Special Place in Hell

There's a special place in Hell for spammers. I spent a good chunk of my morning deleting postmaster notifications of delivery errors for e-mails I never sent. Apparently, someone near and dear to me has not been very diligent about their e-mail hygiene and caught a nasty virus, which got so excited about finding a victim, it picked up my domain name and spammed lots and lots of nice people on my behalf. On days like these I wish a biological virus would infect the perpetrators. A nice little dose of dysentery or bubonic plague would do nicely.

Since I haven't figured out a way to send pernicious DNA through cyberspace, I'll entertain myself by imagining them strapped to Dante's metal chairs, burning their oversized backsides while being spoon fed the most lumpy, salt-laden oatmeal possible. While I love food, in the wrong hands it can be an instrument of torture. I'm especially sensitive to textures. Oatmeal, rice pudding and slimy okra make me gag. In my fantasies, these spammers have an equally sensitive gullet. When it comes to culinary cruelty, why turn to fictional fare like Klingon gagh when you have the Scots and their twisted palates. Mike Myers was onto something when he suggested Scottish cuisine is based on a dare. I think force feeding the spammers haggis while giving a detailed description of how one goes about stuffing a sheep gut is a good place to start. I'd then move onto French escargot (I'm sure they gave it that fancy name because no one in their right mind would eat snails) and ramp up to vegan meat substitutes. Of course, I'd make the punishment fit the crime and end the session by giving them a taste of their own medicine - a tin of spam, the unidentifiable meat product that gives veterans flashbacks from World War II.

Your idea of culinary torment may differ from mine. Feel free to comment on the foods you think should be banned by the Geneva Convention. In the meantime, update your virus barrier and don't open any attachments you aren't expecting, or I'll arrive at your door with a tin of mystery meat and a bad attitude.