Engrish Spam I Get

I get:
Subject: how everyone
You still wanting the objective of getting toned?
I surely am, that is why i am so gay i stumbled upon
- http::/website.com -
It was super enduringly having someone to benefit me out.
having spent considerable wisdom time confident hunting
Physical Education floor and placed them as a barrier
possible over with their stone hatchets after making a wide
Jennie

I answer:
Subject: everyone fine
Jennie
You misunderstand me. My objective was to get stoned, not toned.
And yet, I too have spent considerable wisdom time confident hunting.
Not for a Physical Education floor, mind you, but for something to get stoned ON.
I hear what you're saying about stone hatchets, but I'm a little uncertain.
Can I smoke them?
Benefit me out and tell me what you made wide.
Please to be so super enduringly gay,
Al

General Nullenvoyd

They call him that, but no one knows his real name. His statue stands atilt a massive block of black basalt dead center in the square of a certain eastern European village. Only thing is, the square is gone now. Hell, the village itself is gone now, reclaimed by the forest that once surrounded it. The buildings have crumbled, though there are hillocks where they once stood, an occasional brick poking through the moss.

His eminence was spared the reclamation, being as he was ten feet above the ground. Since he's stone and not bronze, he seems at home in the wilderness. Actually, it's not wilderness, exactly. He's at the radical bend of a bike trail. The man who laid out the course for the trail included a spur so that riders could take him all in. It's obvious the trail comes here just for him.

He faces a bench and entertains guests. They ponder on his visage. When was he attacked? Was the town gone by then? Or did he still rule the place with an iron fist? No one sitting on that bench could ever decide if it was a shameful act of vandalism or a brazen act of defiance. But to a one they prefer him this way, brought down to the elemental. Remember to chip a shard of the base before you go.

Exhibit

The artist as troublemaker
Chants fractured scripture
Over empty buckets,
Instructs us to step back.
Columns of water rise before us.
The curator grunts into a guard's ear.
Seepage appears, gives off
A fearful blast of odor, licks
The heels and very soles of our shoes.
Slowly it oozes forth, its liquid teeth
Consuming energy in tiny whirlpools,
Eddying currents across floors,
Up walls, between legs,
In the lines of our faces, our structures.
It dries and leaves a sticky residue.
We look at each other.
The authorities come to disperse us.

Yoni

If fling him she must, then Yoni would. For she drew no quarter, just chewed 'em out and spit 'em up. He gained no purchase to her nifty regard.

Yeti

The date: May of 1978. The place: Annapurna's north face. The altitude: 23,000 feet. Amid a raging blizzard, members of the Fischer Expedition debate whether or not to call off the ascent. Oxygen is low, several climbers are frostbitten and all are disoriented. One of the sherpas points to a ridge about 200 feet above and utters a guttural glottal stop. There, looking down at them, is Yeti. At the same moment this photo is taken, the sherpas begin their descent.

Yogi

Yogi Preshmahowiebenzemere learned his peculiar form of Kundalini yoga in 1824 from Yogi Satchmokwaninarayani, who leaned it from somebody else. It was his habit to assume the lotus position, palms on knees upturned in a cup form, breathing deeply, then less deeply, then shallowly, and eventually not at all. In this way, Prana would move in to replace oxygen and the body would enter the ethereal realm.

Although Yogi P has been out of touch with the world around him for lo these many years, you can e-mail him at yogi@preshmahowiebenzemere.com.

Yuri

They didn't know what space would do to a man, so they gave him no control of Vostok 1, just shot him up, let him orbit once and had him eject before impact. He was greeted by an old lady and her cow.

(He was much better looking than this guy.)

Syrinx

A follower of Artemis, Syrinx just couldn't shake that letch, Pan. He chased her down to the riverbank where she begged her fellow nymphs to hide her. They changed her to a hollow reed. Pan searched and searched up and down the river, panting from lust and frustration. His breathing caused forlorn notes to rise from the reeds. He cut down Syrinx and fashioned from her his pipes which he used to lure future conquests.

Artemis

The goddess of all things wild and lunar was also in charge of childbirth. Midwives worshipped her, but feared the arrows she bore. Irony is the mien of gods, and Artemis was no exception; she let fly those arrows at will, as her twin brother Apollo, god of the sun and healing, spread infection. The cult of the chaste began with her. She was goddess of both the hunt and the hunted, but clearly favored the quarry. Just ask Orion.