I recently embarked on a rather perilous journey. All you WordPress bloggers know about the vile spam swamp, no? The place where the mighty warrior Akismet takes all the spam, effectively quarantining those fiends from the rest of decent society. The murderers and burglars and thugs and punks. Those who don’t do their homework, and those who don’t wipe the toilet seat in public bathrooms after using it, thus leaving innocent folks to do it for them. For those of you who are not WordPress bloggers, there’s a vile spam swamp where Akismet takes the world’s ragamuffins. Good, now everyone’s caught up.
Well, it came to my attention that poor Carl D’Agostino’s comments were wrongfully accused of some sort of crime, and they ended up being taken away to the horrible spam swamp. Without a trial, too, I hear! And so, I set out on a quest to rescue them. I went with all haste, riding on my noble cat, large stick in hand, ready to beat back spam criminals that make their home in that vile place. But, I wasn’t prepared for how bad it would be.
Oh, loyal readers, I am lucky to have been able to return to you and share my distressing tale. This spam swamp. This prison for those who are the pulsing pimples on the face of goodness. This place had creatures like none I’ve ever seen before. Certainly not worse than the ReDeads that shuffle about the graves and ruins of “The Legend of Zelda”? Nay, much worse. Certainly not worse than the wretched Flood of “Halo”, parasites that reanimate the dead? Nay, far worse. Certainly not worse than that spider I found in my bathroom that time? Nay, dear readers, worse still than that. I found horrors that can’t be described. Spam that threatened to mislead me and drag me into the depths of the swamp, beneath the cold, murky water, where this duck would breathe no more. (Translation: Unsafe web sites.) Spam that promised me riches if I sold what one ought not sell. (Ads.) I even think I saw a naughty word in there.
I succeeded in rescuing some of the misplaced comments, they, like myself, with a weariness of not just the body, but of the soul. There may be more, but for now, I can do little more. My dear readers, this was truly a frightening place, and one I would rather not revisit. Perhaps fate will call me back there one day, to save more lost comments. And I must answer that call, if fate dictates it. But, for now, the duck must rest and tend to my wounds.
A Duck That’s Seen Things No Duck Should See