July 10, 2006
"Ssspamm ... ssspamm ... we hates it forever, preciouss ..."
It has been a long two years, and not just for the rest of the world. Here at Campaign Central, we have felt the passage of time, as fat-bodied spiders spin their webs among the red, white and blue bunting of the War Room and the rank scent of orcish body odor slowly gives way to the more muted scent of mold and decay. The candidate, when I saw him recently, appears to have aged the least of all of us. Perhaps he is a little paler, a little thinner, his few remaining strands of hair a little more lank, but the feverish glint of madness still burns brightly in his unhealthy eyes, just as it did in the glorious days of Fall 2004. I am almost tempted ... but no, we cannot go back there. We tried, we gave our all, but the glorious experiment failed, undermined by an evil more potent even than Sauron's.
In a moment of idle curiosity, I recently returned to the Campaign Computer Room. In one corner, a vast dust-covered mass stirred faintly and from time to time, a vast snoring noise rattled the CD cases on the shelves. Apparently the Web Troll is still with us. I powered on one of the PCs, dislodging a small family of rats that had apparently made a nest on the motherboard and as the unearthly glow of the screen cast its sinister light on the fetid walls of the room, I made a shocking discovery.
Certain ... individuals ... have been abusing our donation form. I am not greatly concerned by the person who wrote "You stink, and elves are the best ... go Elrond!". We have our own ways of dealing with elvish sympathizers, and deal with them we shall, president or not. One night the fell blades of our orc legions will gleam dull with elvish blood in Rivendell and Lothlorien and all the other elvish pestholes. One day very soon. We have plans, my friend, plans.
But it appears that our donation form has attracted the attention of other slinking, foul creatures of the nether depths, who have dared to attempt to pollute our web site with their sordid sales pitches. In short, we have been comment-spammed.
To say that I am outraged barely begins to describe it. For any being to attempt to divert monies from the Gollum campaign to their own filthy pockets is heinous enough. But to try to use our own resources to spread their message? Unpardonable! The orc legions will be rallied, and there will be blood. Copious quantities of blood.
And what are these base merchants peddling? 'Tramadol'? Do they seriously believe that any of our readers need pain-relief medication? Pain is good, especially when we inflict it. Pain is the destiny of all those not fortunate enough to be among the chosen few selected to rule the Dark Empire to come. When the braziers burn beside the racks and wheels in the dungeons of the Barad-Dur, and the orc whips sing their sweet song on naked flesh, tramadol will be of little assistance, I assure you.
'Electric scooters'? Our candidate lives in a damp cave in the bowels of the Misty Mountains. An 'electric scooter' is not precisely the ideal vehicle for such conditions. Take your vehicle, and be gone.
An advertisement for 'World of Warcraft gold' appears a little more promising. We are great believers in gold. However, closer investigation reveals this gold to be insubstantial and imaginary. Fairy gold, in short, another typical elvish trick. To the dungeons with them too.
The others are largely incomprehensible to me. They appear to have been submitted by individuals from the distant island of Nippon, and are expressed in the bestial argot of the Easterners, transcribed in their own savage and uncouth runic script. There are however enough of them to make clear that a visit to those nighted lands is definitely in order. A little orcish rape and pillage should curb their eagerness to foul the weblogs of others.
Time is a-wasting, and I have plans to brew. When the red blades fall in the night of Tokyo, you will understand and the world will learn what it means to post comment-spam to the Gollum campaign website. As the candidate has said to me many times, spam, spam, we hates it forever. We have been patient too long, and it is time for a reckoning.