Your Store Is No Longer My Cureall, Motherfucker
For months, I’d been receiving somewhere between fifty and one hundred per day: spams sent directly to my work mail server, bypassing the University hub and its junk mail filter. I installed a local filter, but that only worked for as long as Outlook remained open, and it did nothing to keep spam from filling my inbox to overload if I took more than a couple of days off.
It got so that I knew their subject lines by heart:
- “Our store is your cureall!”
- “Full of health? Then don’t click!”
- “She wants a better sex? Click here!”
That changed Tuesday, when I was moved to a new server under the protective shield of the University. In the past two days, I’ve received a total of four spams, and not one of them asked if I was full of health.
Goodbye, boys. I won’t miss you. If, in the future, she wants a better sex, I’m pretty sure I can get by without your help.