Have you been getting the spam telling you that all of your co-workers are talking behind your back about what a fat slob you are? I have. The email goes into detail about all the office gossip and how the sender doesn’t want to be the one to tell me how disgusting I am but just wants to save me from future trauma.
I cannot believe it. For one thing, my coworkers have no room to talk. One of them is a 3-foot high fairy who belches constantly. Another is nicknamed “fat man” and is planning to leave the company and take up work on a logging crew any day now. The third one is just too nice. Dan would never say such things because he loves me dearly and he’d like to continue sleeping in our fabulous queen-sized.
I just think this is the worst round of spam yet, playing on people’s self-esteem, convincing them that everyone thinks they’re a loser so they’d better try out this new weight-loss product. Ack! Blech!
I don’t need their steenkeen weight loss pill. I’m becoming increasingly convinced that all of my life’s problems would be solved if I could spend the entire day disco dancing while rattlin’ a Tupperware shaker full of salt and rice and yelling “YOU” “no YOU” back and forth with Magoo.
I’d lose weight. I’d be too cool for school. All the kids would like me and I’d be happy all the time. Who can be sad when they’re flailing their limbs off-tempo in sweats, jiggling their spices and pretend-fighting with a toddler? Who, I ask? That’s what I thought.