It’s not often that you get good spam.

The possibility seems to be precluded by the fact that we are talking about unsolicited electronic JUNK MAIL – sent without permission because in all likelihood not many people in the whole world need a(nother) mortgage, a fake medicine degree from Westwood University, hot girls, webcam action, lawyer sluts AND Viagra (although if you were really chasing up all these highly REAL un-fake offers, maybe the last would come in handy) – but if you want to go what I have called Spam-surfing, just go to

Pookmail is disposable email, designed to give you a temporary email address when signing on to highloy annoying sites, so you don’t have to pollute your own real nice email account. You fill in (for example) in your application, and then go to pookmail and enter your login as, and you’ll activate the account, verify whatever terrible garbage link they sent you, and hey presto, 24 hours later the account is dead.

And because of this, Pookmail attracts a whole heap of e-horseshit – All you have to do is go to a highly likely email address such as Dave@pookmail, and you can surf all the e-dishwater that has been sent there, and some of it is brilliant.

For example – Dave@P(etc) right now has one piece called “I Hate My Cell Phone”

Fair enough.  Check out this amazing u-turning bit of narrative. And I really genuinely mean it when I say, this has been crafted quite brilliantly.

Hi Dave,

I woke up 4 hours late today. Stuck in a
hotel on the road, I set my cell phone alarm
to go off at 6 AM. It’s now 10 AM, and I’m
staring at a dead pile of plastic where my
cell phone use to be.

My inner Doc McCoy gives me the bad news.

“He’s dead, Jim.”

Mother. Humper. All my contacts, emails, text
messages and appointments. All the business I
had going, and all the girls I had waiting
all around the country. It’s like losing part
of my brain.

The best part. The part that makes me money
and gets me women.

“Got-damnit! Wake up, you sad sack of

Yes, I’m yelling at my phone.

“Please, I need you.”

Now I’m pleading.

“Just for a minute. I just need to get the
number of the girl I met at the airport last
night. Just one number!”


“I guess this is it between us, isn’t it. We
had some good times, and I’ll always miss

And finally, acceptance. I’ve moved through
all the stages of grief, and now I can move
on to a new relationship with a better,
younger, sexier phone.

I can find a phone who really understands me
and my needs. I mean, we had fun together,
but did this phone do everything I wanted?
No. I had to make some comprimises. Did we do
what I wanted to do? Nope. I had to learn to
do without.

Did I get to spend time with other phones and
see if there was a better fit for me?

Hell no. We had a binding contract. I paid
the money and paid all the bills, and that
was the only phone I got to be with.

And now I’m free.

I know there’s a better phone out there for
me. One that plays music and video and is
always there for me.

I’m not stuck in the past. I’m not mourning.
I’m free to choose what I really want for
myself, and the next one is going to be
great. Hell, maybe it will even be the one.

You know what I mean? Cos I’m not talking
about phones, Sparky.

There’s one girl still haunting you. She was
the best ever, right, and you’ll never find
another one like her. You can’t move on
because you just want her back.

But I can show you how to let go of that
fear. You can live *fearlessly* and KNOW there’s
an abundance of better choices for you.

All you need are the skills in,
and suddenly the task of finding
a new woman is no harder than finding a new

Your friend in love and technology,

Lance Mason

P.S. Did you know that Surefire Attraction Secrets is
absolutely without risk? You pay ZERO for the CDs, ebooks
and private online coaching included in our most
popular product. Get the advantage that thousands of
other men already have and get Surefire Attraction
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Now, this is a real treat. A guy yaps about cellphones for god knows how many lines, throwing in Star Trek references all over the place, then, suddenly, after some lines about how he’s got out of his contract early, he quips

You know what I mean? Cos I’m not talking about phones, Sparky.

And suddenly we’re into the realms of a gigantic metaphor – the phone is a woman, the contract a marriage, and, by extension of this little comparison, my broken, circuit-fried cellphone is my DEAD WIFE who, according to the paragraph after the “Sparky” bit, is HAUNTING ME! COOL! I REALLY MEAN IT. COOL! This guy knows what he’s on about. I mean, I was ready to talk phones, but now that we’re really talking about girls and how bereaved I am, I’m all his.

Even though this is obviously garbage (the net is spread fairly wide – we do hate mobiles, everyone has been unlucky in love, there are a lot of single people, specifically guys with such low confidence that they will actually write back to this, and IT’S JUST SPAM) I appreciate the narrative voice.  Maybe Dave out there actually signed up to some agency – that is what Pookmail is for – but then why is it still doing a hard sell? My money is on neither – I don’t care, I just think it’s really really funny.

Anyway, Go Spam-Surfing (Sparfing? Spamfing?) at Pookmail – you may yet find diamonds like this amongst the very rough.