“I lost five pounds in two days and I’ve never looked so good!”

My Twitter timeline has been shedding weight lately. Every so often, a new hack makes the rounds — you know the ones, like “OMG look at this pic of you I found [obscure link]” or “LOL check out this funny video [probably a Trojan]!”

Does anyone ever click? Does it even matter?

The spammer always has a voice. This voice is not yours. It is never yours. This voice is playful, coaxing, corny. The spammer uses acronyms and abbreviations like a real hip Internet baby. Is a little embarrassing. You wouldn’t date it. Looks like a cute girl’s stolen Facebook profile photo, a girl who must have been real at some point, somewhere. Lives in the future summer, perpetually on a beach, tanned, white, drinking miracle shakes and smoothies and always so eager to tell you about her one weird trick, wink wink. Is a suburban mom from YOUR TOWN, U.S.A. Knows all the things doctors refuse to tell you. Is a hot single in your zip code, waiting for you; is always, no matter what form it takes, needy, pulsing, and wet.

“Hot singles in your area looking for a daddy seeking arrangement pic for pic LEATHER JACKETS DISCOUNT DENIM DENIM DENIM wire transfer my friend”

The spammer chants, make me thinner, make me prettier, make my dick bigger, give me hot singles, right here, right now, down to do it, any time, give me a book deal, give me an exotic wife, make my vagina tight, give me a scamming prince, a degree and a dog and a content farm, give me what I want, give me what you think I want. The spammer is, as ever, locked in the pursuit of corporate conglomerate happiness.

Spam is a million mouths and no tongue. Spam is kissing without tongue. Spam is all tongue and no kiss. Spam is fucking with the lights off while pinching your stomach to see if you can burn that belly fat forever with its one weird trick. Spam is rhizomatic, a fungus, chimeric. Spam doesn’t care who you are. Spam knows you already. Spam isn’t human. Spam is animal, vegetable, mineral. Spam only rears its head. Spam doesn’t have a brain. Spam can only guess at what a brain is. Spam is very good at guessing. Spam knows your life expectancy better than you do.

No one falls for spam. No one really believes it as it is, pure id spread thick, no ego to mask it. Spam tries to court you but you’re too smart for it, spam tries to ask you on a date but you close the door in its face.

“soooo… ur hot, wanna chat off twitter? 😉 — 4:15 pm”
“soooo… ur hot, wanna chat off twitter? 😉 — 4:16 pm”
“soooo… ur hot, wanna chat off twitter? 😉 — 4:17 pm”

Spam sends you a DM on Twitter. Spam says, “Let me cloak myself in your life. Let me cloak myself in your old lover, in your professor, in your best friend’s mom, in this stock photo dream girlfriend.” Spam is kinky. Spam loves roleplay. Spam says “LOL ur cute whats ur kik?” Spam is always hard. Spam wants to get into your pants. Spam knows you’re lonely. Spam dresses up as your friends. Spam just wants to know you, snuggle up real close, with its nose under your chin and its teeth on your jugular.

Sext: Spam falling in love. Spam trying to figure out the perfect way to word it. Spam waiting to send the perfect message, just for you. Spam standing in your room, vulnerable and naked. Spam touching your clicks. Spam rubbing your data on its face.

Spam comes hard and fast and then leaves you. Doesn’t lock the door. Spam steals your identity, rifles through your wallet and takes out all the cards. Gives you a real dirty sex life with some stock photo models. Ruins your credit. Gives you false hope, a mortgage, a job, the promise of a better life full of wet hot singles, pharmaceuticals, herbals, and botanicals. Promises you miracles. Goes through your address book. Wears your face. Spam never loved you anyway.

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