nope. Nope, nope, nope.

If I want pictures of hot nude men and male celebrities, I will Google search them, thanks anyway. Also, I do not want pictures of hot nude men or male celebrities.

I neither desire nor require a payday loan. In case you haven't read this blog (and clearly, someone hasn't), I do not have paydays. And if I did, I would know better than to get loans predicated on money I haven't earned yet, with huge interest rates and usurious terms.

I don't need nude models. I have children. I see all the anatomy I care to (and plenty that I don't) on a regular basis, with bonus poop! I go to clothing optional events to sell...er...clothing, actually (hmm...), so I am not in need of any adult bits-n-pieces either. Also, I have Someone, who provides all the fun bits-n-pieces I want on demand and without requiring a credit card or loading a virus onto my hard drive, so thanks but no thanks.

I was gone for ten days. I returned to an e-mail box full of notices of blog comments. My heart did not go pity-pat. I know better. Of nearly two-hundred e-mails, more than fifty were blog comments. Four were from actual people-type people. The rest were what I will generously call "spam". This has only started since I disabled word verification on comments.

My blog is a tiny speck in the Blue Nowhere - why am I one of the lucky spamees??

I will no longer permit anonymous comments. Sorry. If you want to say something on my blog, you will have to identify yourself, or at least make an effort to amuse me by making up a false identity. C'mon, pseudonyms can be fun!

Spam...bah!

Spam, Spam, Spam, Spam...

...Spamity Spam, wonderful Spaaaaaam...

Ahem.

We were out of town for Labor Day. Lots of fun, terrific drumming, wet pack-out, long drive, just now getting to the blog.

While I was away my Spambox (kind of like a boombox, but more Spammy) partied on without me. I returned home to discover that:

-My credit score is being updated - from abysmal to dismal.
-I can grow six inched bigger with an herbal supplement, which would make me 6', 4" and mean I would not need the chair to get the crock pot down, so I'm giving it some thought. Whadaya mean, they don't mean that kind of growth?
-I can make my penis harder for longer. Hmm...I have a penis? Won't Someone be surprised?!?
-A hitherto unknown relative of indeterminate gender in a country from which none of my ancestors hailed has died horribly and left me his/her fortune. All I have to do to collect is send my name, address, social, and bank account numbers to a Mr. Alphabet-Soup-for-a-Name and I'm rich! I'll get right on that...
-If I vote for a certain politician, all the world's ills will be cured, whereas if I vote for the other fellow, Fenris will swallow the sun and it's sackcloth and ashes all around...but no pressure or anything.
-The Popcorn Factory wants to be my BFF. Why else would they e-mail me so often??

Well...looks like I've got quit a a busy day ahead of me, huh?

What's your spambox doing?

The Spam Knows

Rough night.

Feh, not rough, plain awful. Never mind. Let's look at The All Knowing Box O' Spam to see what kind of day it'll be, shall we?

Hmm.

I can earn up to $87 an hour, and apparently a hitherto unknown relative in the EU died and left me a fortune. There are two offers for the quick, free delivery of pills of unspecified origins or type.

Woo-hoo, party at the Casa!! One way or another, our cares are over!