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From: Malinov <malinov@mindless.com>
Subject: {ASS} X Marks the Spot - SPAM Story
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X Marks the Spot
(SPAM in ASS on Friday, September 19)
"Look, Larry, I know this is all kind of messed up, but we really
have to talk. At the rate we're going, we can't afford to keep this
up the web-sex business. The front page of our 'Master Baiter Super
Slutty Sex Site' only had thirty hits last night."
Tim shoved a sheaf of papers at a greasy-haired young man
stretched prone over a ribbed blue bedspread. The figure seemed to
ignore the intrusion. Tim walked around the bed and rattled the
documents into his colleague's face.
Larry looked up from his psych text. His dark eyes sank
with a weary discontent. The gaze seemed blurry, red and
uninterested.
"How many subscriptions did we get?" Larry spoke in a dull
monotone, curiously angry.
"Nada. Most people didn't even stay around long enough for the
first graphic to load. It isn't like the old days. There are
about a million pay sex-sites. The newsgroups are flooded with ads,
and unless we figure out some way to grab these webbers'
attention, this business is bust."
"So, what are you thinking?" Larry sat up, perched the edge of the
bed. A pale coffee stain filled the breast of his white t-shirt.
"We have three days to pay the ISP - they say they won't listen to
any more excuses. We have to pull out the stops. I say we bomb the
shit out of the alt.sexes with something killer. Something that
grabs the surfer's semi-flaccids and makes 'em jump to click
the damn button faster than a jack-rabbit jacks."
Whenever he spoke of business opportunities, Tim's eyes gleamed
maniacally, giving him the air of a man who can clearly see into the
future.
Larry snarled. "All right. How about this: 'Dickhead Fucks
Cheerleader'"? He bit the words as she spoke them and fell back
down onto his bed.
"I knew it. Talk to me, man. You're still pissed off about Sue."
"No. . .no." Larry turned over and opened his textbook again
without caring which page he found. He didn't plan to read, but only
to discourage the conversation.
"Bullshit, Larry. Hit me. Talk to me. We have to work this out. I
told you I was sorry."
"Forget about it."
"No, man. Let's thrash this out." Larry rolled over again, and
picked up the sheaf of papers.
"C'mon. We have work to do." Larry took a pen and scrawled a few
words on the back of one sheet. "How about 'Slutty Sororrity
Videos'?"
"You spelled it wrong. Besides, we don't have any sorority video."
"I thought Cindy had been one."
"Cindy went to college?"
"I thought Jeff said so. Anyway, what difference does it make?"
"I just thought you knew about Sue."
"Look, Tim, I don't want to talk about it."
"Everyone knew about the halloween party. Sue was bad news. She
wasn't about to get hooked up with someone. I thought you knew
that." Tim's voice pleaded, whined. Larry threw down the papers.
"Fuck you, man. I didn't care about that shit. I liked her. I knew
where she was coming from. She'd been fucked around, and the whole
party scene was just part of her pain."
"Look, man. I'm sorry."
"You could have had some respect for me. I thought we were friends."
"We are. I got home drunk, and she was there. I didn't mean to mess
things up. Look. She's the one who started playing with me. I
didn't do anything. I just didn't stop her."
"That makes me feel better. My best friend didn't fuck my
girlfriend. She fucked him. Fucking great."
"I know it's hard, man, but you didn't lose anything that wasn't
already going away. You'll find another chick. Let me give you
Janet's number. You'd like her."
"You owe me a ticket to paradise."
"Yeah, a treasure map. Maybe that's the angle. You're looking for
something you can't find. It's like a mystery. We put up an ad that
says 'X Marks the Spot', promise some treasure and hide the mystery
site. We might even dig up something really wild to find, make it
like a treaure hunt.
"Great." Larry picked his book up.
"Thanks, Larry. I think this is it." Tim's eyes had that glow
again.
"Anytime." Larry opened the book as Tim closed the door behind him.
"Dickhead."
~Malinov
--
Currently reading _Mason & Dixon_ by Thomas Pynchon
Power belongs to those who dare. . . Sapere Aude
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