Upon a frosty Christmas Eve, I opened my email,
But it was bare as Hubbard’s press, and deader than a nail,
Where is my batch of daily spam, I did most loudly cry,
You have been here eleven months, now you decide to die?
How will I cope on Christmas day without my on-line betting,
My medicines from Canada, my properties for letting?
I’m lost without my lottery wins, my creams for parts turned spotty,
And without my blue Viagra jolt, I’m left all limp and floppy!
So come ye back, Nigeria men, and fill my email cache,
With mailing lists and fake degrees, for me to have a bash,
I love your offerings, one and all, they make me what I am,
And tomorrow won’t be Christmas day without some email spam.
|Amazon USA||Kindle USA||Amazon UK||Kindle UK|