It’s a job,
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Kyle thought as he went for a better arrangement of the list. His structure still seemed off and taking it out of alphabetical order hadn’t fixed the problem. He scribbled down on his notepad again: Homosexuals, blacks, Aisans, lesbians, Arabs, Adam Dexter; this order made sense, but it still didn’t seem to jump out. His encyclopedia entry (or Wikipedia)–to be written, he hoped, in another half-century–also wasn’t coming together as he wanted it to and he quickly rewrote it again on his mind’s notepad: “…got his start in spam, which he would later credit for really ‘teaching him how to write’, saying: ‘I learned by doing, by learning to connect, by spamming”.
“Asian Asian Hotties Asian School Girl…”
Okay, it’s becoming tired, Kyle thought as he read out-loud the formula he had perfected, if not invented: “Ethnic, ethnic, adjective, same ethnic, fetish-noun”. But what else was there?
“See Asian Hotties Fucking School Girls…”
Better, but “See” sounds like a carnival barker and “Fucking” gets filtered out immediately (why are we such Puritans?!). Also, stating acts outright, for him, was a sure-fire sign of a spamwriter that lacked confidence. It was in the abstract and unclear statements where sparks of interest could fly and where the imaginations of the readers could be both respected and cultivated. “Fucking Asian School Girls Fucking Hotties Fucking”…yes, very close, very close. One more and he’d leave it alone.
He contiued his article during a cigarette break, pacing around his tiny apartment, speaking to the night air: If Hemingway learned how to be terse as a newspaperman, Kyle Mulligan learned engagement as a spamman…” Awful. Spamman? Hemingway?? 
“Upgrade Your Babymaker. She Won’t Know What Hit Her.”
“Men want big penises,” the author would later say of his spamwriting days, “But just knowing this wasn’t enough. I had to read Freud to truly figure it out.” This Freudian influence would later be seen in his novel ‘The…He stopped.
“Shut up, Kyle, shut up”, he said to himself. “Get back to work. There’s rent to pay in a week.” He looked at the pile of bills sitting on his desk, right next to the pile of filth–masterful filth, but filth all the same. He went over to it and picked up his pen again.
“Feel Fat?
Have
You Tried…”“Feel Fat? Have You Tried…”
No. He remebered the girls, all of them, dishing out cash for tight dresses and spending evenings with friends, promenading around their apartments wearing them, then standing in front of the mirror when the others had left. The ones he’d dated, the ones he hadn’t, and, most importantly, the ones he was “just friends” with.
“Tired Of Friends Saying ‘You Look Fine’ With A Forced Smile. Really Shock Them. Pills From Africa…”
This was a good one, he thought, as he saw all of their self-concious eyes browsing over his masterpiece.
“Don’t Be A Fatty!”
Kyle contiuned on, finishing one after the other, a list after another list, a promise after a criticism, a dream after a nightmare. And that’s how he learned…
And that’s how he learned how you make people relate, how you capture their hopes and fears. “What is great literature, but really good spam?” he once asked an interviewer. “What is great art? Just really good marketing, nothing more.”
Have you considered Subscribing to all of this madness?
