Spammers are mammals.

I awoke with a small start. It was still pitch-black except for the dull green glow of the digits, indicating that it was 5:08 AM. Something felt wrong. I could feel the presence of someone in my bedroom, a sort of panic-inducing disquiet. I didn't move, so as to not alert the intruder to my being awake. Ever so slowly, my hand crept upward, reaching for the sheathed short sword I kept under the pillow. As my fingers began to curl around the handle, there was faint rustle, as of a cloth-wrapped neck turning back.

He'd spotted me! I flew upwards, whipping out the blade and shouting a fierce ki-ya as I bounded off the bedpoles and parried a hailstorm of little silver disks thrown at me. There was the sudden POOF of a smoke bomb going off, following by a chill breeze flapping in the window, and silence.

I flipped on the lights. The ninja had escaped through the window and was already gone. I slammed its heavy frame shut, latched it, and turned to survey the damage. Sticking out of the walls behind me were the shuriken he'd thrown, all of them CDs with pirated copies of Microsoft programs. On the nightstand was a thick phonebook containing only the numbers of nymphomaniac lesbians who'd just turned 18. Next to it was a picture of a smiling African man in a business suit, as well as a stack of correspondence from "my old friend" Dr. Nbanga, whom I surely remembered and merely needed my help after all these years to relocate "6 hundred million dollar". I was sure that if I looked around, I'd find mortgage forms cunningly hidden, waiting to be accidentally signed. I'd have to spray the whole place for viruses, too.

Annoyed by the relentless attacks of the spam ninjas, I stalked down the hallway to relieve myself before going back to bed. Thinking it was over, I pulled off my pajama shorts and reached down, only find a note taped to my member! "Add six inches overnight with miracle pill!"

Would you like fries with that, tovarisch?

Down the street from here they just opened this new fast food joint called The People's Republic of Sandwich. Their special is the The People's Meal, featuring a spicy red sausage patty with red onion and red cabbage on a pumpernickel bun, a whole potato, and a shot of vodka. They have an ad blitz going on about how they intend to "Widen the Flavor Gap with the great taste that Capitalist Pig-Dogs would love if they were not busy being oppressed by the Bourgeois." I hear that for just 39¢ you can upgrade your drink to a Cuban Bladder Crisis.