Usually spam email impresses me with its creativity but not particularly with its insight or understanding.
Last week, however, I received a spam email with the subject heading “landlord cookie therapist.” And I thought, my God, that is exactly what I need. The body of the message turned out to be indecipherable even with considerable mental effort, so eventually I gave up, trusting that no matter what was on offer it was probably not something that in the end would bring me true and lasting happiness.
And then yesterday I got a message ostensibly from one Existentialist Q. Narcissist.
And I thought, wait, how did I send myself an email without realizing it?
I’m curious as to how you parsed “landlord cookie therapist.” I envision a man sitting in a leather chair facing a couch upon which rests a cookie in the shape of a landlord. Nice work if you can get it, I reckon.
I’m laughing my ass off already. It is really really hard not to.
I needed that laugh Faustus, thanks.
Do landlord cookies need therapy? Why not just eat them when they realize they were badly treated as little baby balls of dough?
It’s possible the therapist is also a landlord. And only treats cookies.
Do you never send e-mail to yourself?
One morning I checked my mail and found myself trying to sell me a breast enlargement
I parsed it less precisely, as someone who is the source of all these things: a place to live, cookies, and therapy. It sounded warm, yummy, safe and comforting. I mean, you can’t imagine being evicted by a cookie therapist, can you?
Actually, I imagined someone who was all three things at once. The cookie was somehow infinitely sustainable, so that I could eat it and it would still be there (and also still be a therapist and a landlord as well). Being a cookie, and my therapist, the landlord would of course charge me virtually nothing, or would accept my existential angst as payment for my apartment, even as he provided therapy to reduce that angst.
If your existential angst ever becomes negotiable currency, I shudder to think what will happen to the economy when the monetary supply becomes infinite.
I just uttered laugh that one of my coworkers described as sounding like “a pterodactyl in pain.” THAT’s how funny this post was.