I was cleaning out this blog’s spam filter a little while ago, and happened across this gem:

There was once a short story written by an author named Shirley Jackson called the lottery. In most of our lives lotteries are wonderful things that can make us filthy rich with the investment of a couple of dollars and some luck. Even when we don’t win there is the fun of imagining what to do if fortune smiles on us and suddenly we find ourselves in a situation where investment bankers are sending us muffin baskets and kissing our pinky rings. In the world of Ms. Jackson, lotteries are a far less enjoyable experience that can result in a large number of heavy rocks being chucked at the person who has the winning ticket. I don’t know exactly where Shirley was buying her lottery tickets, but a more reasonable person would do their shopping elsewhere.

Followed, of course, by a link to some kind of lottery site. It reads like something you might expect to read from a poorly-educated seventh grader, but there’s a part of me that wants to give the spammer some credit for effort. At least this caught my attention, unlike the endless porn, DVD, and sex-enhancing drug spam comments that I normally have to sift through.

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