Rene Hooker wants to pay me to play. Rene? Seriously, with that last name, don't you mean the other way around? Doesn't the customer generally have to pay the hooker to "play"?
Dr. Nolan Corbett doesn't grasp the idea of the Y chromosome. I doubt he's a real doctor. Unless it's a PhD in something like sociology or East African history.
Chang Holcomb resurrects my favorite Ebonics spam e-mail subject line. (Okay, it's not my favorite. But the guy's obviously got racial identity issues, so I'm trying to be nice.)
killy geof sends me an Fw: from prison. (I assume so, because anyone named "killy" probably is doing 20-to-life for something.)
Dr. Laurel Bellamy tells me I can stop dreaming about increasing the size of my male device. I don't need her advice; I do not own any sex toys, nor do I want any. (Certainly not any "male" ones.)
Dr. Jay Hunt gets into the act by advising me I can enlarge my male "instrument". What's a male instrument, the oboe? The clarinet? The tuba? Would a french horn be female or gay? (You put your hand in it, don't you?)
Dr. Noreen Reagan finishes the trifecta by telling me that a small "male machine" is not a problem. Well, I should say not. Look, doc, as technology improves, machines typically get smaller, not larger. Example: my computer contains more computing power than existed in the world in the entire decade of the 1940s, yet it fits under my desk with room to spare. A 20 horsepower internal combustion engine was the size of a truck in 1905; today you can tuck one under an arm and carry it.
* * *
73! And it hasn't been that long since I last cleaned out the spam box. Crimony.
