Welcome back to Pitt. I hope everyone has big dreams for this year. You should have big… Welcome back to Pitt. I hope everyone has big dreams for this year. You should have big dreams, unless your dreams entail telling people that you receive the best junk e-mail ever – because actually I do.

My spam dominates the competition, leaving a bloody wake of broken hearts, shattered faith and sobbing locals. My spam is like a monster-truck commercial running 24/7 in my inbox. I’m always telling some kid about it, and he offers up his own spam story. The kid acts like he’s trying to relate, showing my spam is part of the human experience, but it’s obvious that he’s just trying to one-up me.

Generally, I receive three different types of spam:

1. “Spam of Legend”

The subject line of Spam of Legend always pretends to be relevant to my life, and the sender is usually Cindy, whose pun name the author probably considers a secret joke. I’m supposed to say, “Hey, it’s that IMPORTANT DOCUMENT that Cindy promised to send me!”

I guess what’s most awesome about Spam of Legend is that the bait never changes. It is pretty much always Cindy sending me an IMPORTANT DOCUMENT, which means that whoever sends me the Spam of Legend displays an audacity of hope and poverty of imagination unmatched outside of politics.

Every day, he wakes up and tells himself, “Today is the lucky day, when Lewis will finally be expecting an important document from someone named Cindy, and inside he will find the unbeatable Cialis soft tabs price he never knew he was waiting for.”

But it’s the body text of Spam of Legend that really merits the title. Inside is always an exciting legend:

“‘Exactly,’ says the alien. We will not allow the terrorists to dictate the future of this century, so we will defeat them in Iraq. Now, shiny pipes course directly through bedrooms and living rooms and kitchens, entirely visible, and regularly polished. Just this morning, Mr. Howard was brought into the cafeteria with a bevy of advisers, who sat him down and ordered one of each of the 18 different types of coffee we serve.”

Spam of Legend’s prose is definitely modernist. Like Faulkner, Spam of Legend utilizes a stream of consciousness technique. It is laden with Freudian imagery.

2. “Spam of Olde Runes”

Enterprise stephanie booth iyer.

Texting cell added wrinkle, allows, add!

They, feel awfully staticthe answer, might.

Lastfm recently played feed nice. Joined test it had sayfrom.

Somewhat ies reminicent operaso. Just does says us knowing everyone doing heaven forbid.”

Whereas Spam of Legend draws on James Joyce, Spam of Olde Runes is closest to the imagist poetry of T.S. Elliot and Ezra Pound. What matters is the image for its own sake, divorced on the surface from sequential meaning. At the same time, we’re exposed to a somber, futuristic dystopia through, “Texting cell added wrinkle, allows, add.”

Basically, Olde Runes sounds a lot like Radiohead. Except, if one gazes into the secrets of the Olde Runes, there is an attached penny stock tip.

Apparently spam filters have become pretty advanced, because in order to evade my spam filter, the author of Spam of Old Runes draws the stock tip in MS Paint. As an economics major, I understand that all business activity is guided by incentives, so these stock tips make me sad. I fear that there really are Americans stupid enough to look at a scribbled bitmap reading, “THE NEXT MICROSOFT! 1000% PROFITS EVERY MINUTE! CHINA MONEY CORPORATION,” and throw their life savings away. It challenges my libertarian conviction that private savings should replace Social Security.

3. “Spam of Open Market Policy”

Rebels have seized the Central Bank of Nigeria, and the bank is trying to move a few million dollars out of the country before the rebels can get it. The bank asks for my bank account number and is willing to give me a 50 percent cut if I help it.

I want to make sure that you notice that the entity in question is the Central Bank of Nigeria, the institution that manages the nation’s money supply and interest rates. It is a testament to the limited creativity of the spammers that they cannot think of the name of a single Nigerian bank other than the Central Bank of Nigeria.

The first e-mail I got from the CBN assured me that Professor Charles Soludo, executive governor of the Central Bank, would oversee transaction. In order to route me $3 million, the bank needed my bank account, driver’s license and Social Security numbers.

With time, the terms of the agreement shifted increasingly in my favor. The amount offered grew, and I got closer to Soludo. Sometimes, it was mentioned that the author and Charles Soludo had a lunchtime discussion about my character, and Soludo had smiled approvingly.

With Soludo’s confidence, less of my personal information became necessary for the transaction. Finally, I received an e-mail from Soludo himself, now something of a father figure. He was desperate to give me $300 million, as long as I gave him my phone number and zip code. What you can steal with my phone number and zip code? I don’t know, but it irks me that Barnes ‘ Noble always wants the same information.

If Internet spam has a victim, it is Charles Soludo. It pains me to think of the stain on the character of Charles Soludo, both as a central banker and as a man. If Charles Soludo really printed $300 million of Nigerian currency whenever he felt like it, he would cause inflation – something he learned in his years at University of Nigeria, Nsukka campus even before his post-grad work at Oxford.

When he reports to the Nigerian congress on interest rate policy, Professor Soludo no doubt wearies of explaining to representatives that he does not have their $300 million. It is probably impossible for Charles Soludo to get a credit card. I for one would take offense if spammers trampled the name of America’s Ben Bernanke.

I would also take offense if you stepped to my spam.

Spam Lewis at [email protected].