Letters, We Get Letters…

I get an awful lot of e-mail from alleged women who want to have sex with me even though they've never seen me and do not live on the same continent. My feeling is that if you are soliciting sexual partners in another country, maybe you aren't among the best-looking individuals in yours. And if I were more cynical, I'd think it was just some predator, male or female, trying to get my attention so they could try various lines to get money out of me, just in case I was really, really desperate and really, really stupid.

For some reason, I'm also now getting messages from country clubs on other continents…like today, I have one here trying to sell me a membership in the Huntswood Golf Club located in Taplow, England. For only £12 per week (marked down from £20) I can become a member and enjoy, among other amenities, my 30 second full screen advert played every 20 minutes on the club's in-house televisions, my banner advert displayed on the club website, full use of the club facilities plus lessons "with the PGA Professional" and many, many complimentary golf balls for me or my clients.

It's a helluva deal and if I played golf and the club wasn't 5,418 miles from me, I might consider it.

Seriously: I get why the folks sending out the sex solicitations don't care about geography but when I get invites to concerts in Connecticut, festivals in Brazil or country clubs in Taplow, I wonder: Isn't there an easy way of filtering a mailing list to not send ads to folks who are more than, say, a thousand miles away?

And I've started getting mailings again from the Trump organization (or what purports to be the Trump organization) trying to get me to donate to stop the witch hunt that's trying to send Donald J. to prison and all of America into total ruin. Couldn't they have some way to filter out those of us who have I.Q.s higher than the freezing point of water? Because frankly, there's more chance of me sending all my money to "Helga" in Sweden or signing up for lifetime membership in that golf club than there is of Mr. "They're my boxes" getting a dime outta me.