Store manager assaulted with potatoes

Since everything looks green, green, green across the markets today, I can only assume the world hasn't ended and the sky hasn't fallen so we live to Kettle another day.

As this bright, happy day stretches before us I thought we might turn our Henny Penny heads to something bright and happy.

Spam - hurrah!

Spam is one of my favourite things. I don't mean the boring Angelina-Jolie-video-this and pharmaeuticals-that spam. I have, of late, been fortunate enough to receive spam from whom I can only imagine must be altruistic, learned (if slightly confused) novelists.

Apart from the odd virus, most of the spam I receive just contains snippets of what I like to think might be novels, odd sentences here and there, about store managers assaulted with potatoes, etc.

This conjures up images a la The Simpsons of Burns taking Homer on a tour of his mansion and opening a door to a room with a thousand monkeys working at a thousand typewriters (wearing poker visors and smoking cigars). Says Burns: "Soon, they'll have written the greatest novel known to mankind. (reads one of the typewriters) "It was the best of times, it was the blurst of times"?! You stupid monkey!"

Ah, gold episode, but back to the spam, I think I might be getting the 'blurst', so to speak.

My spammer-monkey-novelists theory was confirmed when I learned that about 80% of all spam is sent by less than 200 spammers. So all we have to do is find the room with the 200 spammer-monkey-novelists and get them to tell us what order the emails should go in, then we can find out what happened to the store manager to warrant those potatoes.

Failing that, I'd like to meet the spammer-monkey-poet who came up with 'retropliog' for word verification. Very good blurst indeed.