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Wednesday, February 15, 2006

Spam poetry: "Do I Feel it, Sir?"

More spam poetry, this one excerpted from spam I received from a "Jewell Mel". It seems to be made of scattered passages of David Copperfield, mixed in with other text I can't identify. My only edits were to omit passages and make punctuation and capitalization consistent.


Do I feel it, sir?

I assure you, I returned.
The candles were burning down
induced in some anxious moment to guard her
and surround her
breeding
It was one of the irons I began to heat
for I had laid them on the table.
I made myself very ridiculous
but I know I was resolute.

Pray believe me, I
a gnarled oak in the forest of difficulty
I went on;
there then appeared a procession
of new horrors, called
arbitrary.

He carried his head with a lofty air
French songs about the impossibility
of ever on any account leaving accidental Miss Murdstone,
by an expressive sound,
a long drawn respiration.

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