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February 19, 2004
Spam. That clutter that fills the mailbox and plugs the server. Totally undesireable, like the canned mystery meat with which it shares an name. But unlike the processed meat-by-product-loaf we've come to loathe, this stuff pops up if I buy it or not.
On an average day, I get:
One offer to refinance the house.
One offer for insurance.
Two bogus virus warnings.
Three Viagra ads (I guess sex really does run the world)
I have a spamblocker. It doesn't seem to keep these out. I wonder if it can stop the blue can of wretchedness instead.