*ping*

It occurs to me that my neverending struggle with junk mail is a startling parallel to the Alien(s) movies. Beset by ferocious carnivores, I withdraw into a sanctuary, but ultimately some corridors remain. These, of course, are my email addresses. For many, I'm able to seal access off entirely (the designated junk accounts, which I never check), but there are still one or two corridors that I need open; my squad is still out there, and they need to get to me.

I defend my important corridors with the best in automated anti-spam gunnery and I can watch the progress of the attempted intrusion with my motion detector, but inevitably the chitinous beasts slip through. While I calmly exterminate the threat and Bill Paxton screams "game over, man!" in the corner, I know that it is only a matter of time.

Today I received a stock tip--which was very courteous of Julian Burris--in my prized personal email. Thus begins the flood of acid-blooded creatures which will drown my inbox.

Dear Comcast account, I hardly knew ye.