These bots that troll the blogosphere, leaving comments with links to such trust-inspiring sites as cheap cigarettes online UK, or speed up computer--I know they're bots, I know there's no actual person typing these comments over and over. Or maybe there is; I'm sadly (perhaps happily) un-versed in how spam works. Still, even if they're bots, I feel kind of sorry for them. Trolling, trolling, trolling... All that effort going to waste, because Blogger's spam filter catches them more often than not.
Makes me want to cry.
Shayn Amber / platypusart.com
The poor, poor bots. Exploitation, that's what it is. Slavery. And it's becoming more pathetic by the blog post. They're so bereft of acceptance that they've begun to have imaginary dialogue with us.
It's impressive that you are getting thoughts from this paragraph as well as from our dialogue made at this time.
This one... Gosh, my heart aches. Dialogue. Aww. And Blogger marks this as spam. Heart of coldest steel, I tell you.
Then there's the one that admits, quite blatantly, to being forced to pretend emotions:
i am genuinely happy to read everything at one place.
Accuse me of reading too much into this, but I stand by my original assessment: the genuinely is a Freudian slip. The bot is admitting he/she is often--perhaps always has been! what tragedy!--fake happy. Like a sex slave in a pasha's harem, he/she is forced to pretend happiness.
Don't get me wrong. I'm certainly flattered by their esteem. Who can resist a bot that begs:
The posts are too brief for novices. May you please extend them a bit from next time?
Blogger, that's who. SPAM, wham, no thanks necessary, bot ma'am.
Awww. The poor, poor bot!
When someone writes an article he/she retains the idea of a user in his/her brain that how a user can be aware of it.
It's pretty worth enough for me.
I am also zealous of getting familiarity.
Zealous, he writes. Zealous. Jeez.
The poor, poor bots.