This is barely PG-13, but it still might not be "work safe."
Do you want women to have you in their sexual fantasies?QR2CbqCcIUHZX
Why yes, Mr. Spam Master, yes I do. Every woman I meet, in fact. What red-blooded American male would want anything else? QR2Cbq indeed. QR2Cbq again and again and again.
I bought some coffee at the Mobil station this morning, and as I handed Donna $3.11, I secretly wished I could reach over with my other hand and unbutton her bright, Monday-morning clean, white and blue XXL Mobil uniform blouse. Or, more to the point, I wished that she was wishing me to do so. I fantasize about her fantasizing, just as your spam describes. As I passed the forty-something soccer mom, who had just dropped her kids off at school, I wondered if she fantasized about a 30-year-old technical writer's hot, sweaty body, I wondered if she dreamed of running her hands down my pilled cotton polo shirt, clawing at the plastic buttons like a drunken kitten. The matronly cleaning woman gave me a look as I entered the building... was she worried that I would track dirt on her floor, or was she wondering what kind of tool I kept under my belt? Oh yes. I want women to have me in their sexual fantasies. Tell me how, oh spam master, tell me how!
If you have alw@y$ dreamed of being called @ sex machine,
our Viagr@ $oft Tab$ is $peci@lly f0r you.
"Sex Machine!" Donna is throwing out stale c0ffee grounds, dreaming that I would come back to the Mobil station for a second cup of coffee and a second cup of her. "Sex Machine!" the s0ccer mom ga$ps under her breath as she grips the gear shift, dreaming of my hunched shoulders and coffee breath. "Sex Machine!" the heavy-set cleaning woman mutters, glancing at my jeans, which are so tight she can tell my religious background. Yes, spam master, I have alw@y$ dreamed of being called many different kinds of machines... kung fu machine, ice cream machine, hot-dog eating champion machine, poetic-prose-writing machine, but my dearest, darkest dreams are that I could be a sex machine... one that doesn't run on batteries... no, baby, this sex machine runs on love, baby. Love! And Viagr@ $oft Tab$.
PmcIF6PAXl$y4Did you know that Americans and Russians
have sex more often than any nation in the world?
They do it approximately 130 times a year.
With our $oft Viagr@ tab$ you can do it 365 times a year
and 366 when it’s a leap year!
Yes, yes I did know that, thanks for asking. In fact, I know all obscure sexual trivia, as I am a perverted internet addict who reads every spam e-mail I ever receive. I don't work, not anymore. I sit at my desk and read spam messages... dreaming of Viagr@ $oft Tab$, dreaming of $ticXing my h@r7 Ta6s into mysterious places 366 times every leap year. Every woman I ever met is going to have me in their sexual fanta$ies, $pam m@ster. I will get a nine-inch tatt00 that proclaims, proudly, "SEX MACHINE!" I will rule the internet, pole-vaulting through cyberspace with my nine-inch tatt00!
I am clicking on your link, oh sp@m ma$ter. I am clicking on your link frenetically! Images flash through my head, faster and faster... a Mobil station blouse, a dirty mop, a gear shift! I need Viagr@ $oft Tab$!! I will not be denied my inalienable right to Viagr@ $oft Tab$! Viagr@ $oft Tab$ will be the bottom level of my food pyramid, baby! A food pyramid of SEX MACHINATION fantasies!
A food pyramid of love, baby, love! Sex Machine love! Nine-Inch Tattoo love! Donna, get out your cream and sugar and start grinding your beans, I'm coming back for another cup!
Cross-posted: beagley, spam_literature