Spam-a-Lot

SPAM ON YA, OBAMA! I'm starting to feel that the real message of hope is you HOPING to get your fingers back into my wallet.
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Dear Viagra, Debt Relief, Cialis, Medco, Vicodin, Giftree, Baccarrat, TrinityAlumni, eScapes, Flowers.com, Amazon, Apple, Amex, Ticketmaster, Equity Financing, The Rundown, ElEvate.com, Bueno Tech, Classmates.com and African Diamond mines:

This is an opportunity too good to pass up. I'd like to take this opportunity to introduce you to your new annoying fucking friend and serial spammer Barack Obama.

I don't know how I got on all of your lists, but for the last few years you have continually promised me amazing deals, debt relief and a satisfied partner. But, none of you ever offered me change. Well, Obama fixed that. CHANGE! Yes we can! CHANGE! But, preferably dollars.

I gave the Obama Campaign $300 in a moment of weakness. My first ever political contribution of my lifetime. I read the books. I bought into the vision thing. My heart soared with hope. My spirits rose for the future. What has the big O given me back so far? A spaz out on the bowling alley, an angry Billy Jack Minister ("He was a war hero who hated the war"), a bitter pill to swallow and now, almost every day, annoying fucking spam!

SPAM ON YA, OBAMA!

When I agreed to your message of change, I didn't know that you meant CHANGE that to $275 for the Pennsylvania Primary. CHANGE that to $250 for Indiana!

I GET IT. YOU WANT ALL MY CHANGE!

And you're campaign is cynically and creepily hitting me with pleas for an incremental lowering of my initial contribution. Chipping away. Chipping away. Trying to find that weak moment of hope once again.

What the fuck, B.O.? I didn't know when I signed up on your web site that I was entering a bizarre alternate universe of the political TIME SHARE CONFERENCE. Manic messages. Invisible deadlines. Popping balloons. Offers for dinners. I'm starting to feel that the real message of hope is you HOPING to get your fingers back into my wallet.

I'm a grown up. I chose to contribute to your campaign once. Now, leave me the fuck alone. Through spam blockers and firewall filters you barrage me again and again and again to the point of numbness popping up on my e-mails to the point where I don't even open you anymore.

I know you're running for president. I know you're in a dogfight. I know you need money. But I don't need more promises of four-hour hard-ons, a triple A rating, gift suggestions, endowments, or hidden fortunes if only I act now. I need a fucking candidate to take on Smiley McNasty in the fall.

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