If you frequent my blog you know how easily amused I am with the spam I get; the snake-oils, the get rich quick schemes from my good buddies in Nigeria, the V.1.A.G.R.A. specials and so on and so forth. The one that stood out today was not only amusing but poetic and quite deep, that is if Kierkegaard and Nietzsche is your bag.
Subject: Your big member in pants will not be transient it will be permanent.
Transient? My big member won't be transient?! When I hear the word "transient" I think of a drifter on the side of the road with a bindle against his shoulder; a hitchhiker; a vagabond with a pistol in a boxcar bound for Spokane.
Is that what they mean?
That if I don't take their pill, or whatever it is which stands only 'one click away', my "big member in pants" will leave home?! It'll run away? He'll go wandering into the merciless night? Like some sort of fleeting fugitive on the loose? Like a tramp riding the rails?
My member, all alone, in a little clump of bushes, crouched beside a garbage pail fire, preparing his lunch? My penis preparing a kettleful of stew for his fellow hobo's? My dick eating out of a rusty tin can with a twig for a fork? My poor old organ out there dodging the bulls, waiting for the next rattler, just looking for a safe place to lay out his bindle?
Will he only visit around the holidays? Will he call? Will he write? Will he send word home that he's OK at the very least? God, I'd worry about him out there...
Is that what they meant by transient?!?!