Mon 20 Nov 2006
Mum.mia
Posted by anaglyph under Poetry, Spam Observations
[10] Comments
Spam Observations #35
Fabron Jenkins wrote to me this morning with an offer to sell me some Via.gra and to give me some frank, if slightly nauseating, advice.
From: Fabron Jenkins
Via.gra Email from ED. Lowest Pr1ce GuaranteedTaking sildenafil after eating a high-fat meal (such as a cheeseburger and french fries) may cause the medication to take a little longer to start working.
So, ladies, are you conjuring up the same image as I get – some fat guy scoffing down a cheeseburger and a bucket of fries, impatiently waiting for his equipment to come online so he can play Hide the Salami? I bet that’s got you in the mood.
It set me to wondering if there might be a less, er, low-rent approach to selling this kind of product. And where else would one turn for such a makeover but to a writer of classical repute? So, spammers, pay attention as our new TCA Copywriter (By Appointment), Mr R. Brooke, sets his quill to the matter:
Mummia* ~ Rupert Brooke
As those of old drank mummia
To fire their limbs of lead,
Making dead kings from Africa
Stand pandar to their bed;Drunk on the dead, and medicined
With spiced imperial dust,
In a short night they reeled to find
Ten centuries of lust.So I, from paint, stone, tale, and rhyme,
Stuffed love’s infinity,
And sucked all lovers of all time
To rarify ecstasy.Helen’s the hair shuts out from me
Verona’s livid skies;
Gypsy the lips I press; and see
Two Antonys in your eyes.The unheard invisible lovely dead
Lie with us in this place,
And ghostly hands above my head
Close face to straining face;Their blood is wine along our limbs;
Their whispering voices wreathe
Savage forgotten drowsy hymns
Under the names we breathe;Woven from their tomb, and one with it,
The night wherein we press;
Their thousand pitchy pyres have lit
Your flaming nakedness.For the uttermost years have cried and clung
To kiss your mouth to mine;
And hair long dust was caught, was flung,
Hand shaken to hand divine,And Life has fired, and Death not shaded,
All Time’s uncounted bliss,
And the height o’ the world has flamed and faded,
Love, that our love be this!
Now. Fabron. Can you see the difference here? “Their blood is wine along our limbs, their whispering voices wreathe savage, forgotten drowsy hymns…” Can you hear the customers shouting: My God! Mr Brooke! Take my credit card! Give me a year’s supply of the stuff!?
Fabron, do you understand at all how the involvement of a cheeseburger in your pitch kinda takes the spark out of the moment?
Fabron? Fabron?
Crap. There I go talking to myself again.
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*Mummia, an alleged aphrodisiac and concoction for improving one’s amorous stamina was in use for many centuries. It was made from ground-up Egyptian mummies.â€
The picture at the head of the post is a container for mummia. Go visit Ingenious and read all about it. And buy a poster from them.
†Never let it be said that you ever walked away from The Cow without some little useful party-conversation-enriching tidbit…
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10 Responses to “ Mum.mia ”
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[…] in the same league as my Mr Brooke, I know, but c’mon Pauline! Work with […]
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[…] of you with keen memories will recall that a little while back I suggested to Fabron Jenkins and his spammy pals that their ham-fisted wham-bam-thank-you-ma’am approach […]
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[…] TLC managed almost to reach the lofty heights of The Cow’s own Laureate Rupert Brookes’ wonderful creation, with a William Cullen Bryant-style ode that is at once tragic and hopeful. If ever there was a […]
“Drunk on the dead, and medicined
With spiced imperial dust”
Completely divine. Thanks for the injection (whoops vicar) of the sublime into my day, Rev.
“Gypsy the lips I press” … sigh
Dum.mia then, t’would seem to be
the dissolute life – slow ending
requiring the draughts of apothecary
when simple exercise would have had the end in…
Oh I’m so sorry, Mr Brooke…
Hahahaha. That’s very good. You can come and work for SpamCowâ„¢, evenstar (a free Cowlexâ„¢ replica is on its way).
A gentlman, a lady fair,
A burgr, fries — th standard fare,
An later on, cmpletely bare,
It coud be rathr iffy.
—
Wif Lifes solution — only time,
Plus Fabron Jenkins’ product prime,
Youll soon see sompm quite sublime.
Lo, an behold! — a stiffy!
P.S. You shoud kno bettr than t cnneckt dick stuff wit poetry, Revrend.
Onboard the Lincoln, stuck on duty,
With a chief who is quite snooty,
My job is simple: get the phone
Like a mindless Navy drone.
Websites that I want to view,
Uncle Sam won’t let me through,
The government a filter set
(Though they haven’t blocked the Cow just yet)
I haven’t gotten that much sleep
So with Polanski I can’t compete
But really soon, I’ll be salutin’
This January, our friend, Rasputin.
Oh God it’s like waving a red rag at a bull.
Well, it’s plain in any event that I can confidently go ahead with my plans knowing that my new employee, Mr Brooke, has little to worry about in the way of competition.
Oh, right…
There goes that job opportunity.
I s’pose the Cowlex was just lip service too?
Pfft! Damn fickle creative types. ;)