Spam.We go to great lengths to avoid it. We have junk filters in place for our email. We use captchas to prove we’re really people not spambots commenting on websites. Pretty much everyone I know has at least one fake email address to use when filling out online memberships to anything other than our bank and utility websites. And then we have Askimet here on WordPress, filtering spam from our comments.
I use all of them. I don’t like ads for products designed to enhance my unmentionables any more than the next person. About once a week, I open the spam files, do a cursory exploration to ensure that nothing I want got trapped, and then I clear the folders.
Then I read a couple. At first, a few they seemed legit – no stack of web links, no porn names, just really, really bad English. The first one was a generic enough statement thanking me for the post and apologizing for the bad English. Okay.
Then there was this one: “I am esteemed couch sitting to find such funny stuff. Will share and impulsively dilate in the future.”
Esteemed couch sitting? Impulsively dilate??
Whatever. I made them laugh. Which post were they responding to? Let’s go see what I did right.
Well, it seems that my distress over my Dad’s death is. . .funny?
To be fair, a lot of my blog posts do go out with the ‘Humor’ tag, but not that one.
I have a handful of painful posts mingled in with the funny, and another handful that are geared towards sharing information, usually on writing. Then there are the utterly random rants, which are sometimes funny on purpose, sometimes funny by accident, sometimes not funny at all.
But if you’re spamming, wouldn’t you at least make some effort at connecting something relevant if you hope to get a click out of it?
There are primarily two ways spammers work – bots and cooks (there may be a legit term for human spammers, but I don’t know what it is, hence ‘cooks’) . Bots may account for the stack of 8 porn links I get in an email, but in a forum like WordPress, mostly the spam is being cooked by humans.
It’s their job to get me to click.
The comments I get are kind of like lunch at a fast food joint. I may order a grilled chicken sandwich, but discover five miles down the road that the guy who merely blinked and said, “Huh?” when I asked for a straw, cared so little about what I ordered that I ended up with a cheeseburger, extra pickles (Yes, Wendy’s dude, I’m talking to you.)
Like a fifteen-year-old pissed at their polyester polo shirt, the spammers just aren’t even trying. And they always blame their poor English on Google translator. If you end up with “esteemed couch sitting” during that translation, I think you also have poor native tongue skills.
But after the esteemed couch sitter commented, I started paying a bit more attention to the comments. I thought it would be great fodder for a post. Kind of a back side to my Target Marketing and Where Are You People Coming From pieces from a while back (I still can’t believe how many people find my blog by typing ‘Cosby sweater’). For a few weeks, I saved the best random comments, intending to share them.
I opened the Spam folder last week to create that post only to find. . .nothing.
Askimet ate my spam.
Sure, that’s the whole point of Askimet, but I didn’t know they would be removed unless I deliberately dumped them.
I feel cheated.
And utterly demented that I am even considering creating an external folder in which to house them.
But I made one.
Apparently, I like spam.
Who would’ve guessed?