However, in recent days I have started receiving "E-Mails" from fellows who, instead of filling my inbox with a series of photographs of naked young girls or strings of random digits, send me a fragment of a short story, accompanied by the following image:

This image appears to be offering me a series of narcotics for what I can only assume are bargain, bargain, knock down prices. However, the short-story fragments often have very little to do with the cheap, cheap, bargain knock-down priced pills and in fact seem to be - I hesitate to make value judgements on the writing of people whom I do not know - the ramblings of a mental. Or possibly a retard. Or possible one of those little primeval dwarf fellows I saw on that television program the other day. Funny little fellows; I would like to own one and then sell him on "E-Bay", but the joke would be that I would sell him inside a wooden box without the buyer knowing that he was inside and then suddenly he would open the box and BAM a little dwarf fellow would hop out. That would personally make me laugh, I do not know about you.
Perhaps I am being too harsh; perhaps these short stories are being taken out of context. Maybe they make perfect sense, if only one had the end of each line (I think that the ends of the lines have been cut off). I do not know, I will see what you think. Here are a few examples of "E-Mail" Short stories that I have received in the past few days:
Title: re: Toolroo
From: Beatrice Perry
To be frank this was a kind of a low point, made even lower when the
Always good to meet a true fan. We all bowed now since this was not
microseconds before the explosion that destroyed the equipment I was
of Liokukae will not be surprised at all when you arrive there.
what? Im betting on women. Either that or an awful lot of cloning is
was. And now I know who you are.
I did not drop as instructed because I was possessed by a
once again by the lake.
And a good-morning bow-wow to you gentlemen. Your new friend has
A group of armed men has emerged from some kind of opening in the
Do you see what I mean when I say 'Stories'. There definitely appears to be something exciting going on in this tale. Armed men. Equipment being destroyed by explosions. Cloning. Lionkukae, who I assume is either a wise old man or some form of very disgusting bestiality-related African pornography. Being possessed by a lake. Quite how a lake - which is only water and possible a bit of mud at the bottom - has the abilities to possess somebody is not explained in this story, but in the small fragment that I have read here, I would certainly like to know more. I would also like to know what "toolroo" means, as it is possibly the best word I have ever heard. I am also going to greet everybody I come into contact with tomorrow with the words "And a good-morning bow-bow to you, gentlemen!". They will be confused but I will laugh inside because I will be the only one who understands the reference!
Title: My weatherin
From: Shazi Culley
planet was hip-deep in TV sets?
from your records in the future. But I will cease my mind reading now.
these dreadful compositions yet another time. He plugged in the cubes
Well how do you think I got these electronic eyeballs? It will be
tachyons-or we reach the north pole and freeze to death.
Hold him! Svinjar shouted and I was grabbed tightly, struggled to
same time. If you cant think of anything else to do crook your arm
to existence in this world-wide spittoon.
artifact of possible interest.
jawbone.
No big loss, Floyd muttered. Steengo nodded.
It is actually painful. I would love to know what is going on. Nothing would please me more than to find out where he got the electronic eyeballs, or the meaning of the phrase 'world-wide spittoon', or the relevance of the word "Jawbone", or the back stories of the characters Svinjar, Floyd and Steengo. That is such a joy to type and say. Svinjar, Floyd and Steengo. It kills me that this is a mystery that I will never, ever be able to solve. I will lie awake at night wondering whether our heroes managed to do something involving tachyons, or froze to death at the North Pole.
What is especially annoying about these stories is that none of the lines seem to make any sense or relate to each other in any way. Then at least I could imagine that the viagra people just copied chunks of a sci-fi novel and pasted them into their "E-Mails". But no. For all I know they could be simply lines written by a computer somewhere. I simply do not know. Alright, here is one more:
Title: To Evette
From: Kelly Bainbridge
her, hands out and ready to strike.
purely male. Just think about it. I am not making a value judgment,
dark pond. There he dipped the bucket into the water and hurled its
level. Remains of an optical finder there. Note the four automatic
Seems obvious, Madonette said undoubtedly miffed by my surly
Keep on going round the galaxy-no place is home
resisting my movement, growing firm, then more solid until it was like
treatments?
slumworld. Think quickly, Jim, before things get any worse.
financially overburdened academics can afford it and not even notice
I would like to cry. I am one of those people who is fascinated and repelled by unsolvable mysteries. I would love - absolutely love - to know the origins of these stories. I would love to trace them backwards, through the infinite and glowing strands of cyberspace. I would love to surf on the untouchable series of zeroes and ones that flow backwards through the copper wires and strands of my internet connection, into the huge, infinitely quantum recesses of the blackness of the internet. There I will glide to the very top, survey the dark pit of cyberspace, a vast mass of twirling strands and interconnecting ribbons, before plunging back, following the lines of Madonette and the financially overburdened academics, back in time and space and reality to the computer screen where, at some point in the history of time, somebody has sat down and pressed a series of buttons on a keyboard to form the sentence "Think quickly, Jim, before things get any worse". I would love to do that. I would love to find the writers of these stories and ask them if they know that fragments of them are being used to accompany viagra adverts. I would love to know how the viagra sellers came to the conclusion that the best way to sell their product was to copy half a sentence from these stories. I would love to know the answers to all of these questions, and yet, I doubt that I will ever know. It will be a mystery forever unsolved. I am crushed. My soul have been ripped asunder by the craftiness of the viagra merchants.
But on the other hand: Miffed.
What a word.
Wait. I just realised that perhaps there will be an explanation of some sort if I actually follow the link onto the viagra website. Perhaps the point of those stories was to intrigue you enough to buy some viagra. Cover me, I am going in. Well that was not very good, I typed the adress in and it did not even open! The website does not even exist! This has only served the deepen the mystery of The Viagra Stories. Oh well I am bored of this topic now I will go and buy myself a new Rolex.
Today's really clever and really hard Craptic Crossword Clue:
Shout an expression of pain, coward! (6)