#472: CHEEVERS A. GRIDDLECAKES
I have a spammer, Cheevers A. Griddlecakes, who must be terribly depressed for some reason. I've deduced this from his recent contributions to my spambox. They have taken a purple, high school, I-can-hold-the-depth-of-the-universe-in-my-mind, cry-for-help, look-at-how-deep-I-am, I'm-going-to-join-the-drama-club turn:
In a trice without warning the face of nature grew sullen
Black angry mouths, the clouds swallowed up the sun
The air was dense with suppressed excitement
The wind howled through the long corridors and sobbed and whispered in the secret recesses
Poor Mr. Griddlecakes. I think I will hit him with Jean-Paul Sartre's Nausea, follow that up with Camus' Outsider, and then see who is too busy questioning whether any of his actions have any meaning and still bothers to send me spam in the morning.