So I'm back from vacation. So I turn on my computer. So what is the first thing I see?
"You have 382 messages."
I have been approved for 87 mortgages.
I have won 23 stainless steel watches.
Thirty-seven girls named Tiffany want me to call them ASAP.
A total of 48 well meaning folks want to help me with the quality of my - how shall I put it? - manhood. I wonder if any of them is named Tiffany?
There are 7 people who want to be sure my teeth are as white as they can be.
Nineteen dieticians will help me lose weight.
Twenty-eight pharmacists will sell me anything from Ambien to Xenical without the annoyance of obtaining a prescription.
Seven banks sent a total of 103 messages warning me that my account is in danger of immediate cancellation if I don't send them my user name, password, social security number, and mother's maiden name.
And the very erudite, though grammatically challenged, Dr. Clement Okon of Nigeria has offered to transfer "...THE SUM OF $21,320,000.00 (TWENTY ONE MILLION, THREE HUNDRED AND TWENTY THOUSAND U.S DOLLARS)...WE HOPE TO COMMENCE THE TRANSFER LATEST SEVEN (7) BANKING DAYS" into any of one those bank accounts if I just give him the account number and PIN. I'm sorry, Dr. Okon, but the chances of that happening are zero (0).
I must admit, though, it is humbling to be so popular.