And now, a poetic interlude. This bit o' verse is entitled, 'Grandma in a Shitbox Ford'.


Don't anyone say I never classed the place up with some culture and shit, yo.

Grandma in a Shitbox Ford


'Twas a summer morning in my 'hood,
When I set off for work, as well I should.

With no warning of what lay ahead,
I put pavement twixt my ass and bed.


I ventured forth in my trusty car;

Twelve miles to work -- not so very far.
And no clues to what I'd've soon endured --

The grandma in the shitbox Ford.


I made my way from the garage,
Without vehicular entourage;

The streets, it seemed, were mine alone;
My deluxe private driving zone.


But soon I'd change my carefree tune,

When stuck behind a senile loon.
She'd sour my mood, rest assured --

That grandma in the shitbox Ford.


I zipped unscathed through traffic lights,
Toward the highway, and full speeding rights.

Past the onramp, and the toll booth tower,
Then through at ninety miles an hour.


Two miles passed by without a hitch;

That's when I first espied the bitch.
Inching as though the car were moored --

That grandma and her shitbox Ford.


She occupied the far left lane,
Clogging traffic like a hairy drain.

From ninety, I slowed down to ten,
Checked my speed, and braked again.


My consternation wouldn't soon abate;

She'd neither move her ass, nor accelerate;
She well earned my 'Masshole' award;

Wrinkly grandma, rusty Ford.


Eight miles in, my exit loomed.
In the 'slow car' lane, the traffic zoomed.

But as I saw the chance to make my swerve,
The old lady slowed for a gentle curve.


My blinker on, I eyed the ramp.

With back asweat, and forehead damp.
But my slot was filled by a rogue Accord,

Thanks to grandma and her shitbox Ford.


I righted my ship with a sudden twist,
Though now I found my exit missed;

And miles before a roundabout,
Where I might sort my destination out.


Still, our biddy blocked my path,

Pissing off and incurring wrath.
For fifteen painful minutes more

I followed grandma in her shitbox Ford.


Finally, I wriggled free,
Outracing a Beemer Series 3;

And made my way to work, irate --
Fuming, and an hour late.


I honked to show my great displeasure;

The crone's response was a special treasure.
As I passed her by, I was gestured toward;

Flipped off by granny, from her shitbox Ford.


She crept away as I gaped, amazed,
With her dander up, and finger raised.

I don't know where she found the verve,
But that old bitch sure had some nerve.


I smiled as I made my offramp 'u-ie';

Though I wished her car would go kabloo-ie.
I found a nemesis, out of her gourd,

That spritely old hag, and her shitbox Ford.


God bless ya, Granny! Now get off the goddamned road!!

So, I was checking my 'bulk' folder this evening -- making sure none of your treasured comments happened to get routed to the slush pile -- when a message header caught my eye:


You dream of rivers of sperm, of penis enormous and firm.


Now, first of all, let me assure you that I don't. Dream of 'rivers of sperm', that is. Not to the best of my knowledge, anyway. I might dream of falling, or running away from monsters, or -- once, rather unfortunately -- eating a giant marshmallow. But swiftly-flowing streams of semen? No. It's possible I'll have nightmares about it going forward, now that I'm aware someone else has dreamed it up, but up to this point, it's not been an issue.


And to be honest, the 'penis enormous and firm'? Haven't been spending time in the basement, working out blueprints for that one, either. If anything, I might devote effort to finagling my penis into situations I think it might enjoy. I try to be a good penis parent that way. But any other penis -- particularly one that's 'enormous and firm' -- is on it's own. Matter of fact, get that thing away from me. And don't stand behind me; I don't trust that thing. Perv.


At the same time, though, I'm a sucker for a good poem, so I opened the email. Here's what I found inside:


You look for a perfect erection, for safety and pure protection.


Okay, look. First of all, kudos on the rhyme; that's what I came in for, and you didn't disappoint. Check plus-plus for that. But this is just a blatant lie. An erection may be many things -- stimulating, arousing, frightening, amusing, purple, illegal -- but it is never 'safe'. Nor can it 'protect' you. From anything... except maybe a smaller erection, somewhere in the vicinity, trying to horn in on the first penis' territory. I suppose that's where 'enormous and firm' would come in quite handy. So to speak.


Reading further:


You want just to win, not to lose - so viagra is what you choose.


Ah, we're finally selling product now. Nice. I like that -- start with the rhyming, hook in those starry-eyed, semen-rivered dreamers, then hit 'em with the sales pitch. Subtle. And the message is clear -- if you want to win in the 'Mr. Perfect Erection' competition, this would be the way to go. Just watch out for the Russian judge; you'll never get a '10' out of him. Unless he gets one out of you first, anyway.


So how does our delightful poem wrap up?:


Your dick resembles ugly sponge? Our viagra will make it large.


Oh, now, bother. You were doing so well, too -- I was even hoping for a killer snippet of verse to wrap it all together. But no. Now, your true spammer colors finally bleed through. Forget that I never, ever want to think of anything in my nether regions as a sponge -- 'ugly', 'fetching', 'photogenic', or otherwise -- I'm more disappointed that you tried to rhyme it with 'large'.


Particularly when there's so much you could have done with 'plunge'. Or 'lunge'. Or even 'grunge', if you'd put a little effort into it. Tsk, silly spammer. Tsk, I say.


Still, I take this as a positive sign. I'm still going to delete the reeking nonsense these spammers shovel into my inbox. But if I can occasionally be entertained before sending their crap to email hell? Sure. I'll have a look. I'm not buying any of their shit -- or downloading any 'viagra attachments' or 'river of sperm' links. But if the spammers are getting more clever with their ad copy, then that's an extra chuckle or two in my day. And really, isn't that why we're here?