Walky Talky: Filler 17

February 13, 2004

Filler 17

This does not in any way soften my stance on spammers -- loathsome, morally-repugnant parasites on the common good for whom public execution by hanging, drawing and quartering (which really was an outstandingly horrible way to go, look it up if you don't believe me) would be far too merciful -- but I was mildly amused by some of the fake sender names in today's batch: Disembarked B. Heydays, Roadways I. Lamentations and (a great entertainer, a great humanitarian, and my personal friend for 25 years, please give a big hand to) Rollerblade H. Undercoat. I can't help being reminded of Rufus T. Firefly, and hence my favourite Groucho Marx line:

Remember, men, you're fighting for this woman's honour -- which is probably more than she ever did.

This isn't the first time I've been amused by the daft strategies spammers use in their attempts to slip unwanted adverts past Bayesian filters. One previous -- and utterly self-defeating -- attempt consisted of a chunk of hilariously-bad science fiction plus an embedded image that presumably contained the hard sell. Since I (like any sensible internet user in this day and age, surely) have my mail client configured not to download arbitrary embedded content, I never knew what that spam was trying to advertise -- not that it would have made any difference anyway -- but the extraneous material brought a smile to my face with its purple prose.

What is the point of these crackpot schemes, anyway? I mean, who are they trying to kid? I have a broad of array of filters to keep this crap out because I'm not interested. Do they imagine that the fact they manage to slip a mail past all those safeguards will make me suddenly change my attitude? Oh look, an advert for Viagra/Printer Cartridges/XXX Hot Babes! I've struggled to resist all this time, but I can do it no longer! I must buy! Buy! Buy! It's so depressingly stupid.

In other news, I gave notice today. In... actually, I'm not sure... 4 weeks? 30 days? a calendar month? where is that fucking contract anyway? Anyway, in that amount of time I'll be unemployed. Assuming they get their act together to pay me to date, otherwise I guess I'm unemployed already.

By a strange coincidence, I got cold-called by an employment agency today.

This used to happen to me all the fucking time -- well, several times a week -- despite my online CV saying quite clearly that I wasn't available. (Oh, those were the days. It used to really piss me off: No! I'm working! I'm in the office now! No, I don't want you to call me back in a fortnight! I'm employed! What do you want from me? How times change.) About 18 months ago that tailed off, and for pretty much the whole of 2003 I didn't get a single call. If that isn't evidence of a recession in the computing sector, I don't know what is.

Today's was the second cold call this year. Things are looking up.

Of course, the job they had in mind for me was a total non-starter: Windows DirectX game programming -- which I have done, but hate -- in Milton Keynes. Milton fucking Keynes! Talk about the commute from Hell. Here I am living in, approximately, the centre of the universe, and you want me to travel each day to the arsehole of the world? Milton Keynes. Thank you, and goodnight.

Still. I got a cold call. I gave notice.

Things are looking up.
Posted by matt at February 13, 2004 10:05 PM

Comments

Dear Uncle Matt,

Glad you're glad, and thanks for the smile, but seriously, is MK being the arsehole of the world a good thing or a bad thing? I mean, all very well and good to contextualise, but my gay-handbook suggests that my interpretation is off. What am I to think?

Yours,

Dazed and Confused, SW London.

Posted by: Stairs at February 13, 2004 11:40 PM

Good point. Arseholes do have their nice side, notably when attached to an attractive man such as yourself. As far as I know, Milton Keynes is not so attached.

Posted by: matt at February 14, 2004 01:58 AM

The puritan within can only be mildly offended.

Posted by: Stairs at February 14, 2004 11:26 AM

And talking of arseholes, you missed out a particularly appealing form of execution for spammers, namely being impaled on a large spike inserted through said orifice.

Posted by: Shyboy at February 14, 2004 12:10 PM

I think I'm going to have to write a self-help book called The Puritan Within.

Though of course the only person in the United States to whom it will be of any use is Janet Jackson, all the rest of us having surrendered whatever reason we have to that august personage.

To the puritan within, I mean. Not to Janet Jackson.

Posted by: Faustus, M.D. at February 14, 2004 01:54 PM

Matt, that wasn't a cold call from the employment agency. They've been reading your blog and sussed that your appearance on the job market was imminent.

Posted by: Shyboy at February 16, 2004 08:24 PM

[Adam] If they'd been reading my blog they'd know better than to offer me a job in Milton Keynes.

[Faustus] It's sure to be a bestseller.

Posted by: matt at February 18, 2004 06:47 PM

You credit them with too much intelligence. But they know now.

Posted by: Shyboy (inebriated but happy) at February 19, 2004 03:21 AM

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