Parting Glances: Two words and bang!

By |2018-01-16T11:02:31-05:00June 23rd, 2005|Opinions|

Help! I’m being spammed nonstop by persons claiming to be banking investors in Africa, India, England, New Zealand, Caledonia, Timbuktu, the Fiji Islands, and Shangri-la.
Each of these continental hoodwinkers wants me to be the go-between in financial “deals” involving millions of unclaimed, get-rich-quick, do-not-pass-go dollars — EURO and American. (In God We Trust Gay Folks.)
I’m also regularly e-mailed that I’ve won big-time international lotteries, none of which I recall ever having subscribed to (playing my birth date, Social Security number, and steam bath locker combination). Heaven knows I’ve already spent enough on Mega Millions, Keno, Daily 4 boxed, straight, and — like myself — easy pick.
I’ve amuse myself by replying in highfalutin sentences, full of IRS double talk, improbable family, medical, and sexual histories, Berlitz Business Swahili, and asking such questions as, Is your poor wife home from drug rehab yet? Are you still buying drag at Harrods? Is your aging uncle still larking about on the Spanish Steps? Any word from Osama?
A few of these rejoinders I’ve shared with my good friend Cheryl Zupan, former BTL editor (now editing in Columbus O); and “Zoops” in turn shares them with her office buddies — all keen on reading the wit and wisdom of the Rainbow Avenger Strikes Back, too busy themselves to con the con artist(e)s.
No doubt you, too, have been hit on. It’s become a byte-sized locust plague on all user-friendly computer civilizations. (I testify before the U.N. next month.) But I’ve started to get nasty with w.w.w. nincompoops.com. I no longer waste my valuable internet surfing time conjuring up confusing messages for these keyboard bank robbers. (I could DELETE or SPAM them. But that’s no fun.)
What I’m now doing — and continue to, because it gives me such slaphappy, x-rated revenge — is REPLY, with two little words and an exclamation point as my answer. (Aside: An English teacher once told our senior high school class, “Use the exclamation point sparingly. It’s like shooting off a gun at the end of a sentence. Don’t firecracker your prose.”)
There was a time when using one of these words in print was a definite no no. (FAMILY SECRET: When I was seven or eight, a bunch of us kids thought it fun to go up and down the block shouting four-letter fricatives — not having a clue what the fric they meant. But we knew it bugged grownups and sounded butch — spanking notwithstanding.)
Giving the old middle finger to these e-mail gold diggers energizes me. I’ve sent back hundreds of these declarative simple sentence missiles. It’s helped save my sanity in this blind-leading-the-bland-to-total-bedlam world. It’s cathartic. The pop! pop! pop! that refreshes.
Mr. Nairobi Kenyatta . . . Throckmorton Smith lll . . . Ms Charity Nobella Peaceprize . . . Dr. Artemus Bilgewater . . . My e-mail reply: [CENSORED]!
What, you may wonder, occasions this breach of decorum and good manners? I’m usually as docile, demure, and delightfully decorous as tinkling wind chimes in Sister Scatterpin’s convent garden. It’s rare that I get testicular, er, testy. Heaven knows though, I’ve wanted to let loose. Two words. An exclamation point. Bang! Bang! Stand on the rooftop and blast through a bullhorn . . .
. . . Jerry Falwell, Pat Robertson, James Dobson, Donald Wildmon, Ralph Reed, Bible-Belt Boob-ocrats, Ex-gays shrinks, Promise Keepers, GOP War Hawks, Bill Frist, Tom Delay, Rick Santorum, Dubya Dooright, Darth Vader, Magneto, Benito XVI, Judas Priest . . . .
For Christ’ sake: GET STUFFED!

About the Author:

Charles Alexander