I just wanted to let you know that I got your latest come-on this morning. Oh, it was where it belonged: in my quarantine folder, along with purported lottery winnings, Hillbilly Heroin pushers, fake luxury items, pirated software, and a host of societal insecurities digitally enshrined. There was your nugget of wisdom, nestled amongst its kind: an enlargement here, a reduction there, drugs, drugs, drugs – all promises of something for nothing.
But I digress.
Back to you, oh my purveyor of perfidious pedigrees. For lo! this morning, you posed a question I could not in good conscience ignore. To do so would have been a disservice to the world, so profound was your question. For I had an answer to your question that would speak volumes of truth, I had wisdom that demanded to be shared.
Your subject line read, “Dr YOUR NAME, how does that sounds?”
My response comes without addressing your inability to run your software properly – you know, the part that replaces “YOUR NAME” with, well, my name? No, without questioning your ability to run a pre-packaged script that you bought bundled with thousands of email addresses from some other sleazebag who is now laughing at you while they spend your money, I must, must respond to your question.
You asked ‘How does that sounds’? Oh, the irony of it all, the delicious irony of such a question from a salesman of fake educational credentials.
It sounds fucking illiterate, you dickhead. It sounds completely fucking illiterate.
But thanks for asking.