Archive for September, 2013

September 15, 2013



This is true according to the subject line of repeated spam emails I receive in my Yahoo account.

Yahoo’s spam blocker needs a major overhaul; it’s as efficient as Congress.   Perhaps, also like Congress, it has sold itself, and therefore you, out to special interests that wish to profit on your many emotions and, in some cases, bring about technological angina.  Meanwhile, Yahoo yells yahoo all the way to the bank.

The folks at, a cyber comfy site published by the Kaspersky security software folks, say that “70-80% of all email traffic is spam.” says that nearly 10% of all email accounts are owned by Yahoo.  So how long does it take to ride the train from New York to Atlanta?

Obviously, this garbage, like most advertising and politics, is effective because there are those who swallow it as being legitimate; people click and open this shit.  You are the fish and the spam is the fisherman dangling the hook with a rubber worm.  In Lake Yahoo, the fisherman seeks to hook you with the lure of money, sex, and in one case, a product to download which will prevent you from getting spam…like this one.

Apparently I’ve won the Irish Lottery…a number of times.  I have a secret benefactor in Nigeria that would like to give me a million dollars; I just have to email him my bank account information.  Apparently I’ve been voting early and often as both Democrats and Republicans have been emailing me, thanking me for my vote.  To some I have erection issues (not of the World Trade Center Memorial variety) while others, most likely tramps rejected from, like my pictures and would like to meet; apparently I have nice hands.

Like epitaphs on gravestones, some of these are hilarious.

I long ago switched to Outlook as my main email provider; their lookout for spam has been, in my experience, much better than those employed at Yahoo.

So, while some of my Facebook ‘friends’ may be Democrats, I doubt any of them are criminals.

September 4, 2013

“Who Are You?”


Oops, can’t ask that (unless you work at the NSA or Facebook, but then, they already know who you are).

“I woke up in a Soho doorway, a policeman knew my name.”

Cannot question the identity of someone stumbling into a voting booth (at least I couldn’t because I only speak English.).  What do you mean, who am I?  This Blockbuster membership card tells you who I am, jeez.

Cannot question someone’s national identity because they’re here to make America better, like your immigrant ancestors did after they waited for days on Ellis Island while their identity was checked.

But their lack of legal national identity will allow them to collect tax payer monies (and they’re not concerned who is paying what) to assist them in getting a driver’s license (NYC spending millions on this program), which many US citizens apparently do not have since they cuss when having to show ID at the voting booth.

“God, there’s got to be another way!”

Neither should we be able to question the identity of anyone who waves a little membership card for some stigmatized group; which is getting closer to mean anyone not white and not over 50 (did I just stigmatize old white people?).

My God, I’ve seen people get upset when they are asked to show some identification as they attempt to make a purchase on a credit card.  Never mind that it is a practice designed to protect them and never mind that that person would scream the loudest while demanding to know who charged a $1,000 on their MasterCard at a local strip club (where nobody knows anybody and no one gives a damn really).

Old jokes about not catching the name of the tramp you brought home last night have morphed into a quest for a cultural norm.

“I felt a little like a dying clown…”

However, if you are a gun owner then every liberal rag in the nation has the right to publish your name so that your neighbors know who amongst the US citizenry is concerned with their Constitutional rights – liberals are frightened by the audacity of someone they know is not a member of their little group attempting to exercise their rights.

“I stepped back and I hiccuped…”

“So, who are you, oh, who the fuck are you!?”