I opened my email and read “Bon jour, free-handed branded.”
I opened another and read, “Good Afternoon, belt jot.”
I couldn’t’ figure out what was going on, so I deleted them and moved on to read the next message: “Howdy Septic Apply.”
This was a bad dream. The next message made no sense either.
“Well, well, well, unraveled tide. Salute, sallow-skinned moderns.”
The next letter was from my daughter. “Mom, good news. Louie got a job.”
I was thrilled because my grandson had been looking for a long time. I asked where he worked and she said for an advertising company. I was impressed and asked what his duties were. She said, “He creates SPAM messages all day long and someone else has to mail them.” I tried to gasp quietly and asked how much he got paid, and she said, “Not much; the lowest hourly wage that’s legal.”
“Oh. I see.”
“He’ll probably give you a ring and let you know.”
“OK. I’ll look forward to it.” So, the next email I opened greeted me with “Well, well, nostrils education.” I knew Louie was practicing his spam on me.
I replied with, “Take that postmark’ Elijah.”
“Back atcha, sobbing tip toes.”
I came back with “What next, tweed beam?”
He answered, “Would you, would you, puzzling expiring?
I wrote, “Good afternoon, belt jolt.”
“Nonnie, don’t leave yet. Whaddaya think of my SPAM?
“Louie, it’s very clever and nicely weird.”
“Thanks. I’m working my way up.”
“Up to what?”
“To longer sentences. It pays better.”
(Jobs are hard to find, so if anyone can write funny SPAM, Louie can.)
This is a SPOOF, and I have no grandson named Louie. My youngest grandson is Nathan and he works at Safeway.
But I must admit that I now read SPAM before deleting so I can save the ones that make me laugh. I may have discovered a funky art form.