You know how sometimes people have those disorders where they do all kinds of crazy things in their sleep without knowing it, like eating, walking around town, and experiencing intimate, climactic moments with the unsuspecting people around them?

Well if the eleventy thousand emails that I’ve received today are to be believed, apparently my sleep disorder involves logging onto my computer in the dead of night and ordering an entire continent’s worth of medicine designed to enhance my Very Special Man Parts.

I wonder if there’s some kind of medicine for that?

…the spammers have figured out which target market I fit into.

Today’s headline:

Dorkus Maximus

like yesterday, when it sent me this very amusing, and quite helpful Public Service Announcement-Like spam informing me of the important, upcoming

Big Boob Alert

Great-thanks so much for letting me know!

Right now I am supposed to be coming up with a 2-hour lesson plan for a new Spanish class I’ll be teaching starting tomorrow. Unfortunately, I can only write about verbs and vowels for so long before I start getting antsy and looking around for something else with which to occupy myself, and then before you know it my husband has come home to find that I’ve given away all our pots and pans because they weren’t “pretty enough”.

So in order to keep myself entertained and to circumvent any boredom-inspired domestic disasters, I have been reading back through some of the funny spam messages I’ve gotten recently. Such as,

“fortuitous amputee”: (Really? Because I seriously doubt that’s how they’d describe their situation.)

“thousandth madhouse”: (Yep, that could just be a synonym for “Jenny’s Mind”.)

“hardcore pregnant”: (Is there any other way to be pregnant? Half-assed? Not totally committed yet?)

And in the category of, “If I Never Saw These Words Combined Again, It Would Still Be Too Soon”:

“mother’s soapy enema”, and

“mature grandma”

Today dooce referenced a song that sent me flashing back to my early years. She mentions “trying to coax Leta into singing Mormon hymns over the phone one more time. Jesus, he wants her for a sunbeam”. I think that someone, somewhere must have decided that Jesus wants all young children for sunbeams, because I too sang that song, but as a (former) Baptist, not as a (former) Mormon.

However Jesus appears to be keeping up with the times, because yesterday he emailed me. And now, instead of wanting me “for a sunbeam, to shine for him each day”, he wants me to refinance our house with his mortgage company. “Our loan department is trying to reach you One Last Time since previous attempts to contact you all failed.” Apparently I missed the burning bush and the pillar of fire by night, so he had to resort to email.

The times, they are a-changing.