Call of the Internet: "I Will Make You Phishers of Men."

It is the height of annoyance -- spam email. And it's been the height of stupidity on the part of the people recently spamming me -- seemingly spamming me from/on behalf of my own Web site.

For the past two weeks I've been receiving spam email from webmaster@matthewstamand.com, support@matthewstamand.com and administrator@matthewstamand.com. What these dingleberry assholes don't seem to realize is that I AM all of these things for my personal Web site. Yet they continue sending me spam containing that all-important attachment; one click of that virtual landmine and who knows whatall cyber syphillus will rage through my PC.

So, if these spiffy spammers happen to make it to this blog, here is a message direct from my spleen to the bridge of your nose: Fuck You. Fuck you and the horse you rode in on. Fuck your mother. Fuck your grandmother. Fuck your daddy who wears your mother's underwear. A pox on your house, a blight on your head. May every organ in your body turn into rancid prunes and your entire being sink into the ground like an oil drum filled with sludge.

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About a month ago I received a similar type message from another phishing expedition. This time someone masquerading as PayPal sent me an urgent message about "verifying" my account or else it would be cancelled in some very narrow amount of time. There was an accompanying link, which I didn't click at first. You see, I went directly to the PayPal Web site and sent their Customer Service a note asking what this message was all about -- before I figured out who it really was from. When I did get around to clicking the link in the phisher's email, I instantly found that none of the other links on the faux PayPal page worked. It looked just like PayPal, but all of the links were inactive. A dead give away that something was amiss.

Doubtless these phishers of men/women do manage to dupe people into giving away passwords or into clicking deadly attachments. Well, not me. Especially spam seeming to emanate from my own goddamned Web site. However, just to be safe, maybe I should go into the bathroom, stand before the mirror, and give myself a good slapping just to be sure I'm not gaslighting myself.