Zamogram (Uncut)

by Bill Zam | Posted on: December 1, 2007 2:48 pm - in Zamblings Uncut

Wham bam, Zam spam.

Stephen Colbert recently provided this nutritional tip: “An apple a day keeps anyone away if you throw it hard enough.” But Colbert, actors that play doctors on TV and even Reader’s Digest all know that laughter is the best medicine; or at least the best medicine you can take while operating heavy machinery. Therefore, I’m unveiling my newsletter, the Zamogram. It was previously veiled to prevent unsightly dust build-up. For your health and mine, I urge you to subscribe.

Apart from the preventive health benefits of regular guffawing, this free e-mail newsletter will alert you to the latest Zamblings and other billzam.com material, and give you access to content not available online or in print. I’ve received a lot of feedback from readers clamoring for the newsletter. Actually, clamoring may not be the right word, but it’s definitely been somewhere between an implication and a ruckus. However, I know that people’s time is limited, and that some of the busier readers are saying, “The last thing I need in my inbox is an e-mail from Zam!”

If that’s your reaction, I completely understand. Between work, home and Web site, I personally have no fewer than 11 separate e-mail addresses, which makes for more spam than a room full of Vikings can eat in a year. In this case, a year is not an arbitrary figure. When I check my e-mails, I start with the three F’s – family, friends and fans – then read the rest on a first-come, first-serve basis, meaning that my backlog dates back to November 2006.

Admittedly, some e-mails – like one urging me to pre-order the PlayStation 3 – aren’t quite as relevant 12 months later, but the majority require no urgency whatsoever. Roughly, outside of the three F’s and a few humor newsletters that I subscribe to (because subscribing to humor newsletters is a fantastic idea and you’re cool if you do it), my inbox is evenly spread among the following categories:

  • Pharmaceutical promotions. I highly recommend ordering drugs online from people that spell it “medecine.” You can bet they won’t make any typos when they’re shopping with my credit card.
  • Realtor offers. One word: faketor.
  • Recycled humor from the 1980s Truly Tasteless Jokes book series. Every racist joke that began with a Polack, a Jamaican and a Chinaman walking into a bar now stumbles back into the street (and my inbox) 20 years later in sanitized blonde-joke format.
  • Pornography solicitations. There’s nothing more disturbing than e-mails promising free smut. Except finding out the smut is not free.
  • Pictures of your cats and dogs. Many of my close friends and family members would push me in front of a car if it meant saving their pet. If you plan to send me more than five pictures of your pets in costumes, please push me in front of the car in advance.
  • Jesus-spondence. I don’t get much e-mail from God directly, but ironically, the cruelest e-mails I get are sent on His behalf. After nine pages reminding me to love the Lord, they end with the warning that I will be smited/smitten/smoten/smated for chain letter non-compliance. I was admittedly lost during eight years of catechism, but I don’t recall the chief tenet of Christianity being “thou shalt forward this e-mail to at least 10 people.”
  • E-mails forwarded from my Mom to my Dad to me, and from my Dad to my Mom to me. Yep, they live in the same house.
  • Warnings about dangerous products, scams and criminals. I used to use snopes.com to debunk these urban legends, but last time I logged on I passed out. I’m not sure whether it was caused by the fake meat I was eating from KFC or the cancer-causing deodorant I was wearing, but when I woke up I was missing a kidney.
  • E-mails from Zam. Every genius idea I have when I’m not writing, I e-mail to myself. It may be apparent that nothing genius has made it to print yet. Sorry, but my self just can’t keep up with all the e-mails me is sending me.

Why would you possibly sign up for more e-mail after reading that? Because if you don’t, I’ll send my one-year-old out looking for you. He’s got a G.I. Joe Kung Fu grip, he’s crotch-high, and he’s fast. Don’t worry, I kid about my kid. I would never resort to violence unless someone really provoked me; for example, by using the word “nukular.”

The real reason for the newsletter is that I want to expand my readership, and I hope that those who like my stories will tell their friends so I can afford to write more of them. Subscribing or unsubscribing is simple. Only an e-mail address is required, and no information will ever be shared or used for anything other than billzam.com content. Plus, in contrast to the dozens of e-mails I send myself, I’ll only ask you to get a Zamogram on a monthly basis, with just an occasional off-schedule alert, such as when I’m in prison and can’t make bail. I also respond to all reader feedback, positive or negative, even if it’s only to notify you that I’ve filed a temporary restraining order against you.

Finally, I’ve got great news for those that said, “The last thing I need in my inbox is an e-mail from Zam.” The last thing in your inbox will be an e-mail from Zam – alphabetically. I’m sending the newsletter from zamogram@billzam.com, so unless your Zyzzyx Road DVD shipment confirmation e-mail arrives at the same time, you can easily sort A-to-Z and move me to the end of the line. Don’t feel bad – I’ve been alphabetically disadvantaged my whole life. Read your Amazon.com and Apple e-mails first if you must, while I hang out in the back of the virtual room causing trouble. When you’ve got a special occasion for some finely aged wise-assery, uncork a vintage Zamogram. I recommend the peanut greejio. By the way, if you’re reading this in 2010, don’t forget to pre-order your PlayStation 4.

 

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Zamogram

by Bill Zam | Posted on: December 1, 2007 2:48 pm - in Zamblings

Wham bam, Zam spam.

Stephen Colbert recently provided this nutritional tip: “An apple a day keeps anyone away if you throw it hard enough.” But Colbert, actors that play doctors on TV and even Reader’s Digest all know that laughter is the best medicine; or at least the best medicine you can take while operating heavy machinery. Therefore, I’m unveiling my newsletter, the Zamogram. It was previously veiled to prevent unsightly dust build-up. For your health and mine, I urge you to subscribe.

Apart from the preventive health benefits of regular guffawing, this free e-mail newsletter will alert you to the latest Zamblings and other billzam.com material, and give you access to content not available online or in print. I’ve received a lot of feedback from readers clamoring for the newsletter. Actually, clamoring may not be the right word, but it’s definitely been somewhere between an implication and a ruckus. However, I know that people’s time is limited, and that some of the busier readers are saying, “The last thing I need in my inbox is an e-mail from Zam!”

 If that’s your reaction, I completely understand. Between work, home and Web site, I personally have no fewer than 11 separate e-mail addresses, which makes for more spam than a room full of Vikings can eat in a year. In this case, a year is not an arbitrary figure. When I check my e-mails, I start with the three F’s – family, friends and fans – then read the rest on a first-come, first-served basis, meaning that my backlog dates back to November 2006.

Admittedly, some e-mails – like one urging me to pre-order the PlayStation 3 – aren’t quite as relevant 12 months later, but the majority require no urgency whatsoever. Roughly, outside of the three F’s and a few humor newsletters I subscribe to (because subscribing to humor newsletters is a fantastic idea and you’re cool if you do it), my inbox is evenly spread among the following categories:

  • Pharmaceutical promotions. I highly recommend ordering drugs online from people that spell it “medecine.” You can bet they won’t make any typos when they’re shopping with my credit card.
  • Recycled humor from the 1980s Truly Tasteless Jokes book series. Every racist joke that began with three men of various nationalities walking into a bar now stumbles back into the street (and my inbox) 20 years later in sanitized blonde-joke format.
  • Pornography solicitations. There’s nothing more disturbing than e-mails promising free smut. Except finding out the smut is not free.
  • Pictures of your cats and dogs. Many of my close friends and family members would push me in front of a car if it meant saving their pet. If you plan to send me more than five pictures of your pets in costumes, please push me in front of the car in advance.
  • Jesus-spondence. I don’t get much e-mail from God directly, but ironically, the cruelest e-mails I get are sent on His behalf. After nine pages reminding me to love the Lord, they end with the warning that I will be smited/smitten/smoten/smated for chain letter non-compliance. I was admittedly lost during eight years of catechism, but I don’t recall the chief tenet of Christianity being “thou shalt forward this e-mail to at least 10 people.”
  • E-mails forwarded from my Mom to my Dad to me, and from my Dad to my Mom to me. Yep, they live in the same house.
  • Warnings about dangerous products, scams and criminals. I used to use snopes.com to debunk these urban legends, but last time I logged on, I passed out. I’m not sure whether it was caused by the fake meat I was eating from KFC or the cancer-causing deodorant I was wearing, but when I woke up I was missing a kidney.
  • E-mails from Zam. Every genius idea I have when I’m not writing, I e-mail to myself. It may be apparent that nothing genius has made it to print yet. Sorry, but I just can’t keep up with all the e-mails I’m sending me.

Why would you sign up for more e-mail after reading that? Because if you don’t, I’ll send my one-year-old out looking for you. He’s got a G.I. Joe Kung Fu grip, he’s crotch-high and he’s fast. Don’t worry, I kid about my kid. I would never resort to violence unless someone really provoked me; for example, by using the word “nukular.”

The real reason for the newsletter is that I want to expand my readership, and I hope that those who like my stories will tell their friends so I can afford to write more of them. Subscribing or unsubscribing is simple. Only an e-mail address is required, and no information will ever be shared or used for anything other than billzam.com content. Plus, in contrast to the dozens of e-mails I send myself, I’ll only ask you to get a Zamogram on a monthly basis, with just an occasional off-schedule alert, such as when I’m in prison and can’t make bail. I also respond to all reader feedback, positive or negative, even if it’s only to notify you that I’ve filed a temporary restraining order against you.

Finally, I’ve got great news for those that said, “The last thing I need in my inbox is an e-mail from Zam.” The last thing in your inbox will be an e-mail from Zam – alphabetically. I’m sending the newsletter from zamogram@billzam.com, so unless your Zyzzyx Road DVD shipment confirmation e-mail arrives at the same time, you can easily sort A-to-Z and move me to the end of the line. Don’t feel bad – I’ve been alphabetically disadvantaged my whole life. Read your Amazon.com and Apple e-mails first if you must, while I hang out in the back of the virtual room causing trouble. When you’ve got a special occasion for some finely aged buffoonery, uncork a vintage Zamogram. I recommend the peanut greejio. By the way, if you’re reading this in 2010, don’t forget to pre-order your PlayStation 4.

 

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Insane Dads Making Seks With Their Daughters

by Bill Zam | Posted on: January 1, 2003 7:53 pm - in unpublished

 Believe it or not, this column is about unemployment.

Having just completed a three-month contract assignment, I recently returned to the world of unemployment. I was not looking forward to full-time job-hunting again, particularly because recent state layoffs have begat more people roaming the streets than the first 20 pages of Genesis. [Begat is derived from the Latin begat, begare, begavi, begorrah, meaning, “to do the Biblical nasty.”]

The first few days back at home are liberating – sleeping late, staying longer at the gym, feeling refreshed. Soon, though, you’re back in the quicksand. Most elements of employment pursuit are drudgery with a capital “UDGE.” While sloshing your way through endless “how to ace the interview” articles, you answer the phone with bated breath, hoping for a positive lead of some kind.

Of course, the call is always some well-intentioned relative with a brilliant gem of advice you hadn’t yet considered. My favorite? “Make sure you proofread your résumé.” “OK, Dad, I’ll do that just as soon as I finish using my hair dryer while standing in the tub.” Not finding a job is not nearly as discouraging as being reminded that you’re a deadbeat every 34 seconds by your loved ones. Those who are currently working can’t seem to remember how much fun hitting the proverbial pavement was. Although apart from a nice fresh coat of Jennite Driveway Sealer, proverbial pavement is the best kind. Except for those pesky weeds. I recommend an industrial-strength weed-killer such as…sorry, where was I?

Ah, yes, drudgery. Rejection letters. Unanswered phone calls. You want to know the most exasperating thing about a career search in the 21st century? The porn.

A few months ago, a friend told me she was frustrated because she was receiving unsolicited pornography in her email box. This is a problem? Let me tell you something, pal, when I was a kid, we had to watch Benny Hill and pray that some buxom Brit would accidentally get a cocktail olive caught in her cleavage. Manufacturer-to-you porn, without even dialing 1-900? Jackpot!

Now that I’ve registered for all the popular employment sites and my email address is everywhere, I understand the frustration. Spam. A room full of Vikings could not eat this much Spam. This is not 2 a.m. Skinemax erotica, where the genitalia are bumping in what seems to be a fairly arbitrary region. We’re not talking about what Chandler Bing called “good old-fashioned American girl-on-girl action.” We’re talking Animal Farm. When I read the George Orwell novel in high school, I thought it was a little twisted. Old Major and Squealer talked in his novel, but they did not fraternize with Catholic schoolgirls.

And I’m only referring to the subject lines of these emails.

Which brings me to Tuesday, Jan. 21, at 12:24 p.m. ET. After spending all day Monday firing off email applications and placing networking phone calls, it’s a reasonable time to finally get a response to an employment query from one Allison I. Frickson. As pseudonyms go, it’s not E. Jack Yewlate or Heywood Jablome. Thus, there is a brief glimmer of hope, and I treat myself to a fleeting image of me pressing a shirt for the perfect interview.

That is, before I glance over to the subject line:

INSANE DADS MAKING SEKS WITH THEIR DAUGHTERS

We’ve already established that I’m not the kind of guy that blushes easily. If I go by what I learned in catechism, I’ve done some things that will earn me a little Purgatory. But let’s just count how many steps overboard this little electronic bundle of sin goes, shall we?

Right off the top, you’ve got your incest. If you’re not incensed at incest, it’s time to see somebody. How Ms. Frickson and company are getting away with this should be everyone’s first concern.

Drilling down a little further, however, we notice that these are not just regular dads fornicating with their kids. They’re “insane dads!” Oh, I feel much better now. Is Allison telling me it’s OK because they’re mentally unstable, or providing her own moral commentary? Or perhaps we are to imagine the fun loving, President’s-Day-sale, “our prices our insane” kind of crazy?

Now we get down to the nitty-gritty: “making seks.” If you take the time here, you’ll understand how deplorable these people are. Many of us who’ve been offered lower mortgage rates and free magazine subscriptions have used anti-virus software to filter out some of the junk mail, setting up the program to automatically delete anything that includes obvious junk phrases like “gambling,” “FW: FW: FW: FW,” or “Aunt Maggie” (at least at my house).

The first word those of us with kids filter is “sex.” These spammers did not simply break from a lunchtime chat room to shoot off some Internet graffiti. Hell, they even know the difference between their, there and they’re. Most adults don’t. So their not only striving – just kidding … so they’re not only striving for perfect grammar – someone actually took the time to tell Yuri in Programming that if he spells sex “S-E-K-S” he can blast his incestu-porn right through all the despamming parameters. The “making” portion is the coup de grace. Even if you had the incredible foresight to set your email filter to delete correspondence containing the phrase “having seks,” they’ve got you.

Of course, I may have been too hasty. Perhaps a “sek” is some kind of decorative wooden table or antique clock and these mentally ill fathers are simply spending quality time with their little girls working on craft projects. I’m going to look up “sek” in the dictionary. Maybe I can get a job making some.


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