got nothin' to complain about.
keaton hasn't been carrying around frozen porkchops, so i'm improving in the manstake department.
benny and andy are behaving.
haven't heard from the folks since the hd flatscreen was put in place.
so when bob has nothin', bob takes a spin in the spam emails.
it's my way of keeping in touch with the internet underbelly.
so let's see what we have here.
another email from the future.
stardate: friday, january 18th; the year, 2036; the time, 19:26 hours.
based on all my calculations, i should be dead a good solid three years by then.
hmm ... it's from someone called "girlfriend".
apparently "girlfriend" thinks keaton will be long gone and i'll be lonely.
that's what she is counting on anyway.
"well what she doesn't know, can't hurt her", i always say, which, by the way, is exactly how i get myself into manstake hot water all the time.
there's a website link.
maybe some sort of internet time warp continuum parallel hosting sort of affair.
god only knows what dating tricks they have in 2036.
hmm ... still alive.
now she wants a name and email in order to send me some kind of free "how to get a girlfriend guide" from "the daily hot".
sounds legit to me.
she even made mention that she takes pride in discreet services.
sort of a "i won't ask and i definitely won't tell" philosophy.
sounds pretty good—as noble as the armed services really.
a little fake name.
and a little fake email.
she wants me to verify the email address by responding to her image which she just sent to the made-up email address.
oh well, i sure hope bob at email@example.com is really fake or someone is in for a big surprise.
oh well, that's enough underbelly for one day.
i'm gettin' while the gettin's good.