My question pondered, carefully rehearsed,
Submitted to an oracle profound.
The Salesman of Cubicles reversed,
The Five of Networks binding all around.
A pause, a click, an inauspicious sound,
It spits a blank. My high-tech fortune's cursed.
If tarot chips won't tell me what they've found,
I'll slink back home, and just assume the worst.
Yesterday a got a fortune cookie that said, "Come back later. I am sleeping. (Yes, fortune cookies need their sleep, too.)"
I love the first part. The second, parenthetical part, not so much. It's trying too hard, over-selling the joke.
But it's trying. It's fortune cookies like that that keep me reading them; one out of thirty, seems like these days.
Here we go. Low fat, whole wheat green tea.
The fictional names of spam senders are mostly amusing to the recipient and no one else, inasmuch as everyone has the opportunity to be (briefly) amused by these absurdities in their own overflowing inboxes. So I note almost entirely for my own amusement the email I received today from Grackle L. Pigging.
Received with lunch today:
Success is an accumulation of successful days
Whoever wants to reach a distant goal must take small steps
You will have a fine capacity for the enjoyment of life.
Business spotted in Bay Ridge: Homeric Tours.
"The monocles get stuck in my teeth."